The market incident clung to Adaora like smoke.
Even after she showered and changed clothes, she could still hear the song echoing in her mind, cruel and sweet all at once. Each note pressed against her chest like a bruise. She curled into the couch, staring at the blank television screen. Hours seemed to bleed into one another, and the world outside moved forward while she sat suspended in grief.
Adriella perched on the armrest, her eyes studying Adaora with quiet determination. She had seen her friend in this dark valley too many times. Normally, she would speak gentle words or cook something comforting, but today she sensed words alone would not be enough.
"Come with me," Adriella said suddenly, hopping to her feet.
Adaora blinked slowly. "Where?"
Adriella offered a mischievous smile. "You'll see. Just trust me."
"I don't have the strength—"
"You don't need strength. Just shoes. And maybe a little stubbornness."
Before Adaora could protest again, Adriella bent down, slipped her sandals toward her, and tugged her to her feet. With Adriella's hand gripping hers firmly, Adaora allowed herself to be led out of the apartment, down the stairs, and into the waiting evening air.
The sky was bruised purple with the coming dusk. The air smelled faintly of roasted plantains from a nearby stall and wet earth promising rain. They walked in silence, Adriella pulling her forward like a woman with a secret mission.
After several minutes, they reached a small, bustling park a few streets away. Children squealed on the swings, their laughter ringing out like bells. Teenagers kicked a ball across the dusty grass, their energy filling the air with life. Elderly men played draughts under a broad mango tree, slapping pieces against the board and arguing cheerfully.
Adaora frowned. "What are we doing here?"
Adriella grinned. "Joy hunting."
"Joy… hunting?" Adaora repeated, skeptical.
"Yes. You've been surviving. Today, we hunt. We don't go home until you find at least one thing that makes you smile."
Adaora sighed, half-exasperated. "You're ridiculous."
"Ridiculously right." Adriella looped her arm through Adaora's and pulled her toward the swings.
They sat side by side, the chains groaning softly as they swayed. At first, Adaora felt nothing—the numbness still heavy in her chest. But Adriella began to pump her legs, swinging higher, her braids flying back in the breeze, laughter spilling out of her unrestrained. She leaned dangerously far to the side, waving her arms dramatically as if about to tumble.
"Don't you dare laugh," Adriella warned between giggles, her swing wobbling.
Adaora's lips twitched. And then—unexpected, cracked, small—a laugh escaped her. It startled her, like a bird breaking free from a cage.
"There it is!" Adriella shouted triumphantly, slowing down her swing and pointing at Adaora. "Proof of life!"
Adaora shook her head, covering her mouth, but the laughter lingered in her chest like an aftertaste of something sweet.
They wandered from the swings to the small food stalls nearby. A vendor roasted corn over glowing embers, the smoky aroma filling the air. Adriella bought two, pressing one into Adaora's hand. The kernels crackled beneath their teeth, warm and grounding. They sat on a low concrete wall, chewing in silence.
For the first time in weeks, Adaora felt anchored in the present. Not dragged backward into memory. Not hurled forward into fear of the future. Just here—smoke, corn, laughter, sky.
She let her gaze wander. A little boy tried to fly a paper kite, his arms stretched wide, stumbling in the grass. Each time the kite dipped, he shouted, "Again! Again!" with relentless hope. Adaora's throat tightened. There was something about his persistence that reminded her of herself—not in her brokenness, but in the part of her that still wanted to live, despite it all.
"See?" Adriella nudged her shoulder. "The world still has sweetness in it. You just have to collect it in small handfuls."
Adaora's eyes glistened. "But what happens when the sweetness fades and the ache comes back?"
"Then we hunt again," Adriella said simply. "You don't have to be happy all at once. Healing isn't a single sunrise. It's fireflies in the dark. Tiny sparks that remind you night won't last forever."
Adaora swallowed hard, staring at the horizon as the sun dipped lower, spilling orange and violet into the clouds. Her throat ached—not from tears this time, but from the swell of gratitude pressing against her ribs.
"Thank you," she whispered, voice breaking.
Adriella reached out, squeezing her hand tight. "Always."
For the first time since her world had shattered, Adaora felt it—a flicker of joy. Small, fleeting, but real. And it was enough to keep her breathing, enough to whisper to her spirit: you are not lost forever.