You're Not Alone

Zuri didn't move for a long time after the call ended.

Her thumb hovered over the screen, not ready to let it go dark. Not ready to be alone with the stillness he'd left behind.

She stared at the blank ceiling above her bed, but her mind was full—his voice, that café, her quote, their silence.

She hadn't meant to let it matter this much. But it did. It already did.

Somewhere down the hall, someone laughed too loudly. A door slammed. Life went on.

She exhaled and finally put the phone aside, brushing her thumb over the bedsheet as if she could smooth the ache in her chest. Something about him had made her feel seen. Really seen.

And that terrified her.

Zuri slid out of bed and walked barefoot to the kitchen, her heart still beating like it had secrets. She didn't bother with the light. She knew the path.

When the kettle clicked, she poured hot water over a teabag and sat on the floor, knees drawn to her chest, mug between her palms.

The steam curled up from her mug like a quiet promise. Her phone buzzed again on the counter.

She glanced over. Ms. Ama. Her foster mother.

Zuri smiled softly and picked up.

"Zuri! How's my favorite star student doing today?"

"Busy, but managing," Zuri replied, settling against the wall. "And you? Still running the whole world?"

Ms. Ama laughed warmly. "Almost. You know how it is—board meetings, lectures, and somehow squeezing in my gardening. It's my sanity."

Zuri imagined Ms. Ama's garden bursting with color, a stark contrast to her own small apartment.

"I wish I had your energy," Zuri said. "Sometimes I feel like the days just slip away."

"Ah, that's why you have to steal moments for yourself," Ms. Ama said. "A cup of tea, a good book, even a little dance in the kitchen. It's those tiny rebellions that keep us sane."

Zuri chuckled. "I'm more of a sit-and-stare type."

"That works too," Ms. Ama replied. "But hey, if there's anything you need—books, supplies, or even a listening ear—you just say the word, okay?"

Zuri's chest warmed at the offer.

"Thank you, Ms. Ama. That means a lot."

"Always, Zuri. Now, get some rest. Tomorrow's another day to chase those dreams."

Zuri ended the call, feeling the gentle kindness of Ms. Ama's voice wrap around her like a soft blanket. Somehow, the weight pressing on her chest felt lighter—like she wasn't carrying everything alone anymore.

The apartment was still and quiet again, but it no longer felt empty. The slow ticking of the clock, the distant hum of the city outside—they were small reminders that life kept moving, even when she felt stuck.

She moved to her desk and pulled out her well-worn notebook, the corners softened from months of quiet thoughts and late-night musings. The pen felt steady in her hand, comforting like an old friend.

With a slow breath, she began to write.

Today was heavier than I expected. His voice lingers in my mind—soft, real, like a secret only I hold. I'm scared of what it means to be truly seen, to let someone in so completely. But maybe… maybe that's the first step to healing.

Ms. Ama called, too. She reminded me I'm not alone, that people care and want to help. It's strange how a few kind words can shift the weight of a whole day.

Tomorrow, I'll try to hold onto these little moments—the quiet warmth of tea, a deep breath, a smile to myself. Maybe those are the small pieces that keep me moving forward.

She closed the notebook carefully and placed it on her bedside table, her fingers lingering on the cover. The world outside dimmed softly as sleep wrapped around her.

And as her eyes fluttered closed, she held onto a fragile hope—the kind that feels like a whisper in the dark, promising that maybe, just maybe, tomorrow would be a little brighter.