Ama knew the exact second it went wrong.
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t obvious.
But she felt it.
“You always do this.”
Lina didn’t even look at her when she said it.
“You make everything serious.”
The table laughed.
Quick. Easy. Harmless.
Except it wasn’t.
Ama smiled.
She always smiled.
That was her role.
Keep it light.
Keep it easy.
Keep everything from becoming a problem.
But this time
The smile didn’t stay.
Something inside her paused.
Refused.
“Lina.”
Just her name.
But it cut through the laughter.
Lina glanced at her, still half amused. “What?”
Ama didn’t laugh.
“You cut me off.”
The air shifted.
Immediately.
Not everyone noticed.
But enough did.
Lina blinked. “Excuse me?”
Ama could feel it now.
The attention.
The discomfort.
The quiet pulling away of everyone who didn’t want to be part of this.
This was the moment she usually avoided.
The one where things got complicated.
“You interrupt me,” Ama said.
“And then you make it seem like what I’m saying doesn’t matter.”
Silence.
Not empty.
Heavy.
Lina let out a short laugh.
But there was no warmth in it.
“Wow. So now I’m the bad friend?”
There it was.
The shift from casual to sharp.
Ama’s chest tightened.
This was where she fixed things.
Where she softened everything before it broke.
“I didn’t mean it like that—”
The words slipped out.
Automatic.
Lina leaned back, arms crossed.
“No, say it. Go on.”
The tone changed everything.
Ama hesitated.
Just for a second.
And in that second—
The old version of her stepped forward.
The one that kept the peace.
The one that stayed quiet.
All she had to do was laugh.
Say it wasn’t serious.
Undo everything.
The moment would reset.
Just like always.
But something stopped her.
Not anger.
Not frustration.
Memory.
Every time she had been cut off mid-sentence.
Every time she had laughed when she didn’t want to.
Every time she had told herself it didn’t matter.
It had mattered.
And suddenly
So did this.
Ama inhaled.
Slow.
Steady.
“I’m not saying you’re a bad friend.”
Her voice didn’t shake.
“I’m saying this hurts me.”
That landed.
No one moved.
Lina’s expression changed.
Not soft.
Not yet.
“You’re overthinking it,” she said quickly.
“It’s not that deep.”
That sentence.
The one that ended every conversation before it could begin.
Ama felt it hit.
Felt it try to shrink everything again.
But this time
It didn’t work.
“It is to me.”
Simple.
Clear.
Unmovable.
Lina opened her mouth.
Paused.
Because this wasn’t the reaction she expected.
Ama wasn’t backing down.
“This is exhausting,” Lina muttered, looking away.
That one hurt.
More than the others.
Because it made Ama feel like too much.
Like speaking at all was a problem.
Her chest tightened again.
Harder.
This was it.
The breaking point.
She could still fix it.
Still take it back.
Still disappear.
The option was right there.
Familiar.
Easy.
But if she took it
She knew exactly what would follow.
Nothing would change.
So she didn’t take it.
“I’m not trying to fight you.”
Her voice was quieter now.
But stronger.
“I’m trying to be heard.”
Silence.
Real silence.
Lina looked at her again.
Fully this time.
And something shifted.
Not in the room.
In Lina.
“I didn’t know you felt like that,” she said.
Ama nodded.
“I know.”
A pause.
“That’s why I’m saying it now.”
The tension didn’t disappear.
It stayed.
Thin. Fragile.
Like something that could still break if pushed.
But it didn’t.
Lina’s shoulders dropped slightly.
Not open.
Not closed.
Just… different.
“Okay.”
One word.
Not an apology.
Not a solution.
But not rejection either.
And somehow—
That mattered more.
The conversation moved again.
Slow.
Careful.
But when Ama spoke—
Lina didn’t interrupt.
And that—
That was everything.
Later, walking home, Ama replayed it.
Every second.
Every word.
The fear.
The tension.
The moment it almost broke.
She had always believed speaking up would cost her everything.
And maybe
For a second
It almost had.
But now she knew:
If it could only survive her silence
It wasn’t whole to begin with.
And if it could hold her truth
Then maybe
It was finally real.
For the first time
Ama didn’t feel like she was maintaining the relationship.
She felt like she existed in it.
Fully.
