A hope
The screen glowed faintly in Amara’s hand, the last message staring back at her like an open wound.
Last seen: weeks ago.
She traced the words with her thumb, as if doing so could erase the silence that had grown heavier with every passing day. Her heart ached with questions, with the longing to feel chosen, to feel like she wasn’t waiting in vain. Yet there it was—the absence of him, stretching wider than the distance itself.
Still, she held on. To the hope. To the possibility that maybe tomorrow would be different. That maybe Adrian would reach out.
Her room was dim, the curtains half-drawn, letting the last rays of sunset slip across the floor. The world outside seemed alive—distant chatter from the street, children laughing, a motorcycle passing by—but inside, it felt unbearably quiet.
A voice broke through the silence.
“Amara, dinner’s ready,” her mother called from the hallway.
She quickly slipped her phone under the pillow, as though hiding a guilty secret, and forced herself to leave the comfort of her solitude.
At the dining table, the familiar smell of spices and fresh bread filled the room. Her mother had already served the food, while her father sat at the head of the table, his presence still carrying the authority that once frightened her. Luca, her younger brother, sat opposite her, his sharp eyes studying her carefully.
“You’re eating too little again,” her mother said softly, placing another piece of bread on Amara’s plate.
“I’m fine,” Amara whispered, though the words held no strength. She pushed the bread around, her appetite gone before the meal even began.
Her father’s brow furrowed. “You’ve grown pale, Amara. You need to take care of yourself.” His voice wasn’t harsh—not anymore—but there was a weight in his tone that lingered. For years he had given his affection, his approval, his praise to Damien—her cousin—while she and Luca had only received his disappointment. That history was hard to erase, even now, when he tried to be gentler.
Luca leaned forward, his voice cutting through the tension. “You’re not fine. We can see it.”
His words stung because they were true. She wasn’t fine. But how could she explain the storm inside her? That the ache in her chest wasn’t something a warm meal could fix, or that no amount of concern at this table could touch the emptiness Adrian’s silence had left behind?
She lowered her gaze to her plate, wishing she could swallow the truth as easily as food.
After dinner, she excused herself quietly, retreating back into the dim glow of her room. She closed the door, her heart pounding as though she had been running. The phone lay waiting where she had left it. She grabbed it instantly, the hope returning like a cruel trick.
Maybe he had messaged while she was gone. Maybe there was a missed call. Maybe—
Nothing.
Her screen stared back blankly, the same cruel silence.
Her chest tightened, but she held the phone close, as if the cold device could fill the hollow in her heart. Because despite everything, despite Damien’s poisonous whispers, despite Adrian’s distance, despite her family’s worry—she clung to one fragile truth.
Hope.
It was all she had. And for now, it was enough to keep her waiting.
