The first word I learned was Salmira.
A greeting, I think.
People say it every morning when they pass each other.
Simple, soft.
It stuck.
But it was still strange.
I'd followed these girls for months.
They didn't know my name.
And I didn't know theirs.
"Cassian," I said suddenly while brushing one of the horses.
One of them, the quieter, peeked over the horse's back.
The other froze beside me.
They stared.
I repeated it. "Cassian."
I pointed to my chest.
Over and over.
"My. Name. Is. Cassian."
They didn't flinch.
Didn't laugh.
They just looked at each other—then back at me.
And then, softly:
"Noura."
"Yasmin."
Both names at once.
They understood.
I smiled.
Maybe for the first time in forever.
Noura and Yasmin.
Sweet.
Gentle.
Real.
This life… suited me.
Somehow.
I didn't feel the same ache, the same heaviness.
Not like before.
The dreams of Luca still came, but they were softer now—
Echoes instead of screams.
Is it wrong for me to feel okay?
To smile?
To laugh, even just a little?
Shouldn't I be grieving?
Shouldn't I be broken?
What would Luca think?
Would he be disappointed?
Or… would he be happy for me?
"Hayin!" Yasmin shouted suddenly.
I blinked.
I'd been scrubbing too hard. The fabric tore in my hands.
She slapped my wrist—light, annoyed—and pointed at the ripped cloth.
I winced.
Then Noura splashed water at her.
Yasmin shrieked and retaliated.
Soap and water flew everywhere.
They started play-fighting like sisters.
And for some reason…
I smiled.
Not because it was funny.
Not because it was innocent.
But because it was real.
These plain, forgettable memories…
They're the ones I want to remember most.
My daily life didn't change for months.
Every morning, the same tasks. The same rhythm.
But something did change—
Me.
I'd picked up basic pronunciation, even whole phrases.
The language was still complex, especially the longer words, but I could understand most of what people said now.
Speaking? Still rough. But I was getting there.
While digging near the vegetable beds one afternoon, Noura broke the silence.
"Cassian," she asked suddenly, brushing her hands on her apron, "what is the other world like?"
I stopped digging.
Rested my weight on the butt end of the shovel.
"It's… more. New," I said, struggling to find the words.
Even in English, I wouldn't have known how to explain it.
She tilted her head. "What does that mean?"
I frowned, thinking.
"A lot of inventions?" I offered slowly.
"We had tools—machines—you could talk to someone far away. Like… across oceans. In one second."
Her eyes widened a little.
"And… many other things. But to me, that world…" I paused.
Searching.
"It was… complicated."
I wasn't sure if I said it right.
But I meant it.
"Wow. Interesting!" Noura said with wide eyes.
"But I have a question, too."
"What is it, Cass?"
That stopped me.
Cass?
Only Luca ever called me that.
No one else should.
It's not fair.
Not to him.
"Don't call me Cass!" I snapped without thinking.
Everyone nearby turned to look.
Piercing stares.
Noura flinched. "Oh… I'm sorry…" she said softly, clearly confused.
"Why not…?" she asked, hesitating.
"I… I can't talk about that."
It was all I could say.
She didn't speak to me again for the rest of the day.
Then the next.
Then, the following week.
Yasmin stopped sitting with me.
She stopped walking beside me.
What did I do wrong?
Yeah, I snapped.
But was it that bad?
Apparently, yes.
It didn't matter anymore.
Because no matter what I do—
I'm always the one at fault.
I am garbage.
The words roared through my skull.
I screamed them inside but couldn't release them.
Instead, I slammed the shovel down—
Hard.
Too hard.
It cracked. Splintered.
One jagged piece pierced clean between my thumb and index finger.
"FUCK!" I shouted in English.
Blood spilled fast, sliding down my wrist onto the soil.
I just stood there, staring.
I didn't feel it.
Not the pain. Not anything.
Then, a flick hit the back of my head.
"You have to be careful, Cassian," Yasmin spoke from behind.
She grabbed my wrist gently, inspecting the injury.
I blinked at her. Shocked.
Not by the pain—
But by her voice.
"I don't feel it," I muttered.
"You don't have to act tough around me, idiot," Yasmin snapped—frustrated, but not unkind.
Before I could respond, she yanked me lightly—but firmly—behind the manor, toward a bench tucked in the shade.
"This'll hurt."
"What will—"
Before I could finish, she grabbed my wrist and pulled the splinter straight out from between my fingers.
I didn't scream. I didn't even flinch.
"Didn't that hurt?" she asked, surprised.
"No. No, it didn't."
"So you are tough." She chuckled, though her eyes searched mine for something else.
She crouched down beside me, pulling a cloth from beneath her long dress. She dipped it into a clean bucket of water, wrung it out gently, and then started wrapping it around my hand with surprising care.
I stared at her.
Too long.
Her brown hair caught the sunlight. Her eyes—dark and kind—focused on tying the bandage.
"Do I have something on my face or something?" she teased, not looking up.
I turned away quickly, embarrassed to be caught staring.
"Aww, are you blushing? Hehe~"
"Stop messing around, Yasmin," I said, trying not to smile.
But then I dropped it.
The smile.
The wall.
"I'm sorry I yelled at Noura…"
She didn't answer right away. Just kept wrapping.
"I just… the name. It belonged to someone I lost."
"I know," she said softly.
"You didn't have to say it. I saw it in your face. And listen—you don't owe anyone your past.
But… if you can help it, don't bleed on the people who didn't cut you."
"I know. I know."
I looked down, not wanting another lecture—but grateful.
We sat there.
Staring.
Then—suddenly—she leaned forward.
Not fast. Not dramatic.
Just… close.
She brushed her lips to mine.
Quick. Warm. Quiet.
It wasn't passion.
It wasn't even romance.
It was an offering.
A silent, I see you.
When she pulled back, she smiled faintly.
"Now go apologize to Noura. Not me."
"I… I understand."
She tied the last knot in the bandage and helped me to my feet.
"It better be a good apology, too," she added, poking my cheek.
Then she stepped forward—pressed against me for a second—and rested her head on my shoulder.
"No matter what," she whispered, "I'm here for you."
It wasn't romantic.
It was something closer.
Like family.
Like safety.
And when she let go—
I wanted to hold on.
Then—commotion.