Chapter 4: The Unexpected Spark
761 Words
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I’ve always believed that friendships don’t happen in an instant. At least, not the kind that lasts.
So when I met Antonette, I didn’t expect her to stay.
She arrived one Tuesday morning, wearing a wrinkled school uniform too big for her and a scowl that could probably scare off a ghost. I was sitting at our usual breakfast table, slowly stirring my coffee substitute, when Sister Emma entered the dining hall with her.
“This is Antonette,” she introduced gently. “She’ll be staying with us from now on.”
The girls around me started whispering. New girls always drew attention, especially ones who looked like they didn’t want to be here.
Antonette didn’t say a word. She didn’t even look at anyone.
She just sat at the farthest end of the table, arms crossed, eyes on her tray.
I didn’t blame her. I used to look like that, too.
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Weeks passed.
She kept to herself. No one really talked to her much, except when the Sisters made us pair up for chores or group work at school. But even then, she was quiet. Defensive. Like a stray cat used to being kicked.
Until one afternoon in art class.
We were asked to make a poster about “Our Dream Life.” Most girls were cutting out magazine clippings of houses, dresses, cars. I was sketching a café — brick walls, hanging lights, cozy seats, and plants in corners. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt like home.
That’s when I felt someone sit beside me.
It was her.
Antonette.
“Is that your dream?” she asked, without even saying hello.
I blinked. “Yeah. I guess.”
“You’re into business or something?”
“A little.”
She tilted her head. “I thought you’d say something boring like ‘I want a family’ or ‘I want to be rich.’ But this…” She pointed at my sketch. “This is nice.”
I smiled, a little surprised. “Thanks.”
She smiled back.
And that was it — the spark.
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From that day on, Antonette kept sitting beside me. In class. At lunch. In the library. I didn’t mind. She talked a lot, but not in an annoying way — more like someone trying to make up for years of silence. Her stories were wild, sarcastic, hilarious. She swore too much for a girl raised by nuns, but it made me laugh. Actually laugh.
She started calling me Lia instead of Dahliana, saying “your full name sounds like a royalty with a stick up her butt.” I rolled my eyes, but secretly I liked it.
She called the Sisters “the holy squad.” She teased the boys at school like a pro. She got detention twice in one month and somehow convinced me to sneak her snacks while she was stuck in the study room.
She was a storm.
And maybe that’s why I liked her.
Because she made the silence less painful.
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One night, after study time, we snuck out to the rooftop of the orphanage.
Antonette brought chips. I brought a blanket.
We sat in silence for a while, looking at the stars.
Then she asked me, “Have you ever been really, really hurt by someone?”
I hesitated. “Yeah.”
“Me too,” she said. “People leave. That’s what they’re best at.”
I looked at her then, for real. And I saw it — the same kind of loneliness I carried.
So I told her.
About Adrienne. About the promise. About the shed and the drawings and the note I found.
And she didn’t laugh. She didn’t pity me.
She just leaned back and said, “You’ve been waiting for too long, Lia. It’s time to start living again.”
I didn’t know how to reply.
But something about that night changed everything.
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From then on, she became my person.
She made fun of my neat handwriting and obsessed over makeup even though we had none. She defended me when girls gossiped. She shared her bread when mine got cold. She reminded me that not all people who walk into your life are meant to leave.
And even when I tried to push her away — because sometimes, the fear of losing someone again felt unbearable — she stayed.
She always stayed.
So maybe, I thought, friendships don’t happen in an instant…
…but sometimes, all it takes is one spark and a girl bold enough to light it.
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- Writer
