Laila....
There's a certain kind of silence that comes after prayers.
Not the kind where everything is still.
The kind where something inside you wants to scream — but you don't.
That's the silence I carry when I sit next to Tracy.
She doesn't even realize it.
She just pulls out her pen, nudges her notebook my way, and asks if I want to walk home again.
Like it's the most natural thing in the world.
And maybe it is.
Or maybe it shouldn't be.
---
Today, it rained again.
Not loud. Just that quiet drizzle that turns roads into memory and makes you wonder if the sky is mourning something it can't say out loud.
We didn't talk much.
But this time, we didn't hurry either.
We stayed under the tree near the chapel — the same one as before — just watching the sky breathe.
Her hair was a little wet. She didn't seem to mind.
I wanted to say so many things. But all that came out was, "You always walk in the rain like it's yours."
She turned to me slowly, and her smile was different this time.
Softer. Like she heard something I didn't mean to say.
---
Tracy....
She said that like she meant more than weather.
I didn't know what to do with that look.
So I looked at the sky.
"You think the sky lies?" I asked.
She blinked. "What?"
"The sky," I said again, "It just… is. It doesn't pretend. It doesn't choose who gets sun and who gets rain. It just gives what it has."
She was quiet for a moment.
Then, very softly: "I think I'd rather live in the sky."
It broke something in me.
Not because it was sad.
But because I understood it.
---
We stood there for longer than we should've.
Not close enough to touch — just close enough to feel the space between us saying things we were too afraid to.
She was hiding something. I knew it.
I saw her twist that ring again.
"Is it real?" I asked.
She turned away.
Didn't answer at first.
Then she said it like a breath she'd been holding too long:
"Yes."
Just that.
One word.
But it felt like thunder.
---
Laila.....
She didn't look angry.
She looked… hurt.
And that was worse.
I wanted to explain, but how do you explain being chosen before you ever learned how to choose?
Amir is kind. Traditional.
He sent letters for a year before our families agreed. I'm supposed to be grateful.
But every time I open one of his notes, I feel like I'm shrinking.
With Tracy, I don't feel small.
I feel… like the first line of a story I'm allowed to write myself.
But I'm not allowed to write it.
---
Tracy....
She said nothing more about it.
Neither did I.
But everything in me screamed with what I didn't say.
> You looked at me like I was real. Like I was the place you run to — not the storm you run from.
And now I'm afraid.
Because what if she closes the door before I ever reach it?
---
We walked home in the rain, side by side.
Just like before.
Only this time, we both knew.
This time, the rain didn't wash it away.
It made it more visible.
Like truth carving its shape into the day.
---
Laila....
"Thank you," I whispered at the fork.
"For what?" she asked.
"For staying," I said.
"For not asking more than I could give."
She nodded once.
But I saw it in her eyes.
The questions were there. Waiting.
Like the sky above us.
Quiet. Wide.
And too full to hold much longer.
---
> One girl praying to forget.
One girl writing to remember.
Both waiting for a storm they already stood in.
---