FOUR
999 Words
The orphanage was quiet.
That kind of quiet that didn’t comfort — it exposed.
The kind that made Amara hear everything too clearly… including herself.
She sat by the window in her small, boxy room, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped tight like she could keep the world out if she just held on hard enough.
Everyone else was asleep or pretending to be. We were all pretending here.
They had stopped asking if she was okay.
She had made it clear — she didn’t want pity.
But sometimes… sometimes she wished someone would ignore her words and try anyway.
Her fingers itched — not for a fight this time. For a pen. A verse. A melody.
Her voice was cracked from the yelling earlier, but still, she whispered the line to herself again:
"I will be still... and know You are God."
The silence that followed felt like a hug she wasn’t used to.
Not warm. Not cold. Just there.
She remembered the way that girl — Naia, she’d heard someone call her — had turned slightly after they sang, eyes soft with something close to wonder.
And Zayn...
His voice had surprised her.
Low. Controlled. Sad, almost.
It lingered in her chest longer than she liked.
But she had shut it all down.
Too dangerous to hope. Too dangerous to feel.
People always leave.
Even the ones who don’t mean to.
Still, a part of her — the part she never admitted to — wondered what it would feel like to belong.
Just once.
The morning light didn’t feel like a fresh start.
It felt like a spotlight — harsh and unwanted.
Amara moved through the school halls like a shadow.
Her hoodie was pulled low, headphones in with no music playing — just insulation.
Just silence, again.
She passed groups laughing near lockers, the scent of cheap perfume and overused body spray clinging to the air like a memory.
She didn’t make eye contact.
Not with Alia, who flared up the moment their paths nearly crossed.
Not with the teacher who gave her that same loaded glance — the kind that said “I feel sorry for you” and “You should be grateful” in the same breath.
She hated it.
She walked faster.
In the stairwell, she found her usual quiet spot — between the third and fourth floor — where the noise of the school faded just enough to breathe.
She pulled her knees up again like she had last night.
But this time, she didn’t cry.
She didn’t hum.
She just stared at the scuff marks on her sneakers.
And then—
“Rough morning?”
Zayn’s voice. Again.
He slid down against the wall beside her, leaving space, but close enough to count.
She didn’t look at him.
“Didn’t ask you to sit here,” she muttered.
“Didn’t ask you to fight Alia either, but you did that anyway.”
He said it with that low, flat voice.
Not mocking. Just real.
Amara swallowed, her jaw tightening.
She didn’t want to laugh… but it tugged at her lips anyway.
He didn’t push.
Didn’t prod.
Just sat with her.
And for once, she didn’t move away.
It was lunch hour, but Amara wasn’t in the cafeteria.
She’d found her way up to the rooftop — the spot no one cared about, where the sky felt close enough to touch, and the noise of school faded into the wind.
She didn’t expect anyone else.
Especially not Zayn, who appeared like he always did — calm, unreadable, and with that effortless presence that filled a space without trying.
“You really gotta stop following me.”
She said it like a warning.
But it didn’t hold heat.
Zayn shrugged, leaning back on his elbows, his cornrows neat and tight, hazel eyes fixed on the clouds.
“You’re not as unfindable as you think.”
Before she could reply, the rooftop door creaked open again.
Naia stumbled in, balancing two juice boxes and a sandwich wrapped in foil. Her hoodie sleeves were too long, and her smile lit up like she didn’t notice tension at all.
“Found you guys!” she grinned, then caught herself.
“I mean—sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude, I just—uh, rooftop vibes, right?”
Amara blinked.
Who the hell smiled like that before math?
Zayn smirked but didn’t speak.
Naia plopped down, cross-legged, offering a juice box like it was sacred peace.
“I brought extras. Don’t ask why. I panic-pack.”
Amara didn’t take it right away.
But eventually, she did. Silently.
There was something about Naia — soft, but not fragile.
Quirky, but in a real way. She had a habit of fidgeting with her sleeves and blurting random thoughts when it got too quiet.
“So…” Naia said after a while. “What’s your fatal flaw?”
Zayn raised a brow.
Amara stared.
“What?” Naia laughed. “You know — like in stories. Everyone’s got one. Me? I overthink everything. Like everything. Even now, I’m thinking if it was too weird to ask that.”
Zayn shook his head, amused.
“I don’t do flaws.”
“That is your flaw,” Amara muttered.
They all paused.
Then Zayn huffed something that was almost a laugh.
Naia looked at Amara curiously.
“And you?”
Amara looked away.
Her jaw clenched for a moment.
Then she said it — quietly.
“I push people away before they can walk out.”
Naia nodded like she didn’t think it was sad — just human.
“Okay,” she said softly.
“We’ll stay sitting, then,” she said as she sat cross-legged. The smile on her face was so warm that Amara could literally feel it.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.
It was warm as well.
And in that brief slice of time, Amara didn’t feel watched, or pitied, or other.
She just felt… seen.
- Writer
