Tracy.....
The school bell rang, and just like that, the hallway filled with the usual noise — slamming lockers, low murmurs, footsteps going nowhere quickly.
I walked slower than usual.
Laila had already gone ahead to the science lab. She always arrived early, always sat at the far end of the table. Always calm. I envied that about her — the stillness she wore like skin.
I was halfway down the hall when I heard it.
"Maybe she's converting," someone snorted.
I turned.
Sarah. Of course.
She leaned against her locker, arms folded, eyes narrowed in my direction. "You and the hijabi — getting close, aren't you?"
There was a laugh. A few others nodded. Peter was there too.
I felt heat crawl up my neck. "It's just a project."
Sarah tilted her head. "Right. Projects don't last forever, though. But feelings? They leave marks."
My stomach flipped.
I could've defended Laila. Could've said she wasn't like what they thought. That she was quiet, yes, but smart. Gentle. Easy to talk to, even in silence.
But I didn't.
I just gave a half-smile and walked away.
---
In class, Laila looked up when I slid into my seat beside her. Her eyes lingered on me a second longer than usual.
"Everything okay?" she asked, softly.
I nodded too quickly. "Fine."
She didn't press. Just returned to her notebook.
And for the rest of the period, I watched the way her hand moved across the page — neat, purposeful, left-handed — like she knew exactly who she was and didn't need to apologize for it.
---
That night, I sat in my room with the window open, the sound of frogs echoing in the distant pond.
I stared at the ceiling and thought of what Sarah said. About feelings leaving marks.
I didn't have feelings. Not really.
Just curiosity. Just… questions.
And one of them had a name.
Laila.
---