One morning, something in the air had changed. It felt thick with silence, as if the day itself was holding its breath. I stood in the kitchen, peeling oranges, when my mum's hesitant voice echoed from the hallway.
"Tasha Sweetheart, is everything okay?"
Tasha didn't answer right away. She stood by the door with her phone in one hand, her backpack hanging limp from her shoulder. Her face was pale; eyes glazed over like she'd just seen a ghost. I turned towards her, a slice of orange paused halfway to my mouth.
She looked at me, then the floor, then back at me. Her voice barely carried. "My aunt is coming back. Today."
I blinked. "From New York?"
She nodded. "She just called me from the airport. She's coming straight from the hospital."
That name hadn't come up in months. Aunt Miriam, the reason Tasha had been living with us in the first place. She'd been too sick to care for anyone, which meant Tasha had found herself dropped into our home, into our lives… into mine.
I swallowed hard. "Is she okay?"
"She's… recovering. Still weak. She said she needs someone to stay with her. Just until she's better." Tasha's voice cracked at the edges. "She wants me to come home."
I didn't say anything. I couldn't.
"I don't want to go," she whispered. "Not yet. I was just starting to feel normal here. Like I belonged."
I moved toward her. "You do belong."
She gave a sad smile. "That's what makes this so hard."
The day Aunt Miriam returned was unusually quiet. Even the wind seemed to hush itself. Tasha didn't say anything when she walked through the front door after school. She lowered her bag beside the table, kicked off her shoes, and sat at the edge of the couch like she didn't know where she belonged anymore.
I remained in the kitchen. Orange peels stacked like tiny boats in the sink. I heard her come in, but I didn't budge. I waited. She hovered at the doorway, caught between two lives: one she had begun to cherish and one she felt obligated to return to.
"My aunt is back," she said at last.
I turned slowly. "From New York?"
"She came straight from the hospital. She's still recovering, but she wants me home. They say she shouldn't be alone."
I leaned back against the counter, heart sinking. "So you're leaving?"
She nodded, eyes downcast. "Tomorrow."
Tomorrow. It didn't seem possible. Everything we'd shared; the quiet mornings, the inside jokes, the closeness that didn't need words was suddenly on borrowed time.
That night, Mum helped her fold clothes into a small suitcase. I stood in the doorway, not ready to step in. Not ready to let go.
Mum glanced at me over her shoulder. "It's just temporary, love."
Tasha gave a faint smile. "That's what they all say."
Later, after everyone else had gone to bed, she slipped into my room. The moonlight caught her face, softening it.
"Can I sit?"
I nodded.
She perched on the edge of the bed, her eyes flicking around my room like she was memorizing it.
"It doesn't feel real," she whispered.
"Because it shouldn't be. It feels wrong."
She looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers. "You made this house feel like something I never had. I didn't realize how much I needed it until I had to leave it."
I swallowed hard and slid closer. She rested her head on my shoulder, and for a long time, we said nothing. We didn't need to.
The next morning arrived shrouded in grey clouds and stillness. None of us moved quickly. Aunt Miriam came just after breakfast. She looked better, though fragile, her scarf wrapped tightly around her neck. Her eyes softened when they landed on Tasha.
"Thanks for taking care of her," she said to my mum.
"She's part of us now," Mum replied, her voice thick.
Tasha hugged my sister, then my mum. When she turned to me, I didn't wait. I wrapped my arms around her like I could stop time.
"Don't disappear on me," I whispered.
"I won't," she whispered back into my neck. "I promise."