The light in the dark

Outside the university, Amara felt a rare sense of happiness. It was a fragile kind of joy, built carefully around the little moments that gave her strength. The warmth of Leah's friendship, the comforting messages from her mysterious stranger, and the quiet solace she found in the bookstore. For once, she had something to hold onto.

But inside the university, she was nothing more than a target. A joke. A stain on their perfect, privileged world. The students whispered behind her back, sneered when she walked past. They mocked her clothes, her past, her very existence. Some took pleasure in reminding her of her family's tragedy, throwing cruel comments her way as if it were their right to do so.

"Guess it runs in the family," one of them sneered as she passed by the courtyard. "Her father took the easy way out, maybe she should too."

She clenched her fists, but she didn't stop walking. She didn't give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

At least she had Leah.

A Friend in the Storm

After her shift at the bookstore, Amara leaned against the counter, exhaustion tugging at her limbs. Leah, her new friend and co-worker, handed her a cup of warm tea, her blue eyes filled with concern.

"You look like you need this more than me," Leah said.

Amara gave her a tired smile, wrapping her hands around the cup. "Thanks. Long day."

Leah sat beside her, her expression softening. "You don't have to pretend with me, you know. I see how they treat you at that university."

Amara looked away, staring at the shelves lined with books. "It's nothing new."

"It's not nothing," Leah said firmly. "You deserve better."

Amara sighed. "I don't know if I deserve anything at this point."

Leah placed a hand on hers. "Well, I do. And I'm not going to let them break you."

Amara felt a lump form in her throat. It had been so long since anyone had stood by her side, unwavering. "You're really something, you know that?" she whispered.

Leah grinned. "I try."

The bookstore had become more than just a job. It was a refuge. A quiet escape where the weight of her past didn't press as heavily on her shoulders. And for the first time in years, she had a friend who saw her for more than just the tragedy attached to her name.

One morning, on her way to the university, Amara took a different path. She wasn't sure why—maybe she was just tired, maybe her feet carried her there on their own. But before she realized it, she was standing in front of her old house.

The house where she had once lived with her parents. Where laughter used to fill the air. Where warmth used to exist.

But now, it was empty. A hollow shell of what it used to be. The windows were covered in dust, the garden overgrown. She could still see the faint outline of the swing her father had built for her. She could almost hear her mother's laughter.

She closed her eyes, letting the memories wash over her.

"Sentimental, aren't we?"

A voice shattered her thoughts, sending a cold chill down her spine.

She turned sharply, and there he was.

Victor Aldridge.

The man responsible for everything. Her father's downfall, her family's destruction. He stood there, dressed in a tailored suit, his sharp eyes watching her like a predator sizing up its prey.

"What do you want?" she forced out, trying to keep her voice steady.

Victor smirked. "I should be asking you that. You keep coming back to things that don't belong to you anymore."

Her fingers curled into fists. "This was my home."

"And now it's just another piece of the past," he said smoothly. "Much like your father. Much like everything you lost."

Amara felt her breath hitch. He always knew how to strike where it hurt the most.

"Why are you here?" she asked, her voice quieter now.

Victor took a step closer, his presence suffocating. "Because I enjoy watching people like you struggle. You're stubborn, Amara, but that will only get you so far."

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "I don't need your advice."

"Maybe not." His smirk widened. "But you will, eventually."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there, shaken and breathless.

She hated him.

But more than that—she hated the part of her that still felt weak in front of him.

The next day, as Amara walked through the university courtyard, a familiar voice called out behind her.

"Well, look who it is," a smug voice sneered. One of the wealthier students, Max, and his group of followers approached, smirking. "Where's your beggar's cup today?"

Amara tensed, gripping the strap of her bag.

Leah suddenly stepped beside her, arms crossed. "Is that the best you've got? Insulting someone to make up for your lack of personality?"

Max's smirk faltered. "Who the hell are you?"

"Someone with a functioning brain, unlike you," Leah shot back. "Now, move along before I report you for harassment."

Max looked between them, sneering, but eventually backed off with a muttered insult.

Amara exhaled, looking at Leah in shock. "You didn't have to do that."

Leah shrugged. "Friends stand up for each other. Get used to it."

For the first time in years, Amara felt a little less alone.

That night, Amara returned home, the small apartment filled with the soft hum of the rain outside. She changed into something comfortable, made herself a simple meal, and curled up on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

It was strange, this feeling of hope. A small, flickering light inside her that refused to go out.

Her phone vibrated beside her. She reached for it, already knowing who it was.

Stranger: Long day?

She smiled, fingers gliding over the keyboard.

Amara: Surprisingly… not terrible.

Stranger: I should mark this day in history.

Amara: Oh, shut up.

Stranger: I'm serious. What happened? Did the universe finally decide to stop screwing you over?

Amara: Maybe just for today. I made a friend.

There was a pause before the next message came.

Stranger: A real one?

She hesitated, then typed.

Amara: Yeah. A real one.

Stranger: That's good. You deserve that.

She bit her lip, warmth spreading through her chest.

Their conversation flowed easily, slipping into something light, teasing, even playful. And for the first time in a long while, she fell asleep with a quiet smile on her lips.