The weeks after Amina’s February visit settled into something that almost felt like peace. The snow had mostly melted, leaving behind muddy patches and the first brave green shoots pushing through the ground along Maple Lane. Elias and I moved through our days with a quiet steadiness that still surprised us both. We no longer carried the constant low-grade fear that had lived in our chests for so long.
Amina had texted a few times since she went back to campus. Short messages, mostly. One about a paper she was struggling with. Another with a photo of the first crocuses blooming near her dorm. And one simple line that meant more than she probably realized: “The porch felt good this time. Thanks for letting me take it slow.”
Elias had read that message twice before setting his phone down.
