Later That Night...
The room is dim, lit only by the amber glow of the desk lamp. Outside, Milan hums quietly under the weight of night — soft headlights passing by, distant laughter echoing through narrow streets.
Leila sits on her bed, knees pulled to her chest, her scarf now folded beside her pillow like a piece of home. Her phone lies on the blanket, dark and silent, save for a wallpaper photo of Daim squinting at the camera while Amara hides a smile behind a book.
She runs a hand through her long hair, heavy with the scent of unfamiliar air.
Everything feels real now.
Not like a dream. Not like the anticipation of getting accepted.
But like life — weighty, unscripted, and brimming with unknowns.
She looks around the room. Sofia's side is cluttered already — fashion magazines, sketchbooks, an overflowing jewelry pouch. It makes Leila smile softly.
Then her eyes shift to her own side — neat, sparse, controlled. Just like she needs it to be.
Still, something gnaws at her chest.
I need to find a job.
I can't just sit and rely on the money we brought with us. Amara and I made this choice to stand on our own.
A lab… maybe a research assistant job. Something related to forensics. Anything.
But I don't even speak Italian… How am I going to manage this in a foreign country?
The worry crawls up her throat, quiet but suffocating. She bites her lip and tries to push it down.
Sofia glances over from her desk, noticing the silence.
"Penny for your thoughts?" she asks, stretching.
Leila hesitates. "I was just… thinking about finding a part-time job. Something in a lab, if I can. I don't want to be a burden on anyone back home."
Sofia tilts her head, eyes suddenly full of soft admiration. "You're brave, you know?"
Leila blinks. "Brave?"
"Yeah. Most students barely survive orientation week, and here you are already talking about part-time lab work."
Leila shrugs. "I have to."
Sofia spins in her chair to face her completely. "Okay, serious mode. You probably won't get a lab job immediately without fluent Italian. But there are international research teams at the university. I'll help you check the campus board tomorrow, and we can ask around."
Leila's shoulders relax slightly.
"You'll find something. And in the meantime…" Sofia grins, "There's a café down the street that hires international students who speak just English. It's not a lab, but it pays, and I can teach you basic Italian phrases so you don't get eaten alive."
Leila laughs — the sound light, unburdened for a moment.
"Thank you, Sofia."
Sofia leans back dramatically in her chair. "Ah, I live to be needed."
They both laugh now, the air warmer between them.
Later, when the room dims again and both girls drift toward sleep, Leila lies awake for a while longer. She listens to Sofia's soft, steady breathing, stares at the shadows on the ceiling, and feels the weight of all the people she left behind.
But there's also something new in her chest.
A tiny flame.
Not hope exactly, but the possibility of it.
Maybe… This is the beginning of me becoming the person I was always meant to be.
One who survives — but also begins to live.
And outside her window, the city of Milan dreams with her.
The room is quiet now.
Sofia has drifted to sleep, her sketchbook lying open beside her, pencil still clutched loosely between her fingers. The only sound is the soft ticking of a small desk clock and the faint hum of a heater pushing against the night chill.
Leila lies on her bed, staring up at the ceiling.
Her chest rises and falls slowly under the blanket, but her mind is a tangle of thoughts. Milan still feels like a dream — sharp-edged and luminous. Every face, every street corner, every breath of cold air carries both a promise and a question.
How will I manage?
Will I be strong enough on my own?
Will Amara be okay? Daim?
Did I make the right choice?
There's a familiar ache that creeps in, as if home is stitched into her bones and pulling softly at her from thousands of miles away.
She turns to her side and picks up her phone, just to check the time. 2:12 AM.
And then it lights up.
Incoming Call — Amara.
Leila's breath catches.
She answers quickly, sitting up in the quiet dark. "Hello?"
There's a pause. Then a breath. And then—
"Leila…"
It's just her name, spoken softly, but something about the way Amara says it makes tears prick behind her eyes.
"Why are you awake?" Leila whispers, trying not to wake Sofia.
"I couldn't sleep," Amara says. "I don't know. I just… missed you."
Leila presses the phone closer to her cheek. "I missed you too."
There's silence on the other end. A tender silence. And then, Amara starts talking—nothing heavy this time. Just light things. Little things. She tells her how Daim got annoyed because their mother made biryani without warning, and he didn't have time to prepare his tastebuds. She talks about the weather, about the street cat that still visits their balcony. She even chuckles when she tells Leila that Baba tried to fix the internet himself and nearly electrocuted the entire first floor.
And Leila listens.
Not because she has to, but because it feels like Amara is trying. Like she's slowly, quietly reaching out of the shadow she's lived in for years.
There's still hesitation in her voice, a raw edge that doesn't fully go away—but there's also warmth.
Maybe even hope.
"You sound… lighter," Leila says quietly.
Amara goes silent for a second.
"Maybe," she finally says. "I don't know. You being away… it makes me want to stand up straighter. Be a little braver."
Leila closes her eyes, a soft smile forming without her even knowing. "You already are."
They talk a little longer. Not too much. Not too deep. But it's enough. Enough for Leila's heart to soften and her fears to loosen their grip.
When the call ends, she places her phone back on the table and lies down again.
Outside, the Milan night continues its slow, sleepy song.
Inside, Leila lets herself breathe.
Maybe Amara will be okay.
Maybe I will too.
And for the first time since she arrived, she falls asleep with contentment in her chest.