“I’m not trying to win you over with some stupid dessert, but I heard you were meeting up with Aly today. She told us she got you lunch again. I wanted to be a part of it, so I dropped by the bakery this morning. I don’t know what you like, but I got a little blueberry muffin for you,” she said, softly, almost too quiet for me to catch. “I’m not doing this to force you to do anything, but Layla and I will be waiting.”
I blinked down at the little paper bag in her hand, my throat tightening. A muffin. Something so small, so ordinary, yet it felt like the heaviest thing I’d ever been offered.
People didn’t do this for me. Not unless they wanted something in return. Not unless it was a setup for the punchline later. But she wasn’t smirking. She wasn’t teasing. She was just… waiting. Almost like I was the one who had the power to embarrass her instead of the other way around.
I didn’t know what to do with that.
I pressed my lips together, lowering my gaze back to the bag, the faint smell of blueberries seeping through the paper. It wasn’t my favourite fruit. But it didn’t matter. She didn’t know that. She didn’t know me. And still… she tried.
My chest ached at the thought. But I still didn’t move. I wasn’t sure why, but I hesitated, and she seemed to have noticed.
“I’m sorry if what I said offended you the other day.” Her head lowered, voice laced with guilt. “When I asked if you could speak or not… I didn’t mean for it to come out rude. I was genuinely curious and—” She lifted her other hand up and signed.
Signed.
Her hands moved. Hesitant, a little sloppy, but clear enough that I understood.
I’m sorry. I wanted to help, not embarrass you.
The words she spoke didn’t matter half as much as the shapes her fingers carved into the air. My chest tightened, and I had to bite down on my lip to keep it from trembling.
I wasn’t even sure what stung worse, that she felt the need to apologise or that she was actually trying to meet me halfway instead of pushing me into her world without asking.
I glanced at her face again, the way her cheeks flushed pink, her eyes flicking nervously as if she thought I’d laugh at her. As if I’d throw it back in her face. She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. That little gesture…it was everything.
My throat felt too tight, my voice nowhere to be found, so I lifted my hand and signed back with shaky fingers.
Thank you.
It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t even close to enough. But it was all I had. Her face lit up almost immediately, and she lifted the paper bag up in front of me again, offering. A small smile tugged at my lips as I took it.
“Uh—” She faltered, and the tiny hitch in her voice made me tilt my head without meaning to. She always sounded like she was about to spill something good. Curious. “Do you have social media?” she asked, bright and hopeful.
Social media?
I shook my head. I didn’t, I barely go on my phone, so I have nothing on there.
She bit her lip, thinking, and for a second, I thought she might leave it. Then she glanced back at me, that grin of hers splitting open into something almost mischievous. “Can I have your number, then?”
My number? Aly hasn’t even asked for my number yet, and I’d already sat under a tree with her, shared lunch like it was the most natural thing. But Jennie, someone I barely knew, was asking for it?
The thought should’ve made me shrink, should’ve made my hands clammy and my chest cave in like always. But the way she asked… it wasn’t sharp, it wasn’t demanding. She didn’t box me in like so many people did, corner me until all I could do was nod, obey, surrender.
No. Jennie’s voice was soft, the kind of soft that left room for me to say no. The kind of soft that felt like an open palm instead of a fist. It was…a choice. A real choice. And not many people ever gave me that.
I slowly nodded, and the next thing I knew, her phone was already in my hand. I typed my number quickly, too quickly, because I didn’t want her standing there waiting.
After I was done, I pushed the phone toward her with trembling hands.
She smiled, taking her phone back, eyes lighting up at the screen. “I won’t disturb you much, don’t worry.” She typed something, probably saving my number.
I signed, small and clumsy,it’s okay. You can text.
Jennie’s face lit up like someone had handed her the sun. “Yes!” she squealed, then softened immediately, as if she was afraid of startling me. “Thank you, Aurora. I’ll text. Promise.” She tucked me into her phone like it was a precious secret.
She slipped the phone back into her bag and lowered herself onto the bench next to me. “Can I stay until Aly comes?” sheasked, her voice quiet, almost hesitant, as if she hadn’t already made herself comfortable.
I nodded anyway. She didn’t need to ask; I didn’t mind.
