***
Thalma stood from the bed and went to the window of the room watching how the sun was ready to let the moon take over. Morocco had a way of slowing time, making even rest feel intentional but England never did that to her.
She reached out for her Diary. She never forgets it especially in England because that's all the warm she needs. She slide into into her bag along with her headset, ready to go out. Writing in her apartment suddenly felt not enjoyable anymore. Like her thoughts would bounce off the walls and comes back unfinished. She needed air and space and somewhere unfamiliar enough to let her reason and see life without interruption.
She stepped out to a garden cafe tucked between two old streets where bougainvillea spilled over stone walls and hum of life moved gently in the background.
She sat under the shade of a tree, ordered a mint tea she didn't really need and opened her diary.
Opened to a clean pageof the duary but it stated blank than usual. Morocco had surprised her not in it's beauty that she expected, but how quickly it felt like something she could always belong to. There in Morocco, she wasn't the girl form a broken homme or the one who left, she was the happy Evelyn's daughter and the stepsister lived dearly by her little stepsister.
She wrote slowly.
"Dear Diary
Morocco feel's like. Pause the universe gave me when I was surviving now I do not know if this place is healing me or simply reminding me of who I was before I learned how to hurt"
Her phone vibrated softly beside her. She frowned. International call came in.
Her chest tightened before she even saw the name.
"Dad," she exclaimed
She hesitated, thumb hovering, then answered.
"Hey, Thalma"
His voice was familiar in a distant way. Like a song she used to know all the words but could only hum now.
"Hey, Dad"
"How are you doing?" He answered. The question carefully measured.
"I'm…okayy" she replied. It was the safest thing to say at the moment.
"Heard you went to Morocco," he continued. "To see your mom"
"Yes, I did"
A pause stretch between them. Not awkward but heavy.
"That's good," he said finally. "I'm glad you had spent time with her".
She nodded even though he couldn't see her. "Yeah , me too".
They talked for barely two minutes. About school, about travel, about nothin important enough to touch the real slave between them. He told her to take care of herself and she told him she would.
When the call ended, Thalma stared at herself long after the screen went dark.
The silence that followed was louder than the conversation had been.
She looked back at her dairy but words were not forth coming instead more memories crowded her mind. England cold morning, Morocco warm nights, her mother's laughter, her father's distance, love given in fragments although sincere but never complete.
She tested her chin in her palm.
"Why does love always feel like it's divided to me?"
"Why do I always belong everywhere and nowhere at the same time ?"
The cafe continued to breath around her . Cups clinking softly, voices weaving in and out of focus, the sent of mint and warm air settling into her skin. She didn't rush to close her diary this time. She left it opend in her laps, fingers brushing edges of the page like she was afraid the words night disappear.
She exhaled slowly and leaned back into the chair. Morocco had gentleness England never offered to her.
She wondered how long this peace would last. She wondered why peace felt temporary in her life.
Thalma lowered gee gaze again, pen hovering, unsure if to write or not. For once, she choosed stillness. She stayed.
***
The apartment began to feel emptier than Damon had expected.
The boys had drift out one after the other.
Damon grabbed his jacket without even thinking.
He didn't want to sit with his thoughts. Didn't want to remind him of everything he was trying to buy .
He thought of having a walk. Taking a walk feels safer. It always did.
Outside, the evening air wrapped around him, cool and familiar. He walked without having anything in mind in particular with hands in his pocket.
And then, without warning, something tugged his attention. A presence. He slowed.
Across the space ahead, seated was a figure he would recognize everywhere. The posture. The stillness. The world seemed to quiet around her.
It's Thalma. His breath caught.
She looked up at the same moment, then their eyes met.
To be continued...