Amara stopped trusting the quiet.
It followed her now, thick and watchful, like something alive. Even when the house was empty, she felt observed not by eyes, but by presence. The walls seemed closer at night. The shadows lingered longer than they should.
She stopped turning on the light right away.
Instead, she sat on her bed in the dark, listening to her own breathing, waiting to see if the air would move again without her permission.
It did.
The first time, it was subtle. Her notebook slid an inch across the floor. The second time, her bedroom door creaked shut on its own. Each time her fear rose, so did the movement, as if the world around her were tied directly to her pulse.
She began to understand the rule.
Emotion came first.
Power followed.
At school, she grew careful. Too careful. She swallowed every reaction, locked every feeling behind her ribs. When Selam laughed loudly, Amara smiled faintly. When a teacher snapped at her, she nodded and said nothing. When someone brushed past her shoulder too hard, she pretended she hadn't noticed.
But suppression had consequences.
Her dreams changed.
She dreamed of standing in a room with no doors, no windows only mirrors. Hundreds of them. Every reflection showed her differently: angry, crying, smiling too wide. And then there was one mirror that showed something else entirely.
A darker version of her.
It moved when she didn't.
"You can't keep me buried," the reflection whispered.
Amara woke with a scream lodged in her throat, heart racing, hands shaking. Her shadow stretched unnaturally across the wall, bending toward her like it was listening.
She pulled her knees to her chest and stayed that way until morning.
Luca noticed first.
He always did.
They sat beside each other in history class, the teacher droning on about forgotten wars. Luca didn't look at the board. He looked at her.
"You're disappearing," he murmured.
She stiffened. "What?"
"You're here," he said, tapping the desk softly, "but you're not really here."
She clenched her jaw. "You're imagining things."
"Maybe," he said. Then, quieter, "But when I imagine things, they usually don't look like they're about to break."
She finally met his eyes. Something in her expression must have scared him, because his voice softened.
"You don't have to tell me," he added. "Just… don't be alone with it."
The words stayed with her long after the bell rang.
That afternoon, Selam confronted her.
"You've been weird," Selam said, arms crossed, standing too close. "You don't text back. You don't talk. You barely look at me anymore."
Amara felt the familiar pressure building in her chest. Panic. Guilt. Fear. The lockers behind her rattled faintly.
"I'm fine," she snapped.
A locker door slammed shut on its own.
They both froze.
Selam's eyes widened. "Did you see that?"
Amara's heart dropped.
"I someone probably kicked it," she said too quickly.
But Selam was already stepping back. "Amara… what's going on with you?"
"I said I'm fine!"
The lights flickered.
Amara gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth. Students turned to stare. Whispers rippled through the hallway like a spreading infection.
She ran.
She didn't stop until she reached the abandoned stairwell near the gym the one no one used because the lights barely worked. She slid down against the wall, sobbing now, chest heaving.
"I don't want this," she whispered. "Please."
The air shifted.
Her shadow detached from her feet.
It stretched upward, crawling along the wall until it stood tall, almost human. Its edges rippled like smoke. When it spoke, it sounded like her voice but stripped of fear.
"You called me," it said.
She shook her head violently. "No. I didn't."
"You did," it replied. "Every time you swallowed your anger. Every time you pretended you weren't hurting."
Tears streamed down her face. "I'm scared."
"So am I," the shadow said gently. "But I'm tired of hiding."
Footsteps echoed above.
The shadow melted back into place just as Luca appeared at the top of the stairs. He stopped when he saw her, eyes wide with concern.
"Amara," he said softly.
She looked up at him, broken and exposed.
"I think," she whispered, voice trembling, "there's something inside me that doesn't want to be quiet anymore."
He didn't step back.
He sat beside her, close enough to feel real.
"Then maybe," he said, "it's time you stopped pretending it isn't there."
For the first time, she didn't feel completely alone.
But somewhere deep inside her, something smiled.