When Shadows Ring- Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Unexpected News

I woke up to the morning sun peeking in through my window. Kids were outside yelling things I could not quite make out. I swung my legs out of bed, slipping them into my cute little heart slippers in front of my bed. I walked over to the open window not too far from my bed. The Layyinah air made me feel calm and happy.

I slowly closed the window, letting the last bits of fresh air linger in the room. I moved away from the window to my drawers and pulled out black cargo pants and a dark purple hoodie. (Some personal items were pulled out during this process that I would not like to note, so I won’t list them here. You can guess though.)

I walked out of my bedroom and headed to the bathroom. I made my way to the shower. I turned the water on lukewarm and hopped in the shower. (Lukewarm water is just a fancier term for warm water.)

Fifteen minutes later, I received a notification. DING. “You got a message from (The Annoying N).” The message read: “Hey Fen, can I come over to your place…”

“Why?” I thought, ready to reply, but my virtual assistant, Debby, continued, “You are probably wondering why. Well, because I want you to meet a couple of my friends and hang with us. You in?”

“How would you like to reply?” Debby asked, her voice calm.

I got out of the shower and said, “Debby, just reply with: Sure.” I said, putting on my clothes.

He answered with a thumbs up emoji and started calling.

I answered the phone. “Hey Nuravo, what do you need?”

“Just wanted to ask how the speech is going?”

“Great! How’s your family situation?”

“Okay.” He laughed.

“That’s great! I’m happy it all went well. I hope my speech goes well too,” I said.

“Anyway, I gotta get dressed to come pick you up…bye!”

“Bye, Nuravo.” I hung up and then looked in the mirror and smiled at myself.

My name is Fenera Area, and I'm seventeen. I live on Layyinah, an island named after its founder, Layyinah Salaam— her first name means "soft" or "gentle" in Arabic as for her second it means “peace” also in Arabic.

Mom says my black curls and brown eyes make me the prettiest girl alive, but honestly? I just try to survive high school like everyone else.

I’ve been living in Layyinah since birth. People all over the world come to see this island. It has been proven to be the most peaceful place ever, just like its name. There is this one kid who has lived here since birth too. He is 18 years old, and his name is Nuravo (Aka the Annoying N: more about him later when he arrives.)

I walked out of the bathroom and drifted downstairs to the kitchen. There, I found Mom in the kitchen, flour dusting her hands, batter in a bowl she wasn't mixing. She looked up when I walked in. Smiled. But her jaw was tight, and she held the wooden spoon like it might slip from her fingers if she relaxed even a fraction.

“Hey, sweetie.” She set down the spoon. Opened her arms.

I let her hug me, and she held on a beat too long, her chin pressing into my shoulder.

“Honey, I would like to talk to you in the sitting room… please,” my mom said, her voice almost musical, though underpinned by an unsettling note of heaviness. She grasped my hand, leading me down the hallway, where the walls echoed our footsteps. Every few steps, her smile flickered like a lightbulb on the brink of burning out. It made my stomach twist like a rollercoaster ride at a graying amusement park.

When we reached the sitting area, we settled on the couch. Mom inhaled deeply, inspecting the ceiling as if it held answers. Finally, she turned to me, but her eyes were like clouds full of rain. A single tear rolled down her cheek, splashing onto the floor like a raindrop on parched earth.

She finally spoke: “You know how your dad is never home?”

“Yeah… always never home,” I echoed, trying to find humor in the bleakness, like trying to light a match in a downpour.

Mom's hand trembled as she reached for her face, her fingertips coming away wet. “I haven’t told you this, but I lied. Your father is not at war; he left us. I didn’t tell you because you were too young to understand. But now that you are older, I finally built the courage to tell you.” My heart sank, twisting like a corkscrew. “Mom, slow down. I don’t understand… how did Dad leave?” Was there even a word for this kind of heartbreak?

Tears spilled over her cheeks, tracing paths of heartbreak as she gasped for air. “I need to explain something,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “When your dad said he was going to the ‘army,’ he actually went to Nepal and married someone else.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and still, like the tension in a silent room. “He has kids there—one boy and two girls. He called to break up with me, asking me to tell you he was overseas so you wouldn’t worry.” She paused, her breath hitching in her throat. “But I couldn’t pretend it didn’t hurt.”

A taut silence stretched between us, thick as the fog rolling in from the ocean. She clenched her fists, the old promises echoing like distant thunder, now lost and scattered in the wind.

Tears rolled down my own cheeks, mingling with the despair swirling around us. Standing up, I sought to be her anchor, offering a reassuring smile—even if it felt more like a shaky lighthouse in a storm. “Well, there is no need to cry; it’s his loss. One day he will wish he never did this. I promise.”

Mom stood, still crying, but she wrapped her arms around me, a bittersweet embrace.

