Amira's POV – "Lunch Tables and Quiet Friendships"
The lunchroom was always too loud.
Microwave doors slamming, trays clattering, chairs dragging across tiles like tortured metal. Conversations overlapped — gossip, complaints, flirting, fake laughter. I hated all of it.
I scanned the room for a second, carrying my turkey wraps and smoothie in a paper tray.
my usual table, near the window, already had two HR ladies deep in a conversation about some manager's side chick scandal. i shook my head. Not today.
Then my eyes caught her.
Jane Williams.
Sitting alone near the back, stirring a pack of yoghurt with a straw. The same soft look on her face — half distracted, half sad. Like someone who was always waiting for something good to happen, but never believed it would.
i didn't think twice.
i walked straight to her, my low heels tapping across the floor.
"Hey," i said lightly, "mind if I sit here?"
Jane looked up, surprised — almost like no one had ever asked before.
"Oh. Sure—yeah, of course."
i slid into the chair opposite her, setting down my tray.
For a second, we just ate in silence. Then i tilted my head.
"You always eat so little," i said. "That's not lunch, that's... hostage food."
Jane laughed. A small one. But real.
"I didn't really feel hungry."
"You didn't feel safe, you mean." i raised a brow. "Don't let meera ruin your stomach. She's not worth indigestion."
Jane hesitated, then smiled. "You're right."
"I know. I'm brilliant."
That made Jane laugh again — this time covering her mouth like she wasn't used to laughing out loud at work.
she feels threatened by your presence . I cried, back then. In the bathroom."
"Seriously?"
"Serious as payroll cuts."
Jane giggled.
"You seem... confident. Like nothing fazes you."
i shrugged. "That's just practice. I still cry sometimes. But only on weekends. Weekends are for tears and ice cream."
Jane looked at me and something softened in her eyes. A kind of gratitude i didn't expect — like my presence at the table meant more than just company.
we chatted a little more — about nothing, mostly. i told her about a funny incident in the elevator last week with a guy who wore mismatched shoes. Jane told me about her little brother who thought ice cream was a cure for heartbreak.
we didn't talk about Zayn. Or meera. Or anything heavy.
And that was the point.
Just thirty minutes of not feeling alone.
When lunch was over, i stood.
"I'm glad I sat here today," i said casually, brushing crumbs off my lap.
Jane nodded. "Me too."
And as I walked back toward the elevator, i glanced back once.
Jane still sat there.
But she wasn't stirring her yoghurt anymore.
She looked... better.
Not perfect. Not okay.
But better.
Sometimes, that was enough.
JANE POV — TUESDAY EVENING
By the time i reached the front door of their modest two-bedroom apartment, my legs felt like they were made of rubber bands stretched too thin. i juggled my bag and keys, finally getting the door open—only to be greeted by the sound of blasting video game music and my younger brother's voice yelling at a screen.
"Jake!" i called, shutting the door behind me. "I told you to turn that down when I'm home."
"It's not even that loud," Jake shouted back from the living room without turning around.
i kicked off my shoes, my mood frayed from a day of surviving Zayn's unpredictable moods and dodging meera's poisonous little smirks. i dropped my bag on the dining chair and walked into the living room, arms crossed.
"Your math homework better be done, or I'm unplugging that thing."
Jake groaned and paused his game. "Why do you always come home with an attitude? You think you're the only one who had a long day?"
"You had school and probably three snacks," i snapped. "I had to walk on eggshells all day because my boss thinks he's a god."
Jake rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, maybe if you weren't such a perfectionist, you'd chill for once."
"Maybe if you didn't act like you were allergic to responsibility, I wouldn't have to nag!" i snapped, hands on hips.
we both stared at each other for a moment, breathing hard—until Jake suddenly grinned.
"You look like Mom when you do that thing with your eyebrow."
i blinked, then gave a reluctant laugh. "Shut up."
"You started it."
"I always start it, but you always finish it by being annoying."
Jake flopped back onto the couch with a smirk. "Whatever. You hungry?"
i sighed and softened, walking over to ruffle his hair before he could duck away. "Yeah. Starving. Want to order noodles?"
Jake lit up. "With extra pepper?"
"You trying to cry again?" i teased.
our laughter filled the room, warm and fleeting. For a moment, the shadows of the day—of our mother's absence, of my boss's coldness, of everything else I carried—faded into the background.
Home wasn't perfect. But it was mine.