CHAPTER 4-THE ALMOST CONFESSION
1433 Words
Kiana woke earlier than usual the next morning.
Not because her alarm rang; it hadn’t. Not because her mother knocked on her door; she didn’t.
But because her mind had already begun replaying the moment Zara’s fingers laced with hers beneath the jacaranda tree. The memory felt like sunlight pressed between two pages of her thoughts—still warm, still too bright to look at directly.
She brushed her hair twice, then three times, then gave up entirely and let it fall the way it wanted. She changed her outfit twice, finally choosing something simple: a soft blue top and jeans. Nothing special. Nothing attention-grabbing.
She wasn’t trying to impress Zara.
At least… that’s what she told herself.
---
Walking to school, the morning air smelled of wet soil and hibiscus. Cars hummed in the distance, children shouted as they chased each other toward the gates, and life moved with its usual rhythm.
But Kiana’s heart beat to a different tempo.
Tomorrow, Zara had said.
It was today now.
When she reached the school courtyard, Zara wasn’t there yet. The jacaranda tree looked exactly as it had the day before—scattered purple petals, cool shade, the bench where they’d held hands. The memory made Kiana’s cheeks warm.
She waited five minutes.
Then ten.
Then fifteen.
Her stomach tightened.
What if Zara was avoiding her? What if yesterday had meant more to Kiana than it had to Zara? The thought lodged itself in her chest like a small, sharp pebble.
She checked her phone.
No messages.
She told herself not to be dramatic.
She failed.
---
Zara finally arrived halfway through first period.
Kiana saw her through the classroom window, walking quickly across the field toward the school building, hoodie unzipped, braid slightly messy like she’d rushed through her morning. Something about the hurried movement, the wrinkle of tension in her brow, made Kiana’s heartbeat thump unevenly.
At break, Zara found her by her locker.
“Kiana,” she said, breathless. “I’m so sorry I didn’t meet you earlier. My brother—he overslept, and it messed up everything, and—”
“It’s okay,” Kiana said too quickly. Too casually.
Zara’s eyes softened. “You were waiting for me.”
A truth Kiana didn’t want to admit out loud. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not,” Zara said, stepping closer. “I promised.”
The hallway noise blurred. Students rushed past, lockers slammed, chatter rose and fell like waves, but all Kiana heard was Zara’s voice.
“It’s okay,” Kiana said again, quieter this time, unable to meet her eyes.
Zara gently touched Kiana’s elbow—not grabbing, just there. “I didn’t want you to think I was avoiding you.”
Kiana’s heart shivered at the softness of her touch. “I didn’t.”
“You did,” Zara said, smiling a little, “because you overthink.”
Kiana nearly protested, but she caught herself. “Maybe a little.”
Zara laughed. “Maybe a lot.”
Kiana looked down, embarrassed—and that was when Zara reached out, lifting her chin lightly so their eyes met.
“I’m here,” Zara whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The words hit Kiana in a place she didn’t know had been empty.
Before she could respond, a voice called down the hallway.
“Zara!”
Both girls turned.
A boy approached—tall, sharp-jawed, dressed in an athletic jacket. His smile, wide and confident, was pointed directly at Zara.
“There you are,” he said, ignoring Kiana entirely. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Zara’s expression shifted into something tight, something uncomfortable. “Oh. Hey, David.”
David. A name Kiana had seen once on Zara’s i********: story—a cousin? A friend? A… something else?
He stepped closer to Zara, too close, lowering his voice in a way that made Kiana’s stomach twist.
“You didn’t reply to my message,” David said. “I thought we were supposed to talk today.”
Zara stiffened. “Later, maybe.”
David’s eyes flicked briefly to Kiana, uninterested, then back to Zara. “We need to talk about Sunday. You said you were free.”
Zara swallowed. “I didn’t say yes.”
“You didn’t say no.”
Kiana’s pulse stuttered.
David leaned in, voice dropping further. “Come find me after class, okay?”
Kiana watched the exchange with growing uncertainty. Something about their tone, their body language, didn’t feel like casual friendship. Was he someone Zara used to like? Someone who liked her?
Someone she still liked?
David walked away without acknowledging Kiana. His presence lingered like a shadow.
Zara exhaled shakily. “Ignore him.”
Kiana didn’t know what to say. “Who… is he?”
“A mistake,” Zara muttered.
Kiana blinked at that. “Oh.”
Zara sighed, rubbing her temples. “He’s my cousin’s friend. We hung out a few times. He thought it meant something.”
Kiana felt a knot loosen. Just a friend who didn’t know boundaries.
“But,” Zara continued, glancing at Kiana, voice lowering, “I didn’t feel anything. Not like…” She stopped herself.
Kiana’s breath caught. “Not like what?”
Zara looked at her with a softness that pulled all the oxygen from the hallway. “Not like I feel around you.”
Kiana didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until it escaped all at once.
“Zara…” she whispered, unsure where to put the sudden warmth inside her chest.
Zara stepped closer—so close that their shoulders touched.
“Come with me,” she said.
Kiana blinked. “Where?”
“The art room. No one’s there during break.”
Kiana nodded before she meant to.
---
Inside the art room, sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating the smell of acrylic paint and old wooden cabinets. Kiana always felt safer here, like the world softened at the edges.
Zara closed the door gently behind them.
“You okay?” she asked.
Kiana nodded, though her heartbeat thudded too loudly for her to pretend everything was normal.
Zara walked over to an easel, running her fingers along the dried paint splotches. “I like this room. It feels… honest.”
Kiana tilted her head. “Honest?”
“Yeah. Like people don’t pretend in here. They just feel things. And put them somewhere.”
Kiana bit her lip. “I’m not sure I’m good at feeling things.”
“Oh, you feel everything,” Zara said, stepping toward her. “You just don’t let yourself name it.”
Kiana’s cheeks warmed. “Maybe.”
Zara stopped in front of her, closer than yesterday, closer than ever. “Kiana.”
“Mm?”
Zara reached for Kiana’s hand again. She didn’t grab it this time—she asked for it, silently, palm open.
Kiana placed her hand into hers.
Their fingers intertwined like they had been waiting all their lives to find the shape of each other.
Zara’s voice dipped. “I want to ask you something.”
Kiana’s chest tightened. “Okay.”
Zara brushed her thumb against her knuckles, soft and slow, sending heat up Kiana’s arm. “Do you… feel something too?”
Kiana’s heart pounded.
Yes.
Yes.
Yes.
She felt everything—fear, warmth, longing, confusion, hope—swirling inside her like a storm trying to spill out of her chest.
But the words tangled in her throat.
“I… don’t know how to say it,” Kiana whispered.
“That’s okay,” Zara murmured, stepping even closer, her forehead almost touching Kiana’s. “You don’t have to say it. Just… don’t hide from it.”
Kiana swallowed. “I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to mess this up.”
“You won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I…”
Zara stopped.
Her breath caught.
Her eyes flicked to the door—someone was turning the handle.
The moment shattered like glass.
A girl from class stepped inside, freezing when she saw them. “Oh—sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here.”
Zara released Kiana’s hand too quickly.
Kiana stepped back, heart racing.
The girl left as fast as she had entered, but the moment they’d almost shared did not return.
Zara grabbed her bag, frustrated. “We should… probably go.”
Kiana nodded.
They left the art room in tense, fragile silence.
Only one thought echoed in Kiana’s mind:
If no one had walked in… what would Zara have said?
- Writer
