Tracy...
It wasn't rain this time.
It was the sky before it.
That quiet hour when the sun begins to fade, leaving behind gold-streaked clouds and a hush that settles over the town like prayer. Most students had already gone home. The corridors echoed with distant laughter and closing doors.
But Laila and I… we lingered.
I had volunteered to help Sister Mary count the hymn books for Sunday mass. She had stayed back for Qur'an recitation. Different rooms. Different rituals. Yet somehow, we found ourselves walking the same path out.
We reached the old school gate at the same time.
She hesitated when she saw me.
So did I.
I don't know what made me speak.
"Do you like sunsets?" I asked, immediately embarrassed by the simplicity of it.
Laila glanced at the sky. The golden light caught her profile — her lashes, the soft curve of her jaw, the small, tired smile she wore too often.
"I think I like the quiet more," she answered.
We stood there, side by side. The sun sinking lower. The sky catching fire and calming all at once.
Not talking. Not touching. Just… standing. Like the silence between us had earned its place.
---
She didn't look at me when she said it.
"People in this town don't change easily."
I turned to her. "I've noticed."
"You're different. But it won't matter to them."
There was no anger in her voice. Just resignation. A tired truth she had carried far too long.
I didn't know how to respond to that. So I didn't.
---
Instead, I reached into my bag and pulled out the folded corner of a poem I had scribbled during lunch.
Nothing grand — just thoughts I didn't want to keep locked inside.
I held it out to her.
She didn't take it at first. But after a second, she reached for it with hesitant fingers, as if unsure she deserved to hold someone else's truth.
"What's it about?" she asked quietly.
"A girl who wants to disappear. But someone sees her anyway."
Our eyes met. Just for a heartbeat.
And something passed between us — not a confession, not even a question — just an understanding.
She nodded once and tucked the paper into her notebook.
---
As we began walking, slowly, our steps somehow falling in rhythm, I realized something:
This wasn't friendship yet.
But it wasn't nothing either.
And maybe… just maybe…
The stillness between us was beginning to shift.
---
> "Not every beginning needs a spark. Some begin with silence, with sunset shadows, with the feeling of being seen—quietly."
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