The air was heavy that day, carrying with it a kind of stillness that seemed to press down on Kael's chest. The sun hung low in the sky, its light muted by a thin veil of clouds, casting a somber glow over the orphanage grounds. Amara had asked him to meet her beneath the old oak tree near the edge of the property, a place they often escaped to when the weight of the world felt too much to bear.
Kael arrived first, as usual, kicking at the brittle leaves that had fallen into a scattered carpet around the roots of the tree. He couldn't help but wonder why she had insisted on meeting here, away from the others. It wasn't unusual for her to seek quiet moments with him, but something in her tone earlier—soft yet firm, tinged with an unspoken gravity—had unsettled him.
He heard her approach before he saw her, the crunch of leaves under her boots announcing her presence. Turning, Kael watched as Amara emerged from the misty haze of the late afternoon. She was pale, her delicate features framed by loose strands of auburn hair that danced with the wind. But it wasn't her beauty that struck him today; it was the faint weariness in her eyes, a shadow that dimmed her usual spark.
"Thanks for coming," she said softly, her voice calm but carrying an undertone of something heavier.
"Of course," Kael replied, trying to sound casual despite the growing knot in his stomach. "You know I'd always show up for you."
Amara smiled faintly, but it didn't reach her eyes. Instead, she gestured for him to sit, and they settled beneath the sprawling branches of the tree.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was not uncomfortable, but it was charged with a tension Kael couldn't quite place. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, watching as she traced absent-minded patterns in the dirt with a stick.
Finally, Amara broke the silence. "Do you ever think about how fragile life is?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Kael frowned. "What do you mean?"
She set the stick aside and turned to face him fully, her expression unreadable. "I mean… how easily everything can fall apart. How one moment, you think you have forever, and the next, it's gone."
He shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to respond. Amara was always thoughtful, often speaking in ways that made him feel as if she saw the world through a different lens. But today, her words carried a weight that made his chest tighten.
"Are you okay?" he asked cautiously, his dark eyes searching hers for answers.
She laughed softly, but it was a hollow sound. "I'm fine, Kael. Or at least… as fine as I can be."
Her words sent a chill through him. "What does that mean?"
Amara hesitated, her gaze dropping to her hands, which she had clasped tightly in her lap. "It means there's something I need to tell you," she said at last.
Kael leaned forward, his heart pounding. "Amara, you're scaring me. Just tell me."
She took a deep breath, her fingers gripping each other so tightly that her knuckles turned white. When she finally spoke, her voice was steady, but her words cut through him like a blade.
"I'm sick, Kael. I've been sick for a long time."
The world seemed to tilt around him, and for a moment, he couldn't speak. He stared at her, his mind racing to comprehend what she had just said.
"What do you mean, sick?" he finally managed to ask, his voice barely audible.
Amara's lips pressed into a thin line, and she looked away, her eyes fixed on the horizon. "It's not something that can be fixed," she said simply. "It's… terminal."
Kael felt as though the ground had been ripped out from under him. "No," he said, shaking his head. "That can't be right. There has to be something—some treatment, some cure—"
"There isn't," Amara interrupted gently but firmly. "I've seen the doctors, Kael. I've tried everything. This isn't something I can fight."
Her calm demeanor only made it harder for him to process. She wasn't crying or angry; she wasn't lashing out at the unfairness of it all. Instead, she sat there, serene and composed, as if she had already made peace with her fate.
"How long have you known?" he asked, his voice cracking.
"A while," she admitted. "I didn't want to tell you because… well, what good would it do? It wouldn't change anything."
Kael clenched his fists, anger and helplessness swirling within him. "It's not fair," he muttered. "You don't deserve this."
Amara smiled sadly. "Life isn't fair, Kael. But that doesn't mean we stop living it."
Her words only deepened his frustration. How could she be so calm? How could she accept this so easily while he felt as though his entire world was crumbling around him?
"But why didn't you tell me sooner?" he demanded, his voice rising.
"Because I didn't want you to look at me the way you're looking at me now," she said softly.
Her words stopped him in his tracks. He realized, with a pang of guilt, that she was right. He had been looking at her differently—like she was fragile, like she might break at any moment. But Amara had never been fragile. She was the strongest person he knew.
"I'm sorry," he said after a moment, his voice heavy with regret. "I just… I don't know how to handle this."
"You don't have to handle it," she said. "You just have to be here."
Kael nodded, though his heart still ached. He wanted to do more, to fix things, but he knew there was nothing he could do. All he could offer was his presence, and somehow, that didn't feel like enough.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the ground, Amara reached out and placed a hand on his. Her touch was warm and steady, grounding him in a way he desperately needed.
"There's one more thing," she said, her voice quieter now.
Kael looked at her, his chest tightening. "What is it?"
Amara hesitated, her gaze flickering with a hint of uncertainty. "Not all wounds are visible," she said cryptically. "Sometimes, the things that hurt us the most aren't the things that can be seen."
Before he could press her for more, she stood, brushing the dirt from her clothes. "Come on," she said, her tone lighter now. "Let's go back before the others start wondering where we are."
Kael stared after her, a sense of unease settling over him. He wanted to ask her what she meant, to demand answers, but something in her demeanor told him now wasn't the time.
As they walked back to the orphanage, side by side, Kael couldn't shake the feeling that Amara was hiding something—something deeper than her illness, something she wasn't ready to share. Her words echoed in his mind, a haunting reminder of the mysteries that still lay between them.
Not all wounds are visible.
He didn't know what she meant, but he vowed to find out. Whatever secrets she was keeping, whatever pain she was hiding, he would uncover it. For now, though, he would do as she asked.
He would be there for her.
Even if it meant watching the person he cared for most slip away.