Morning crept in softly, my alarm still buzzing. The rain already stopped, but its smell still lingered. That clean, heavy scent that clunged to the air after a long night of crying skies.
I hadn't slept much . The house was too quiet. And in that quiet, I could hear the echo of everything that has changed.
The wooden box stilll on study table close to my laptop, just the way I had left it the night before. The carvings looked softer this morning, almost delicate. It was like it was guiding something precious. I walked and picked it up, my eyes lingered on the words on the letter: To Orabelle.
I looked at my Diary and opening up I traced the words with my fingers and gently closed the book and putting back the letter into the box with a deep sigh, like I was sealing a secret I just wasn't ready to explain.
My uniform was hanging inside wardrobe where my mom last ironed it weeks ago, it seemed like it was just yesterday and my chest tightened.
I didn't want to go back to school but like Tee always says " Routine helps, it's keeps our mind busy."
But busy wasn't the same as better , I didn't want to argue.
Downstairs , the kettle whistled. The smell of breakfast floated through the air. And the strong smell of coffee definitely letting me know Aunt Fiona was still around.
She was already in the kitchen. She was still in her night wear, her eyes tired but careful. There was something about the way she moved slower and more careful like everything might snap if she wasn't gentle enough. She was my mom's younger sister.
"Good morning love " she said without turning from the stove.
"Morning auntie" I whispered , sitting at the table.
" I didn't know you will make it out of bed for school today, didn't see much of you yesterday."
I said nothing.
She set a plate before me , two slices of toast and a cup of juice and an Apple.
While she sat with her black coffee.
"You should eat before school" she said. Trying to force a smile.
I adored aunt Fiona, she was the only person mom had in her corner and I know she is having it tough just like we are too and she deserves to be given a break.
"Thank you " I whispered back and gently bit into the toast.
She sat across from me , hands wrapped round her mug and eyes so far away. The silence stretching between us like a long bridge. Neither of us had anything to say.
Then she said. " if you need to come home early…."
" I will be fine " I cut her off gently .
She proceeded " it will feel strange today. People will mean well but it might be a lot, just do what you can."
I gave her a small smile, just to reassure her that I was going to be fine and she didn't need to worry about me.
Tee came in to the kitchen, hair sticking up in every direction, hoodie zipped halfway. He dropped into a chair beside me.
Aunt Fiona pushed a plate to him
" I am not hungry"
She just sighed but didn't push. " you should at least have juice."
He shrugged "later"
The clock filling the silence. They were three people sitting in the kitchen, each quietly pretending to be okay.
I stood up to leave, dropping my plate into the sink and grabbing my Apple.
"Call me when you get there, okay?" Aunt Fiona said.
I nodded. " I will"
" you be safe out there" Tee said.
I just nodded and grabbed my bag and left the house.
The bus ride felt endless. The chatter, the squeak of sneakers, all of it pressed round me.
I sat by the window , forehead against the cool of the glass watching puddles flash by in steaks of light.
A group of girls at the back whispered. One of them said my name softly , followed by a sigh. I didn't turn around, I learnt from my mom that people rarely whispered kindness.
When I got to school, the halls felt too bright , too loud. The laughter sounded sharp , the footsteps rushed . I kept my eyes on my locker but before I could even reach it, I could feel the stares.
It was covered in sticky notes pink, blue, yellow all saying things like "stay strong," " you have got this," "we love you."
There was even a cute small drawing of a heart.
I stood there for a long moment , unsure whether to smile or cry.
I pulled one note out and it said " you are knot alone." I folded it carefully and slipped it into my pocket.
Classes blurred together.
Teachers spoke softly, their flickering towards me before continuing, as if afraid of saying the wrong thing.
When the biology teacher called my name for attendance, her voice faltered. " Aria"
I raised my hand slightly. "Here"
That word echoed in my head. Here.
Here but not the same.
At lunch, I found a quiet table by the window . I wasn't hungry. It just felt quiet there and I needed It.
My friend Grace , stood across the room, tray in her hand.
Our eyes met. She smiled and mouthed , can I?
I hesitated but nodded.
She slid into the seat across from me. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun and her eyes were red too like she has been crying too.
" Hey, " she said softly.
"Hey."
For a while we didn't speak. She picked at her sandwich . I tracked a crack on the table with my finger.
" I wanted to come by," she finally said . "After the funeral. But I didn't know If….."
" it's okay" I said, cutting her off. " No one really knew what to say."
She nodded " still I should have tried."
The sincerity in her voice made my throat tighten.
" you are here now." I said.
We sat in silence again. But this time it felt softer and less empty.
When the bell rang,she reached out and touched my hand .
" you don't have to carry the pain all alone , you know."
I nodded. " I know"
I wasn't sure I believed that.
The rest of the day passed in fragments, a blur of sympathetic smiles and awkward glances. By the time I got home, my head felt heavy, my chest tighter than before.
Aunt Fiona had fallen asleep on the couch ,a half empty cup of coffee on the table.
Tee's door was closed, music pulsing faintly behind it.
I climbed the stairs slowly , each step feeling heavier than the last.
My room was dim, the curtains drawn halfway . The wooden box sat where I had left it in the morning. Quiet and patient.
I sat on my desk , brushed my hand over the surface, and then I opened my Diary.
The first letter I had written still rested on the previous page. Letter one, Dear Orabelle.
I turned a new page and my pen hovering for a moment before the words began to flow.
Letter Two …..To Orabelle
Dear Orabelle,
Today I learned that silence has many shapes.
There's the silence that hurts,
the silence that protects you,
and the silence that fills a room even when people are talking.
At school, everyone was kind, painfully kind.
They said my name softly, like it might crack if spoken too loud.
I smiled back, because that's what you're supposed to do when people mean well,
even when you feel like you're fading behind it.
My friend, Grace, tried to talk to me. I wanted to tell her everything ,about the box, about you , but I couldn't. It felt like the words would fall apart if I said them out loud.
I keep thinking about the note on my locker.
"You're not alone."
It's sweet, but also strange, because loneliness isn't always about being alone. Sometimes it's about being surrounded by people who can't hear what you're not saying.
I wish I could talk to Mom again.
Or to you, whoever you are.
Maybe you're just a name.
Maybe you're more than that.
Either way, writing to you makes the world feel a little less heavy.
Love ,
Aria.
When I had finished, I stared at it for a long long moment, my hand trembling. My heart heaving. I hadn't notice the tears until one dropped onto the paper and smudged the ink.
I wiped it away quickly, but the mark remained there, a small imperfect proof that the letter was real.
I closed the journal gently, placed it beside the wooden box, and leaned back In my chair.
Outside, the wind stirred the branches. Somewhere in the distance, a baby cried , then it fell quiet again.
It was then I thought I heard it, faint , almost like a whisper through the walls.
"Orabelle"
My heart stilled. I turned towards the window. But there was only the wind brushing softly against the glass.
Still, the voice lingered, soft, haunting , almost kind.
I exhaled slowly, my pulse calming .
I wasn't sure if it was my imagination,or pure exhaustion or something else entirely.
But I knew one thing for certain .
Something had shifted.
The silence no longer felt empty
It felt , waiting...