She murmured, “Don’t promise something you can’t keep.” She took a step back, her eyes searching mine as if ready to walk away, as though the ground beneath us was shaky.

“But he will, Mom. He will and—” A soft realization washed over me. Maybe she was right. Maybe I could not keep that promise, just like we could not keep the happiness that seemed to have packed its bags and left with him.

“If you really think so, I believe you can.” Her smile surfaced again, but it was not the sweet “I love you” smile I longed for. Instead, it looked like a patchwork quilt stitched together from pieces of hope and fear, held together by the ever-present pain of knowing he did what he did—and that sometimes, love just isn’t enough to hold a family together. I sat back down, and then I heard a knock on the door. I stood up, inhaled, then slowly exhaled, ready to face whatever came next.

I opened the door to Nuravo standing there with a huge smile on his face, as if life was a one-pound dumbbell. Obviously, he couldn’t see that, to me, it felt like a three-billion-pound dumbbell. I stared at him, then opened the door wider, grabbed some sneakers, and walked out, closing the door behind me. I bumped into Nuravo a little; I gave him a quick smile, then walked down the steps.

Nuravo is an 18-year-old high schooler with a light brown skin tone and a round face. He has wavy black hair and always flashes a bright smile that seems irresistible to everyone. Often seen in a black gym shirt with a denim jacket and black cargos, he has an effortless style complemented by his skate shoes with built-in wheels.

“Hey Fen. You ready for today?”

I stared at him, trying to forget everything that had just happened in the house. But instead of stopping my thoughts, I replaced them with memories of our dating years and got carried away. “When we were dating, why did we kiss so much? And why did I try running away with you? Also, back when we were dating, I wanted to tell you that you needed to practice making out because you were terrible. Oh, and don’t forget—”

I stopped when I realized he was staring at me. He laughed. “Why are you telling me about back when we were dating? Those years are over. Let’s forget them, okay? I made a couple mistakes, but that was two years ago. Honestly, they kind of were the best two years of my life. I wish I could have more good times with you as my girlfriend again.”

I shook my head hard, trying to stop myself from talking about our dating years. “Oh, sorry! I was not paying attention to what I was saying. Hey, so where is this car parked again? My legs are killing me.”

He just looked at me. “So, it was a mistake talking about our dating years? How is that possible? Also, is there a chance we could date again? I promise to love you more than I used to and always be by your side and never forget the things that are important to you.”

“NO!” I quickly replied, and my voice louder.

“Gosh, okay,” he said, looking away trying not to laugh.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that back when we dated, you made me feel terrible, like no one loved me. I was kind of alone, and you never really spoke to me unless it was about kissing or things like that. Once we started dating, I wanted to take things slow, but you took them too fast, and it made me uncomfortable. I loved you a lot as a boyfriend, but maybe we were meant to be friends. Let’s just forget those times and make new and happier ones.”

“Yeah, I completely understand. I hope you and I find someone who is a better match. By the way, we have arrived at our destination.” He said, pointing to a black limousine. He opened the door with a smile, and I hopped in, followed by him.

Inside, there was a girl and a boy. The girl gave me a smile and winked at Nuravo. Looks like Nuravo already has someone who wants him. As for the boy, he was buried in his phone. He probably didn’t even know he was in a car.

“So, who is this, Nuravo? I haven’t seen her before,” the girl said, jabbing her elbow into the boy who was still glued to his phone.

He shot up, looked at me, and smiled. “Yeah, introduce me, please.”

Nuravo looked at him with a suspicious face. “Okay, well this is my EX-girlfriend, Fenera. We are practically still together since we broke up not to long from now.” He really pronounced that "EX" perfectly; it annoyed me.

I stared at Nuravo. “Shut up.” I looked at them and said, “We are no longer together and never will be, can we forget this topic I don’t want to explain. Anyway, nice to meet you, guys.”

Nuravo stared at me with a smile.

“Well, that’s cool. I don’t want to know what happened during that relationship. My name is Triansle Banders; most people call me Tri, but you can call me T.”

T leaned back in the limo, all tousled dark hair and easy confidence. At eighteen, he had that effortless rich-kid look—bomber jacket, pristine sneakers, and a smile that probably worked on everyone but me.

“Oookay.”

“My name is Bennies Grafana; people call me Bunny, but you are my special friend, so you can call me Bens,” she said, her smile sweet. She looked about seventeen, maybe a couple of months older.

Bens—Bunny to her friends—had one of those warm smiles that made you want to trust her immediately. She looked about seventeen, with soft waves framing her face and that effortless style rich girls always seemed to master.

“Well, nice to meet you I’ll call you Benny,” I said with a smile. Nuravo was on his phone while T was just staring at me with a smirk. (I will never get used to that name.) I pretended like I didn’t notice, as I didn’t want to make it awkward. Honestly, he needs to lower his gaze; if he keeps staring at a girl who barely knows him, he will creep her out.