"What was so great about that Ama? She was nothing but made up of lies. This is the real me, the stark opposite of what I pretended to be."
Zeya's gaze locked onto Amaya, who was lost in the swirling smoke of her cigarette. Rising from the bed, she approached Amaya and knelt before her, the weight of the moment heavy in the air. Gently, she took the cigarette from Amaya's trembling fingers and placed it in the ashtray, a quiet act of care. "I don't know what shadows haunt you or what storms you've endure, and I won't pry either. But, Ama, if ever your heart feels too heavy to bear, I'm here—always ready to listen, always ready to hold you." Zeya whispered, her voice a soothing balm that filled the room with warmth. Her eyes, filled with sincerity, reflected Amaya's pain, cradling it with tenderness.
