—I used to think homes were built with walls. I know better now.
The alarm screamed mercilessly through the room, causing me to jerk upright, my chest heaving, before I fell back against the mattress. The sound clung to my ears even after I silenced it.
For a few more minutes, I stayed there with my eyes closed.
When I finally got myself together, I sat up and felt my feet cold against the tiled floor.
Then I dragged myself into the bathroom. The mirror showed a face that belonged more to the road than to a home.
My pale skin carried faint shadows under my eyes, and my hair, thick and stubborn, had tumbled free of its tie during sleep.
I leaned closer, studying my reflection with tired gray eyes. The sharpness of my cheekbones, the narrow line of my lips, the restless look in my eyes, none of it ever softened.
I looked like someone always ready to leave.
Or someone who had never quite arrived.
My work kept me that way. I was a liaison officer, though the title meant very little even to me. People rarely asked what it involved. When they did, I kept the answers short. I moved from town to town on assignments, checking records, surveying properties, and gathering information in different places. Sometimes they said I should take fewer assignments.
I never understood why.
This time, I had been sent to Olomore.
A small town of dust and rust, where neighbors' eyes followed me longer than their greetings lasted. I never understood why my assignments kept circling back here.
Or why it never felt like I had truly left. But each time I arrived, someone was waiting.
Nia.
She had grown fast, as if time treated her differently. The small child I first met outside that shop was no longer small. Each time I returned, the girl's limbs were longer, her gaze bolder, her laughter deeper, and she was always there.
Waiting.
Not like someone expecting me.
Like someone who already knew I would come.
By the roadside, by the gate, sometimes outside my lodging before I could even unpack my bags, as if she knew I had arrived before I did.
Though she was still her mother's daughter, she clung to me more fiercely than to anyone else.
I did not mind. I had never been good at letting go of things that mattered.
What began as a curious closeness became something more. The girl trailed me everywhere. Our bond formed slowly, until I found myself expecting it, longing for it.
I dressed quickly, pulling on dark slacks and a plain blouse. I tied my hair back into a knot, washed my hands with cold water, grabbed my worn leather bag, the one stuffed with notebooks, and stepped outside.
The heat swallowed me instantly.
My work in Olomore was never clearly defined.
I spent my mornings walking the town, recording small details most people would not notice, or would not think to care about. Like the number of men loitering at a corner, the length of time a truck stayed parked by a closed shop, and which houses never lit their lamps at night. I asked questions without context, wrote answers in coded words, and filed reports.
My assignments kept circling back here.
It almost felt like I was not being sent anywhere at all.
I walked past the tin stalls and glanced at a man standing at the same corner from three mornings ago. A few people stood, looking at me with curiosity and suspicion.
Being the only white face in Olomore made it easy to notice when people were watching. It made it harder to tell why.
Wherever I walked, whispers followed, but never long enough for me to catch the words. I moved through the market crowd, my foreign face marking me as both outsider and ghost. I was tolerated, but never embraced.
The market soon became busy, full of voices and movement. The air was thick with smoke from roasted corn and the calls of sellers. I leaned against a rusted fence, scribbling notes about the abandoned warehouse across the road.
But it was not long before the noise died, as if a spirit had passed through the market. The sellers' voices dropped. The children playing nearby went quiet, until all that was left were murmurs.
There was usually only one reason for that kind of silence.
Nia.
She did not laugh. She did not wave or call out. The dust curled around her ankles as she moved through the crowd, and her eyes were fixed on me.
The people never spoke much about her, not directly. It was obvious in the way they stared, stiffened, or lowered their voices the moment she appeared that she had a way of unsettling them without even trying.
Conversations broke off. Some people turned their backs quickly, pretending to busy themselves. Others could not look away, caught in the pull of her presence.
I lifted my head and saw Nia walking toward me.
She was taller now, her limbs long and lean, her brown skin catching the light. Her hair was tied back in a puff, but loose curls escaped around her face, bouncing as she moved.
By the time Nia reached me, the crowd had pulled away, leaving space between us, as though they wanted no part in whatever stood there.
She came to a stop in front of me. "You are workin' again," she said, her voice low and her accent thick. Her eyes flicked briefly to my notebook before returning to my face.
I closed my notebook, slipping the pen into my bag. "I have to. You know that."
Nia tilted her head slightly, as if studying me. "But you will come later. Mama's makin' stew."
I searched her face, then nodded once. "I will try."
Nia's gaze lingered, as if she was measuring the truth of the answer. Then she said, almost flatly, "Do not just say you will try. That guy… he came to my class yesterday. The one I told you about."
I frowned slightly. "What guy?"
Nia sighed lightly. "Ah, Eleanor, you do not listen. The tall one. Light-skinned. Always standin' near the shop with his friends. He asked me to prom."
I let out a short breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "Prom, huh? And you are considering it?"
"I told him yes already." Nia's lips curved, but it was not a smile. Something about that did not sit right with me. "He fine, mature, got style. Not like these boys round here still wearin' slippers everywhere."
"They do not like that I said yes." Her eyes flicked toward me this time, not the crowd. "But I do not care."
"Maybe bring him around sometime. I would like to meet him first."
Nia arched her brow. "So you can scare him off with that American accent?"
I smirked despite myself. "You do not know that."
Nia's gaze softened a little. "But you will come later, really?"
I hesitated. "I did not say I would not."
"I want you to come. Do not be actin' busy for me."
I thought about it for a while, then finally said, "Okay, I will come."
"I will expect you." Nia took a step back, her eyes never leaving mine until she turned and slipped into the crowd.
Gradually, the market noise rose again, louder than before, as if the silence she left behind needed to be covered quickly.
I watched her disappear slowly.
I would see her later.
I always did.