Anthologies {MIKHAIAH AU}

fortnight pt 3

The first thing Mikha noticed was the sound of the van door slamming shut. It echoed through the quiet cul-de-sac, sharp and final, like a book being closed on a chapter she didn't want to read. She stood at her kitchen window, arms crossed, watching as James carried another box out of the house and loaded it into the back of the moving van.

The drizzle from earlier that morning had stopped, but the air still felt heavy, thick with the kind of tension that had nowhere to go. James worked with methodical determination, his face set in a grim line. He hadn't looked back at the house once.

And then there was Aiah.

She sat on the patio, a glass of wine in her hand even though it was barely noon. She wore an oversized sweater that swallowed her frame, her legs tucked beneath her. From where Mikha stood, she could see the slight droop of Aiah's shoulders, the exhaustion etched into the curve of her posture.

Mikha's chest tightened. She shouldn't be watching. She knew that. But her eyes refused to look away.

Inside her own house, the silence was deafening. Julia wasn't there—hadn't been for weeks. When she had asked for space, Mikha hadn't fought it. She had nodded, packed Julia's things for her weekend trip to her parents' house, and let her go without a word. But a weekend had turned into a week, and then another, and the space Julia had asked for had stretched into something that felt infinite.

Mikha had tried to respect her boundaries, to give her the time she needed, but deep down, she wondered why she hadn't fought harder. Why wasn't she running after Julia, calling her every night, begging her to come back?

She thought she knew the answer. And it was sitting across from her now, on the patio next door, sipping wine with a vacant look in her eyes.

Aiah.

The name lingered in Mikha's mind, sharp and dangerous.

The guilt gnawed at her like a painful itch she couldn't scratch. She felt like a terrible person—irredeemable, a traitor to the vows she had once made. Julia had been nothing but kind to her, loving, loyal. And yet, Mikha couldn't stop wondering how Aiah was feeling in this moment. She wasn't worried about Julia's sadness, wasn't mourning the space growing between them. Instead, she found herself fixated on Aiah, on the way her lips curled slightly as she brought the wineglass to her mouth, on the empty seat beside her that Mikha wished she could fill.

She hated herself for it.

And yet, here she was.

Another slam from the van jolted her from her thoughts. James was locking the back doors now, his movements stiff and precise. Mikha could only imagine what their final conversation had been like, if there had even been one. Had Aiah told him to leave? Or had James simply decided it was time? Either way, there was no mistaking the finality of it.

As James walked toward the driver's side of the van, he paused briefly at the edge of the patio. Aiah didn't look at him. She kept her gaze on the glass of wine in her hand, her expression unreadable. James hesitated, as if he wanted to say something, but then he climbed into the van without a word. The engine roared to life, and moments later, he was gone, the van disappearing down the street.

Mikha exhaled, realizing she had been holding her breath. Her hands gripped the counter tightly as she looked back at Aiah. She was still sitting there, her glass half-empty, her eyes distant.

And then, as if sensing Mikha's gaze, Aiah turned her head.

Their eyes met across the yards, across the fences that separated them but never seemed to keep them apart. Mikha felt her breath catch in her throat. She wanted to look away, to pretend she hadn't been staring, but she couldn't.