✓ BECAUSE WE WERE YOUNG | NIKI

5 - Just a Friend

We spent the day playing card games and trying piano duos that Niki taught me. We somehow managed to play so beautifully and the people of Hope Haven gave us a makeshift audience, gathering around to witness the unique harmony of our silent collaboration. The clinks of the piano keys and the graceful movements of our hands seemed to paint an invisible masterpiece in the air, and when our fingers glided effortlessly over the last piano keys, everyone applauded enthusiastically. 

For the first time in my life, I felt whole. I wasn't just a sick girl with an oxygen tank anymore. I used to dream of playing the piano on a stage and in front of hundreds of people who would listen to the music flow through my fingers, but I couldn't imagine a more perfect audience than the intimate group gathered in the courtyard of Hope Haven. It really felt like a dream come true, a dream I hadn't dared to hold onto for so long.

It's five in the afternoon when both Niki and I step out of the place, waiting for my father to arrive. I'm curious about Niki's family but I don't want to pry too much. We stand there, the sunset looking as if the sky itself is applauding our day, painted in hues of orange and pink. The others are already heading home, leaving Niki and me alone in the fading daylight. 

Niki breaks the silence, his hands hesitantly signing, "Thank you for today. It was... You make me feel like I'm not alone. It's been a long time since I felt that."

A lump forms in my throat, and I sign back, "You're not alone, Niki. You have friends now, and you have me." Then I smile. "You can go back home. I think my father will be a little late because of work." 

I watch as he shakes his head. "I'll wait with you." The warmth that spreads through my chest at his words is undeniable. He carries my oxygen tank until we find a quiet bench to sit on, then after a moment, he starts signing again. "I used to have a family... before the accident," There is so much emotion in his eyes than any other words could convey. "They tried to understand, but it was hard. They spoke, and I couldn't hear. They moved, and I couldn't follow. The silence became a wall between us."

I listen intently, my heart aching for the loneliness he must have felt. It's a pain I can relate to in some ways, the isolation that comes with being different, with facing hardships others may not understand. "I'm sorry," I sign, realizing the inadequacy of those words but hoping they carry some comfort. After all, all I can do is trace the shapes of words and hope they're enough. But I know they can never be. The pain and isolation he experienced must have been unimaginable and no amount of words can fully heal those wounds.

Niki nods, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. "It's not your fault. It's just the way things are."

Perhaps this moment is my turn to tell him some naked truth about me. Naked truths often linger in the air, waiting for the right time to be shared. I take a deep breath before signing, "I live with my dad. My mom passed away when I was young." I don't tell him that she died of the same illness I struggle with. Some truths are too heavy to reveal all at once, and I'm not ready to expose the rawness of that wound just yet.

He offers a small, sad smile. "I'm sorry about your mom," He signs and we sit in companionable silence, absorbing the fading warmth of the day. After a long, somehow comfortable silence, he signs again. "You're my first friend." The words hit me harder than I expected. I stare at him, at the way his beautiful brown eyes appear like honey under the soft glow of the setting sun and at the way his dark hair lets the breeze playfully tousle it. He's beautiful. Not the kind of beautiful that all humans seem to have. No. He's so beautiful that he becomes a living poem, and the poems themselves fall short in describing the depth of his existence.

"I'm happy to hear that," I sign back, and when the words leave my fingers, the familiar sound of my father's car engine grows closer. "My father is here," Niki nods, a soft smile playing on his lips. My father parks the car, and as I approach, he opens the door for me. I turn to Niki, signing a simple "goodbye" and promising to see him again soon. But what he says next, what he expresses with his hands, catches me off guard.

"You looked beautiful today." My heart does a little flip at his unexpected compliment. The sincerity in his eyes confirms that this isn't a casual remark; he means every word. I feel a warmth spreading through me, and I sign a shy "thank you," my cheeks undoubtedly flushing. I hate that my father is here to witness my first moments of friendship turning into something more. It's not that I'm ashamed or embarrassed, but he's definitely not going to let me hear the end of it. 

As we drive away, I steal one last glance at Niki standing there, a silhouette against the evening sky. My heart is still beating a little faster from his unexpected compliment when my father glances at me with a playful smirk. And I know I'm in deep shit. "Dad, don't start," I protest, but his laughter fills the car, and I can't help but roll my eyes. 

"So this is the friend who you talked about. Quite the gentleman, isn't he?" That, I can't deny. Niki is just so beautiful and so perfect. For the last few hours that I've spent getting to know him, he's one of the nicest and most genuine people I've ever met. And he makes me feel something I've never felt before—alive in a way I never thought possible.

"He's just a friend." I try to convince him, though I'm also aware that my attempt at nonchalance is failing miserably.

"Sure, just a friend who thinks you're beautiful. I'm not that old, you know. I've seen enough movies to know where this is going." I groan, realizing that my father's overactive imagination is running wild. But I still hope he's right. I still hope that there's something more than friendship developing between him and me. "So, does this 'friend' have a name?" 

"Niki." The name rolls out of my mouth almost like a secret, a whispered admission of something I'm still trying to understand myself. I've never felt this way. I've never felt anything apart from the constant hum of my own struggles and the solitude that comes with it. Sometimes it feels like I'm living in a different world, one where the air is thin, and everything is a little more fragile. But now it's different and it's good. It's better. I can feel it in the way my heart beats a little faster, the way my world seems a bit brighter when he's around.

Just a friend, I remind myself. The kind of friend who makes your heart race and gives you that dreamy look.