Saturday started with a knock.
It was light and polite, which meant Aunt Clara had her teacher voice on.
"You up?" she asked.
"Yeah."
She pushed the door open and stepped in, arms full of clothes like she wasn't sure what I'd want. A hoodie sleeve slipped loose and dragged along the floor behind her.
"I figured we could try a few things. Since you're going out."
"It's just a movie night," I said.
"I know," she said. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't feel good about what you're wearing."
She laid the clothes out on the bed one by one. Some were old—stuff I used to wear before everything changed. Others were newer pieces she'd grabbed on her last thrift run. A few I'd never even seen before.
There were jeans, of course. Fitted ones. Too stiff, too clingy in the places that mattered. I picked them up, turned them over in my hands, and then set them down without a word.
Too tight in the wrong places, too loose in the others. They pinch at the front and sag like I've got the wrong body for them. I hate them.
Not tonight. Jeans had seams that bit and hugged and reminded me what I wasn't ready to think about yet.
I grabbed a soft pair of leggings instead. They didn't argue.
The hoodie I picked was one of mine. Charcoal gray, a little frayed at the cuffs but still holding up. It hung better now than it used to. The shoulders weren't as wide anymore, and my waist had narrowed some. The shape of me had shifted just enough to notice. Aunt Clara had noticed too, even if she didn't say anything.
She lingered in the doorway for a second longer than needed.
"If you need a ride, let me know."
"I'll be okay."
She smiled and nodded. "Then I'll leave you to it."
I waited until her footsteps faded down the hall before pulling the hoodie on. It settled around me different now. Not like armor. Just coverage. Comfort.
Still me underneath. But this feels better.
That was enough.
Selma met me at the corner around five. The sun was dipping low behind the rooftops and the breeze had a bite that made me tug my sleeves down. She wore a denim jacket over her hoodie and smiled like this was just another night.
"Nice hoodie," she said. "You've got that 'cozy but mysterious' thing down."
"Thanks. It's vintage. From the back of my closet."
We walked together. Leaves crunched underfoot. Someone was grilling a few blocks over and the smell carried all the way to us. A sprinkler kicked on behind a fence and scared the life out of a squirrel, which darted up a pole like it had a meeting to get to.
"Zahra's bringing snacks," Selma said. "So the theater's probably gonna smell like a spice market explosion."
"And Hana?"
"In charge of emotional damage. So expect glitter or crying."
The theater came into view—brick on the outside, renovated on the inside, tucked between a bookshop and a bakery that always smelled better than it tasted. Hana and Zahra were already there, waiting under the marquee.
"Look who showed up," Hana called.
"Told you she would," Zahra said. "You just like being dramatic."
"I'm curating an experience," Hana replied. "You don't rush art."
We grabbed tickets for a double feature. Hana's idea. The first one was a dark fantasy that leaned heavy into vibes and cryptids and tragic romance. The second was a romcom she swore would "cleanse our emotional palates."
Inside, the lobby was buzzing—popcorn machines going, lights humming, people milling around like it wasn't already packed. We squeezed into the middle row, just behind a couple that couldn't decide if they were on a date or just awkward friends.
The first movie hit harder than I thought it would.
The girl in the story kept trying to be strong while everyone else treated her like a problem. There was this one scene—she stood dead center in a room and said nothing while the rest of the world just... kept moving. Like she didn't exist at all.
I know that feeling. I've lived it.
Nobody said anything when the credits rolled. For a second, we all just sat there.
Then Hana sniffled. "So… who's ready to cry again?"
Zahra stood. "We need snacks. I'm not sobbing through a romcom on an empty stomach."
We headed out, stretching our legs and blinking under the too-bright lobby lights. The floor was sticky, and the crowd had thinned out a little. We joked about soda flavors and whether large popcorn was actually large or just legally questionable.
Then I saw her.
Kyra.
She was near the hallway to the second screen, standing next to someone I didn't recognize. Her hair was tied back like always. Her posture was relaxed, the kind that said she didn't have to think about being seen.
Then her eyes moved. They passed over the crowd.
They passed over me.
And then they came back.
She didn't stop. Didn't say anything. But her eyes narrowed slightly, like something was catching that hadn't quite landed.
Please keep walking. Please don't say my name. Please don't remember.
Salma bumped my elbow. "You good?"
"Yeah. Just thirsty."
She didn't push. We grabbed drinks and made our way back in.
The second movie started. Typical romcom. Clumsy meet-cute. Random misunderstandings. Two people falling in love after a dozen dumb decisions.
I barely followed it.
What if she knows? What if she tells someone? What if she just looks at me like that again and the whole world hears it before I can lie?
"God, this is awful," Zahra whispered.
"It's a masterpiece," Hana shot back. "Shut up and feel things."
By the time the credits rolled again, no one said anything for a few seconds.
"Same time next weekend?" Hana finally asked.
"Sure," Zahra said. "But I'm picking."
We stepped out into the night. The air had cooled off more. Selma slowed beside me as the others peeled off.
"You okay?"
"I'm tired."
She didn't press. Just kept walking.
When we hit the corner where we usually split, she paused.
"You're allowed to tell me when something's wrong, you know."
"I know."
I didn't say anything else, but she didn't need me to.
We both turned toward home without another word.