A Gentle Collision

Chapter 15

The clock on the wall ticked away, its soft, rhythmic sound filling Freen’s room as she sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at the half-open textbook in front of her. It was Monday, and the house was eerily quiet. Her father had left early in the morning, his departure announced with a gruff demand for her to “not waste the day.” She was used to his absence during weekdays, but his shadow still lingered in every corner of the house, reminding her that this silence was merely a temporary reprieve.

It was noon now, the sun streaming in through the curtains, painting golden patterns on the floor. Freen hadn’t moved much since breakfast, the weight of the weekend’s events still fresh in her mind. She felt hollow and tired, the memory of her father’s Sunday rage gnawing at her insides. The only solace she found was knowing he wouldn’t return until late that night, leaving her a small window of peace.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden chime of the doorbell. Freen froze, her heart skipping a beat. It was unusual for anyone to visit, and the unexpected sound sent a ripple of unease through her. She carefully approached the door, peeking through the small peephole, and felt her breath catch.

It was Becky.

Freen opened the door hesitantly, her fingers curling around its edge. Becky stood there, hands in her jacket pockets, her expression unreadable yet oddly determined. Her dark eyes flicked up to meet Freen’s, and for a brief moment, Freen felt a surge of something—something warm and unnameable.

“Becky?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah. It’s me,” Becky replied, her tone blunt as ever. She shifted her weight awkwardly before adding, “I was in the area... thought I’d drop by.”

Freen raised an eyebrow, skeptical. Becky didn’t seem like the type to just “drop by.”

“What for?” Freen asked, crossing her arms defensively.

Becky shrugged, her gaze darting away. “Figured you might want to get out for a bit.”

Freen’s eyes widened slightly. “What? No. I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Freen hesitated. The truth—that her father would explode if he found out she had gone out—was too heavy to say aloud. Instead, she settled for a weak excuse. “My dad comes home late. He’d worry if I wasn’t here.”

Becky gave her a flat look, one that seemed to cut through her feeble reasoning. “Really? He’d worry?”

Freen faltered, her hands tightening around the doorframe. Becky wasn’t stupid; she could see right through her.

“I just can’t, okay?” Freen said, her voice firmer this time.

Becky sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Look, Freen, you need to breathe a little. I get it—things are complicated at home. But... you’re allowed to step out once in a while. It’s not like the world’s gonna end if you do.”

Freen shook her head, anxiety bubbling in her chest. “You don’t understand. He’ll be angry.”

“So what?” Becky countered, taking a step closer. “You can’t live like this forever.”

Freen opened her mouth to argue but found herself at a loss for words. Becky’s bluntness, while irritating, struck a chord deep within her. A part of her wanted to say yes, to take Becky’s hand and escape this suffocating house, even if just for a moment.

But the fear of her father’s wrath held her back.

“I can’t,” Freen whispered again, her voice cracking slightly.

Becky studied her for a long moment, her expression softening. She reached out, her hand brushing against Freen’s wrist. “Come on, Freen. Just for a little while. I promise I’ll bring you back before he’s even home.”

Freen hesitated, the warmth of Becky’s touch sending a strange sense of reassurance through her. Her heart warred with her mind, the weight of her father’s control clashing against the yearning to escape, to feel free, even if just for a few hours.

After what felt like an eternity, she found herself nodding, albeit reluctantly. “Okay. But just for a little while.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Becky’s lips as she gently pulled Freen out of the house.

---

The market was alive with color and noise, a stark contrast to the quiet, oppressive atmosphere Freen was used to. Vendors called out to passersby, displaying their goods with enthusiasm, while families and couples strolled leisurely through the bustling streets.

Freen stuck close to Becky, her eyes darting around nervously. The freedom felt strange, almost foreign, but there was a certain thrill to it as well. Becky, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease, her hands stuffed in her jacket pockets as she led the way.

“Relax,” Becky said, glancing back at Freen. “You look like you’re about to bolt.”

“I’m not used to this,” Freen admitted, her voice barely audible over the noise of the market.

Becky smirked, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “You’ll be fine. Just... try to enjoy it.”

They wandered through the market, stopping occasionally to look at stalls selling everything from handmade jewelry to freshly baked pastries. Becky seemed to know the place well, guiding Freen through the labyrinth of vendors with ease.

At one point, they passed a small bakery, the scent of warm bread and sugar wafting through the air. Freen hesitated, her gaze lingering on the display of pastries in the window.

“You want one?” Becky asked, noticing her interest.

Freen shook her head quickly. “No, it’s fine.”

Becky rolled her eyes but didn’t push. Instead, she stepped inside and returned a few moments later with two small pastries in hand.

“Here,” she said, handing one to Freen.

Freen stared at the pastry, her cheeks flushing slightly. “I said I didn’t want one.”

“Too bad,” Becky replied, biting into her own. “Consider it... a bribe for getting you out of the house.”

Despite herself, Freen smiled faintly and took a small bite. The sweetness of the pastry melted on her tongue, and for a brief moment, she forgot about the weight of her life back home.

As they continued walking, Becky’s demeanor shifted slightly. She was still guarded, still rough around the edges, but there was a gentleness to her actions that Freen hadn’t noticed before.

When they finally stopped at the edge of the market, Freen glanced at Becky, her heart swelling with a mix of gratitude and confusion. She didn’t understand why Becky had gone out of her way to do this for her, but she couldn’t deny that it meant something.

“Thank you,” Freen said softly.

Becky shrugged, her usual indifference masking whatever she was feeling. “Don’t mention it.”

For the first time in a long time, Freen felt a flicker of hope—a small, fragile thing, but enough to remind her that maybe, just maybe, there was more to life than the confines of her father’s house.

“Come on,” Becky said. “There’s more to see.”

Freen hesitated for only a moment before taking Becky’s hand. Together, they melted back into the crowd, the market’s vibrant energy carrying them forward.