June arrived warm and slow. The lilacs had faded, but the air around the house still carried their memory in the evenings. Elias and I had fallen into a rhythm that felt almost peaceful. We worked during the day, cooked together at night, and spent long stretches on the porch talking about small things and occasionally the bigger ones. The house no longer felt like it was holding its breath.
Amina had been back at school for nearly a month. She texted more regularly now — not every day, but often enough that we no longer worried she was disappearing. One message in particular had stayed with both of us:
Amina: I’ve been thinking about what we talked about. I’m still not ready to make any decisions. But I don’t want to keep treating it like something we can only talk about in tiny, carefu
