Gabriel stood at the threshold of his house, a hesitant smile tugging at his lips. The moment he stepped inside, something felt different. The heaviness that used to follow him like a shadow didn't settle on his shoulders the way it usually did. Instead, there was a weightlessness, subtle but real.
His mother glanced up from the stove. She was stirring a pot of jollof rice, her go-to for Saturday afternoons. "You're humming," she said, her tone half-surprised.
Gabriel blinked. "Am I?"
His younger sister, perched at the kitchen table doing homework, giggled. "You were! And you smiled at the cat. You never smile at the cat."
Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Don't tell him that. He'll think I've gone soft."
His father walked in from the backyard, wiping his hands on a rag. He paused when he saw Gabriel.
There was an odd silence—curious, not tense.
"Everything okay?" his father asked.
Gabriel nodded, dropping his backpack on the couch. "Yeah. It's been a good day."
He walked to his room, closed the door, and sat on his bed. The smile returned, fuller this time.
Angela. Her laughter earlier that day still echoed in his head, the way she read him her poem, the peace in her voice. It had stirred something in him—hope, maybe. Or maybe just relief that someone he cared about was finally okay.
He pulled out his phone and looked at their last messages.
Angela: My mom made eggs. Voluntarily. And smiled.
Gabriel: Call the news. That's a miracle.
He laughed softly, then opened his notebook. For once, he didn't write a poem. He just wrote her name. Then underlined it.
Dinner at Gabriel's house was unusually light. His parents noticed, but didn't press.
His father commented on the football game. Gabriel actually responded.
His sister teased him. He didn't snap back.
His mother studied him carefully. "You've changed."
Gabriel looked up from his plate. "What do you mean?"
"You seem… lighter."
He thought for a moment. "Someone I care about is doing better. And I guess that's contagious."
His parents exchanged a glance, but said nothing.
Later that night, Gabriel sat outside on the front steps. The stars were shy, but the moon was bold. He texted Angela.
Gabriel: I think your healing is rubbing off on me.
Angela: Good. You needed it. You were grumpy before.
Gabriel: Was not.
Angela: Were too.
Gabriel: I'm just glad you're okay. Really okay.
Angela: Me too.
He pocketed his phone and leaned back, hands behind his head.
For once, his house didn't feel like a battlefield. His room didn't feel like a hiding place. And his heart didn't feel so heavy.
Angela had found her light. And somehow, she'd lit something in him too.
He closed his eyes, smiled, and for the first time in a long time—slept without armor.