Sharon lay in bed, the ceiling fan's lazy spin above doing little to still the whirl inside her head. Excitement, nerves, confusion, all tangled tight like threads she couldn't unravel. She tossed and turned, the quiet night fractured by stolen glances of Sid's smile and the unexpected weight of possibility pressing softly on her chest.
Morning light brought no reprieve. Even as she dressed, she sensed it too: the subtle cloud on Sia's usually bright face. When Sharon asked, Sia blinked, hesitating, then shrugged off the question with practiced ease. "Nothing," she said. But Sharon knew better. The hesitation lingered, an unspoken worry she chose not to pry.
Choosing silence, Sharon tucked away her unease, turning instead to recount everything that had happened with Sid, the handshake, the surprise at the cake, that evening beneath the streetlight. As the words spilled, Sia's expression softened, but after a beat, she sighed and said quietly, "He's not going to come back, you know. Just… relax. Don't let it pull you under."
The comfort in those words was uneven, part reassurance, part challenge: to let go, or not.
The next day, as Sharon and Sia neared the study class, their steps slowed when they spotted Mrs. Anjali speaking quietly with a parent at the doorstep. Without explanation, Sharon's stomach flipped, anticipation mingling with a sudden, sharp anxiety. Something in that scene whispered "Sid."
Her heart raced as the door opened and Mrs. Anjali stepped out, eyes skimming them both before her voice floated forward, steady yet warm. "Sid will be joining the study class from next week."
Sia's face flickered, tight with emotions Sharon didn't fully understand, anger, perhaps disappointment, but Sia masked it quickly behind a calm nod. Sharon's reaction was a swirl of blankness beneath a carefully controlled calm, masking the storm underneath. Mrs. Anjali spoke directly to her now, unaware of the silent knowing exchanged between the cousins.
"You should know," the teacher began, "Sid was a naughty student when he was young, much like you are close to me, so was he. He's close to this place, and to me."
Sharon listened intently as Mrs. Anjali painted a picture of Sid's family: living with his parents and an elder brother, a practical young man who loved life with wide-open arms. Free-spirited, unwilling to be bound by restrictions or compromise much for others, a reflection Sharon recognized. The mention of his atheism was a quiet undercurrent, adding layers unspoken yet understood.
When Mrs. Anjali excused herself for a moment, the classroom buzzed with the arrival of a student from Sid's former school. The whispers floated like shadows, girlfriends, kisses stolen in corners, stories of his flings, reckless laughter on crowded playgrounds. Sharon heard it all, silent and composed, absorbing the fractured mosaic of the boy she thought she knew and the one she was about to meet again.
A knot tightened in her throat, tension threading through the calm she wore like armor. The past Sid, the rumored Sid, and the Sid reborn in her quiet hope all collided in her mind as the room hummed softly around her.