Whispers Of Hope: Light Between The Lines.
385 Words
Amara sat on the bus, her hands trembling slightly as she clutched her notebook. Outside, the sky was soft with the colors of evening dusty orange blending into pale lavender. Everything felt still, yet her heart thudded like a drum.
Today wasn’t like other days.
Today, she was going to share Evelyn’s story for the first time with someone other than herself.
The thought terrified her.
Her stop came. She stood, walked the narrow aisle, and stepped off into the quiet street where her favorite café sat tucked between a tailor shop and a small pharmacy. Inside, it smelled of cinnamon and fresh paper. Writers and readers lingered at tables, hunched over laptops and notebooks.
In the corner, sat Jide, one of the regulars. They’d exchanged brief conversations before usually about books or poems written on café napkins. But something about him always made her feel calm, like his presence didn’t demand anything.
She approached, holding her breath.
“Hey,” she said softly.
He looked up, surprised, then smiled. “Hey, Amara. You good?”
“I… I found something. I mean someone’s words. A story. And I think you’re the right person to hear it.”
Without waiting for a reply, she sat down and opened her notebook to one of Evelyn’s entries. Her voice shook as she began to read.
*“Some days, we exist in the margins too quiet for the world to hear, but not too broken to write...”
Jide listened, really listened. He didn’t interrupt. His eyes didn’t wander. And when she finished, he sat in silence for a moment before speaking.
“That’s beautiful,” he said. “And brave. You shared her voice , but I also heard yours in there.”
Amara looked down, blinking away tears.
“I think maybe… I’ve been hiding behind her words,” she admitted. “But the more I read, the more I see myself. And maybe it’s time I stop hiding.”
Jide nodded. “Maybe it’s time the world hears your voice too.”
Something shifted in her then a soft opening, like a bud turning toward the sun. She smiled for real, not the practiced kind she wore at work.
That night, back in her room, Amara added a new entry to her own notebook.
- Writer
