Searching Soul - a Mikhaiah au

Chapter 3: Convenience Store Noodles

"I'm not going, okay?"

Gibrael's voice echoed through the penthouse, the words heavy and final. It was half past five, and they had just returned from the laundromat, the emptiness of the day lingering like a shadow. They had closed early—it was a Thursday, and there were few customers.

Soul watched Gibrael as she paced the living room, the agitation in her movements betraying the calmness she tried to project.

"No, Solea. I'm not going," Gibrael repeated, her voice firm but weary as she spoke into the phone. Solea, her best friend, was on the other end, but the connection between them seemed frayed, worn thin by time and distance.

"I can eat dinner on my own," Gibrael added, her tone flat, almost resigned. Soul couldn't help but chuckle softly at the irony of it, but the sound only seemed to deepen the silence that followed. Gibrael glanced at her, her eyes momentarily sharp, before returning to the conversation.

Fifteen minutes of refusals, polite but distant, to a dinner invitation that Soul could sense was born out of concern as much as it was out of love.

"So what if we haven't seen each other for half a year?" Gibrael's voice had a brittle edge now, the kind that comes from trying too hard to sound indifferent. Soul's heart ached at the admission, the words settling between them like a heavy cloud. Six months without seeing her best friends—it was more than just time lost; it was a distance that felt impossible to bridge.

"Come on, Sol, it's just six months," Gibrael said, her laugh hollow, as if she were trying to convince herself more than Solea. But there was no humor in it, just a sad acknowledgment of the space she had created between herself and those who once knew her best.

"Yes, yes, next time," Gibrael finally conceded, her voice small, defeated. It wasn't a promise, just an escape, a way to end the conversation without confronting the truth.

"Yeah, bye, Solea Audrey," she said, the words heavy with finality. As she tossed her phone onto the sofa, Soul's eyes met hers, filled with unspoken concern.

"Do you ever feel like you're drifting away from everyone you love, one conversation at a time?" Soul asked softly, her eyes searching Gibrael's face for a hint of the pain she knew was there.

Gibrael paused, the question hanging in the air like a lifeline she wasn't ready to grab.

"What?" she asked, her voice gentle, but the sadness in her eyes was undeniable.

"I can't believe you haven't seen your best friends in six months. Where are they today?"

Gibrael sighed, the weight of the truth pressing down on her shoulders. There was no avoiding it now.

"See that condominium?" Gibrael pointed through the window at a distant skyscraper, the building standing tall and solitary against the fading light.

Soul followed her gaze, nodding in acknowledgment, though she already knew the answer.

"They live in a penthouse there."

"What?" Soul's voice rose in disbelief, her heart clenching at the thought. "How could you not see each other for six months when they live within a ten-mile radius?" The question hung in the air, the absurdity of it only deepening the ache in her chest.

Gibrael's response was a sad, almost imperceptible smile—a smile that carried more pain than words ever could.

"There you go again," Soul murmured, her voice laced with a quiet sorrow.

"What?" Gibrael asked, her curiosity piqued by the change in Soul's tone.

"There you go again with that beautiful smile," Soul replied, the words soft, almost reverent, but there was a deep sadness in her eyes as she spoke.

"Uh, thanks?" Gibrael said, confusion clouding her expression, not understanding why Soul looked so pained.

"But I hate that smile," Soul whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

"Huh? Why?"

"Because although your smile is too beautiful for me to fathom, your eyes are screaming sadness," Soul replied, her voice trembling with the weight of the truth she had kept hidden. "What happened between you and them?"

Gibrael sighed deeply, the sound heavy with years of unspoken pain. She sank down onto the couch beside Soul, her body folding in on itself as if the weight of her emotions was too much to bear. "Nothing happened between us. I guess I'm just the problem," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper, her eyes fixed on the empty space in front of her. Soul stayed silent, her presence a gentle invitation for Gibrael to continue, if she was ready.

"Since my boyfriend and I broke up three years ago, I kind of pushed everyone away," Gibrael began, her voice thick with emotion. "It's like everything came crashing down at once. I was a disappointment, and the only person who believed in me left me."

Soul listened, her heart breaking with every word. Gibrael wasn't just talking about her past—she was laying bare the wounds that had never truly healed, the scars that still ached with every breath.

"I pushed them away because being with them only made me feel more alone," Gibrael continued, her voice trembling. "Their presence only reminded me of how successful they were and how I was just my parents' disappointment."

"But maybe, it's not about pushing people away to protect yourself," Soul whispered, her voice gentle, yet firm. "Maybe it's about finding the strength to let them in despite the fear."

Gibrael could only shrug. "Solea was persistent," she added, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "She never gave up on me, even when I was on the brink of giving up on her."

"I miss them, though," Gibrael confessed, her voice cracking as the tears she had been holding back finally began to fall. "But seeing them only reminds me of all my miseries. That's why I only see them when I feel ready, so I don't break down in front of them." Her voice broke, and Soul gently placed a hand on her back, offering what little comfort she could.

"I don't know what the past has done to you to make you this sad," Soul whispered, her voice filled with a deep, aching empathy. "But with what it's made you today, I'm proud. I'm proud that you persisted despite how messy it might have been."

"Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is keep going." Soul added softly, her words resonating in the quiet room.

Gibrael looked at Soul, her eyes filled with tears but also with something else—a flicker of hope, of longing, of a need to believe that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't beyond saving.

"I feel like eating convenience store noodles tonight," Soul said softly, breaking the heavy silence with a gentle smile.

"That sounds nice," Gibrael replied, her voice still tinged with sadness, but there was a lightness there too, a willingness to try, to take a small step forward.

"Let's go?" Soul invited, her hand outstretched, her eyes filled with quiet encouragement.

"Only if there's ice cream after," Gibrael challenged, a small, tentative smile pulling at her lips.

Soul chuckled softly, the sound like a balm to the wounds that had been laid bare. "Of course," she said, her voice full of warmth as she helped Gibrael to her feet.

Together, they grabbed their coats from the rack near the door and stepped out into the cool evening air, their footsteps echoing softly in the quiet hallway.

As they made their way to the convenience store at the foot of the skyscraper, Gibrael felt a warmth in her chest that she hadn't felt in a long time. It wasn't just the comfort of Soul's presence—it was the realization that maybe, just maybe, she didn't have to carry the weight of her loneliness alone anymore. And in that small, tentative hope, there was the beginning of something new, something fragile but real.