CHAPTER 2-MESSAGES IN THE DARK
1187 Words
Kiana didn’t expect Zara to keep texting.
She thought the conversation would end after a few polite messages—maybe a joke, maybe a “goodnight.” But it didn’t. Zara texted like someone who had endless pockets of curiosity, someone who wanted to peel back every layer of silence Kiana had ever wrapped around herself.
By eight o’clock, they had exchanged over fifty messages.
Kiana lay on her stomach, phone glowing beside her, as the rain tapped a steady rhythm on her window. Soft light from her bedside lamp painted the walls in warm amber. It felt oddly sacred, like the room had grown smaller just to make space for the conversation blooming between them.
Zara: So, what were you drawing on your sleeve yesterday?
Kiana: Stars.
Zara: Why stars?
Kiana: I like things that stay even when the world feels loud.
Zara: Beautiful.
Zara: You know… you write like someone who listens more than she speaks.
Kiana paused on that last message. It felt too true, like Zara had reached across the digital space and tapped her right in the center of her chest.
She typed slowly:
Kiana: I do listen more. Speaking feels… risky sometimes.
Zara: Does talking to me feel risky?
Her breath caught.
Kiana: Yes.
A moment passed, then two.
Zara: Good. Talking to someone you like should feel a little risky.
Kiana’s heart slid into a quick, uneven rhythm. She read the message three times before she replied.
Kiana: I don’t know what I feel yet.
Zara: That’s allowed. I know what I feel.
Kiana: And that is?
Zara: I want to see you again. Tomorrow. Lunch? By the art room?
Kiana pressed her face into her pillow to soften the sudden rush of heat in her cheeks. Zara was bold in a way Kiana had never been. It was both terrifying and magnetic.
She typed:
Kiana: Okay.
Zara: Just okay?
Kiana: Yes.
Zara: I’ll take it. For now.
The “for now” lingered long after the typing bubbles faded.
---
That night, Kiana couldn’t sleep. She kept turning over, her mind replaying the moment Zara had crossed the street in the rain. The yellow hoodie. The umbrella she couldn’t fold properly. The softness in her voice. The boldness in her smile.
She felt something bubbling in her chest—something she wanted to name but wasn’t sure she had permission to.
By midnight, she was still wide awake.
She stood and crossed her room to her small desk, flipping open her sketchbook. Her pencil moved without her thought, tracing the shape of a hoodie. Not just any hoodie—a yellow one. It wasn’t a perfect drawing, but the way the pencil captured Zara’s presence felt real enough to make her chest tighten.
She closed the book quickly, almost embarrassed at herself.
It’s just a girl, she tried to tell herself.
But she knew it wasn’t just anything.
---
The next morning, Kiana moved like she was made of electricity. Everything felt more vivid—the light outside her window, the chatter of her mother in the kitchen, the taste of her tea. She kept checking her phone like an addict.
No new messages.
She didn’t know if she should feel relieved or disappointed.
On the walk to school, the pavement glittered from last night’s rain. The sky stretched bright and cloudless, as if the whole world had been washed clean.
At school, the hallways buzzed like always. But Kiana walked through them with a new, unfamiliar awareness—like she was waiting, like any corner could reveal a yellow hoodie.
By fourth period, her nerves were tight as violin strings.
At lunch, she headed toward the art room, hugging her books to her chest.
Zara was already there.
She was leaning against the wall, earbuds in, bobbing her head to music only she could hear. Her hoodie today was forest green, but the same bright threads ran through her braid.
She saw Kiana before Kiana was ready for it.
Her smile appeared instantly, unfiltered.
“There you are,” Zara said, pulling out one earbud. “Was starting to think you’d ditch me.”
“I don’t ditch people,” Kiana said quietly.
“Good,” Zara said. “I’d have hunted you down.”
The ease with which she spoke made Kiana shift awkwardly, unsure of what to do with her hands, her eyes, her entire existence.
Zara stepped closer. Not too close, but close enough to make Kiana’s breath hitch. “So… can we sit?”
Kiana nodded, and they settled on the small bench beside the art room window. Students passed in clusters, the hallway noise forming a soft backdrop.
Zara swung one leg playfully and tilted her head. “So, tell me one thing about you that no one else knows.”
Kiana blinked. “Why would you want to know that?”
“Because I want to know you,” Zara said simply. “Not just the quiet girl who draws on her sleeve.”
The statement slipped into Kiana’s chest like warm tea.
She hesitated before whispering, “I get scared of wanting things.”
Zara didn’t laugh. She didn’t tease.
She nodded. “Wanting something is risky. It means you might lose it.”
Kiana’s eyes widened slightly. “Exactly.”
“Or,” Zara added, leaning back, “you might get it. Which is even scarier.”
Kiana looked down at her shoes, unsure of how to respond. Zara made everything sound so simple and terrifying at the same time.
“And you?” Kiana finally asked. “Tell me something no one knows about you.”
Zara stretched, her hoodie rising slightly as she lifted her arms. “Okay… I’m afraid that if people look at me long enough, they’ll realize I’m not as confident as I pretend.”
Kiana turned sharply. “You? Not confident?”
Zara shrugged. “Confidence is performance. Fear is the backstage.”
Kiana stared at her for a long second. “I don’t think you pretend.”
Zara smiled gently. “You’d be surprised.”
Their eyes met, and something settled between them—a soft, fragile understanding.
For a moment, the world blurred into nothing but that small stretch of hallway and the distance between them.
Then the bell rang, loud and jarring.
Zara groaned. “Ugh, time’s a thief.”
Kiana laughed. “We can talk again later.”
Zara raised an eyebrow. “I’m holding you to that.”
She stood, adjusting her bag across her shoulder. But before leaving, she leaned close enough that Kiana felt the warmth of her breath.
“By the way…” Zara whispered. “You look really pretty today.”
Kiana’s heart erupted into white noise.
She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t move.
Zara winked. “Don’t forget to want things once in a while.”
And with that, she headed down the hall, disappearing into the flow of students.
Kiana stayed frozen on the bench long after she was gone.
Her heart beat fast, unbearably loud.
Maybe wanting things wasn’t so terrifying after all
- Writer
