Buried Messages

On my trip back home, I couldn’t help but recall Aya’s radiant smile, the way her eyes had sparkled under the porch light as she held the bookmark close. It was one of those moments that felt like it could tie me down, keep me on the ground, no matter how chaotic my days got.

Aya’s quiet strength, her unassuming warmth. It was always going to be a reminder of why I kept juggling all these connections, why I couldn’t let any of them slip through my fingers.

The evening air was quite cool because of the cloudy sky as I walked toward the train station. The streets were silent as the pedestrians dwindled, as well as the lack of cars passing by and the distant bark of a dog.

Upon taking my seat on the train, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out to find a string of messages from the separate group chat that the girls added me to, reading about how they messed with each other.