It's strange how a new place can start to feel like home—not because of the furniture or the smell of cinnamon in the air, but because of what isn't there.
No shouting.
No slamming doors.
No silence used as punishment.
I still wasn't used to it.
Waking up without bracing for something bad to happen. Eating breakfast without my stomach in knots. Looking in the mirror and not flinching.
I didn't feel like myself.
But maybe that was a good thing.
Because the girl I used to be… she was still in survival mode.
Now, I was starting to live.
Mrs. Langley offered to drop me at school that morning, but I chose to walk.
I needed the air.
The space between each step felt like freedom.
And with each breath, the world seemed just a little softer.
When I arrived at school, Aariz was already waiting outside the gate.
He leaned against the wall like always—hands in his jacket pockets, hood half-pulled up, pretending he didn't care who saw him.
But when our eyes met, he smiled.
That small, crooked smile that always reached his eyes.
"Morning," he said.
"Morning," I replied, and for the first time in a long time, it didn't feel like a lie.
At lunch, we sat under the tree behind the gym again.
Our usual spot.
Except now, it didn't feel hidden. It felt ours.
I bit into the apple I brought, then caught him staring at me.
"What?" I asked.
"You're different," he said.
"Different how?"
He tilted his head slightly. "You're breathing easier. Smiling more."
"Don't get used to it," I teased. "I'm still haunted."
He grinned. "Yeah. But now you're a haunted girl with backup."
That made me laugh.
And for the first time, the sound didn't feel borrowed.
After school, we walked together to the edge of the block where Mrs. Langley usually picked me up.
But this time, I didn't get in the car.
I turned to Aariz and said, "Do you wanna come over?"
His eyebrows rose slightly. "You sure?"
"She's home. Mrs. Langley. It's safe."
He nodded. "Then yeah. Let's go."
The house looked the same as it did yesterday—clean porch, potted lavender, wind chime whispering in the breeze. But it felt different now that he was beside me.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside.
Mrs. Langley poked her head out from the kitchen.
Her eyes fell on Aariz, and she smiled gently.
"You must be the boy who walks her halfway to school every day," she said.
Aariz cleared his throat. "Guilty."
"You staying for dinner?"
"I—uh—" He glanced at me. "If that's okay?"
She shrugged. "I'm making pasta. It's impossible to mess up. You're welcome."
He smiled. "Thanks."
Then she disappeared back into the kitchen, humming to herself.
That was the kind of adult I wished I had growing up.
The kind who didn't ask too many questions… just made you feel like you belonged.
We went to my room.
Aariz stood near the desk, hands still in his pockets, like he wasn't sure where to sit.
"You can breathe," I said, amused. "This isn't a trap."
He smirked, sat on the edge of my bed.
I sat next to him.
And for a moment, the air between us felt charged.
Not in a bad way.
But in a way that made me aware of everything—the space between us, the way his fingers brushed mine by accident, the sound of our breathing syncing without us even trying.
Then I whispered, "Do you know how long it's been since someone made me feel safe?"
He looked at me, eyes soft. "You don't have to thank me."
"I'm not thanking you."
"Oh?"
"I'm warning you."
He blinked. "Warning me?"
I nodded. "I'm not whole, Aariz. I'm still figuring out who I am without all the fear. I mess up. I get quiet. I push people away. Sometimes I panic over nothing."
"I know."
"And?"
"And I'll be here anyway."
That did it.
The words, the warmth in his voice, the steadiness in his gaze.
I leaned in before I could second-guess it.
Our foreheads touched.
Not a kiss.
Just closeness.
Raw. Real.
"I'm not ready," I whispered.
"I can wait," he whispered back.
And in that moment, his silence didn't scare me.
It held me.
Mrs. Langley called us down for dinner, and for the first time, I saw Aariz trying to act normal.
He sat at the table awkwardly, trying not to spill his water, clearly unused to the "polite guest" role.
Mrs. Langley told stories about her two cats—both named after Lord of the Rings characters—and complained about her neighbor's obsession with windchimes.
It was so normal that I wanted to cry.
Not because I was sad.
But because this was what I'd been craving all along.
Safety. Laughter. A table that didn't tremble from tension.
After dinner, Aariz helped me wash the dishes.
We stood shoulder to shoulder at the sink.
"I'm not used to this," he said.
"Washing dishes?"
"No," he smirked. "Feeling like I belong somewhere."
I looked at him.
"You do."
When it was time for him to leave, we stood on the porch a little longer than we needed to.
The stars were starting to peek out, shy behind clouds.
He stuffed his hands back in his jacket. "You okay?"
"I'm getting there."
He smiled. "One step at a time."
"Baby steps," I added.
Then, without thinking, I leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
Quick. Soft. Brave.
He blinked. "Was that part of your healing plan?"
"Improvising," I said with a smirk.
He laughed. "I like this version of you."
"Which one?"
"The one that lets people in."
When I returned to my room, I pulled out my journal.
Wrote something new.
"Healing doesn't look like fireworks or epiphanies."
"It looks like dinner with someone who sees you."
"It feels like letting your guard down… and realizing the world didn't end."
"It sounds like a heartbeat next to yours—steady, soft, and real."