Chapter Nine: Someone Had to Know
1153 Words
Ruth always knew when something was different. She didn’t need full explanations. Just a shift in Eli’s voice, or how long he stared off before answering a question.
So when they sat across from each other at their usual hangout — a small rooftop spot only the two of them used to know about — she didn’t waste time.
“You’ve been quieter than usual,” she said, sipping her drink. “And not in your moody, ‘let me go brood in peace’ kind of way.”
Eli smiled faintly. “I’ve just been… thinking.”
“Which means something’s up,” she replied. “Out with it.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I met someone.”
Ruth didn’t flinch. Just blinked once. “Okay. You’re allowed to.”
“I know. But this… feels different. It’s not just a distraction. She’s calm. Soft-spoken. But sharp. Like she sees more than she says.”
Ruth watched him carefully. “What’s her name?”
“Amina.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Eli leaned back slightly, eyes on the skyline. “You remember the girl from the café the other day? The one I said barely looked up from her book?”
Ruth tilted her head, studying him. “So you went back?”
“Not planning to,” Eli said. “But yeah… I did.”
She smirked. “And now you’re here talking about her like she’s a song stuck in your head.”
He laughed under his breath. “That’s… weirdly accurate.”
Ruth leaned back, arms crossed loosely. “You realize how you sound, right? Like someone halfway in already.”
“I know,” Eli said. “But it’s not fast. It’s not forced. It’s just... easy.”
She nodded slowly. “And that’s rare.”
They sat in silence for a few seconds, the wind pushing gently over the rooftops.
“Eli,” she said after a beat, “I’m happy for you. I am. I just… worry sometimes that you wear your heart too open.”
He looked over at her. “You warned Lina, didn’t you?”
Ruth didn’t answer at first. Just stared out at the city. Then she sighed. “I didn’t think she deserved the pieces you were still healing. And I was right.”
Eli stayed quiet.
Ruth looked at him again, softer this time. “So maybe I’m just being cautious. But if Amina’s different… if she’s real… then hold onto that. Just don’t lose yourself again trying to keep someone else interested.”
“I won’t,” Eli said. “I’m not chasing this. I’m just… showing up.”
Ruth nodded, accepting that. “Then I guess I’ll wait to meet her.”
He smiled. “She’d probably impress you.”
“Oh, she’d better,” Ruth teased. “I’ve got standards.”
They both laughed — easy and familiar.
Moments later, Ruth stood. “Alright. I’ve said enough. My job as your emotionally sharp, overly observant friend is complete for the day.”
Eli stood too, hands in his pockets. “Thanks, though. For listening.”
“Always,” she said. “Even when you don’t say anything.”
They exchanged a brief fist tap — the kind that carried history — and Ruth turned to leave.
As Eli watched her disappear down the stairs, he realized just how rare it was to have people who really saw you — and still stayed.
Later that night, Eli sat on the edge of his bed, phone on the charger, thoughts spinning slow.
He thought of Lina — the way things ended. The silence that followed.
He thought of Ruth — her questions, her care.
And he thought of Amina — the way she said “Don’t take too long,” like she already sensed the clock ticking.
He wasn’t rushing.
He wasn’t chasing.
But for the first time in a long time, it felt like maybe — just maybe — someone wasn’t going to leave before he could give them the best parts of him.
One step at a time, he told himself.
No leaps.
No falling too fast.
Just forward.
It started with a message.
“Hope your day didn’t chew you up too bad.”
— Amina.
Eli stared at the screen, a faint grin pulling at the edge of his lips.
“Still in one piece. Barely. You?”
— Eli.
“Sketchbook smudged, coffee cold. But alive.”
“We’re survivors then.”
“Barely functioning art kids.”
And just like that, their evening spun into another quiet conversation — one that stretched across voice notes, little photos, and late-night exchanges that felt more like sitting side-by-side than texting miles apart.
The next evening, they met again. Not at the museum. Not at the café.
Just… outside.
A long walk through back streets they both didn’t know well. The kind of walk that wasn’t about where, but with whom.
Eli had his camera, but he hadn’t used it once.
“Not in the mood to shoot?” Amina asked as they walked slowly, the city humming low around them.
“I think I just like seeing things without trying to capture them right now,” he said. “Some things are better as memories.”
She nodded. “I feel that. Sometimes I sketch less when I’m feeling more.”
Eli gave a soft laugh. “That makes perfect sense. But only artists would get it.”
They reached a stretch of old brick wall tagged with fading graffiti — reds, blues, names almost erased by weather.
“Want to sit?” she asked, nodding toward a flat curb nearby.
They sat. The sky was turning the colour of soft bruise — purple-Gray with streaks of gold.
Amina played with the hem of her sleeve.
“Can I ask something kinda random?” she said.
“Of course.”
“When’s the last time someone made you feel safe?”
Eli blinked, not expecting that. He thought for a second. Then longer.
“Ruth,” he said eventually. “She doesn’t ask me to be anyone else.”
Amina nodded. “That’s rare. I think I’ve only ever had… maybe one person like that.”
“Still around?” he asked gently.
“No,” she said. Then looked at him. “But maybe that’s not a bad thing anymore.”
Eli didn’t push.
A streetlamp flickered on behind them, washing her face in soft amber light. She didn’t look guarded in that moment — she looked… unarmoured. But not fragile.
He wanted to reach out, but didn’t. Not yet.
Instead, he said, “You make it easy to talk.”
Amina smiled, almost shy. “So do you.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was safe.
And sometimes, that was more than enough.
- Writer
