A Gentle Collision

Chapter 16

The sun had long since set, and the once-bustling market was now winding down. Freen had been glancing at the time nervously for the past hour, her heart thudding every time she thought of her father. Becky, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to her growing anxiety, dragging her from one corner of the market to another.

“Becky,” Freen said softly, tugging on the sleeve of Becky’s jacket. “It’s getting late.”

“Just one more place,” Becky replied, her tone casual. She pointed to a row of tiny shops nestled near the edge of the market. “They have cool handmade stuff over there. You’ll like it.”

Freen sighed, glancing at the darkening sky. “I really need to go home.”

Becky finally turned to look at her, her brow furrowed slightly. “You’ve been saying that for the past hour. What’s the rush? Your dad’s not even home yet, right?”

“That’s not the point,” Freen mumbled, her voice barely audible. “I can’t risk it.”

Becky’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she looked like she might argue. Instead, she sighed and shoved her hands into her jacket pockets. “Fine. Let’s get you back before you turn into a pumpkin or whatever.”

Relief flooded Freen’s chest as they started walking back through the dimly lit streets. The chatter of the market faded into the background, replaced by the rhythmic sound of their footsteps on the pavement. Freen kept stealing glances at Becky, who walked slightly ahead, her shoulders relaxed and her stride unhurried.

When they reached Freen’s house, the lights inside were off. Her heart skipped a beat as she scanned the driveway. Her father’s car wasn’t there.

“He’s not home yet,” she whispered, more to herself than Becky.

“See?” Becky said, leaning casually against the gate. “You worried for nothing.”

Freen turned to Becky, her voice hushed. “Thank you for today. Really. But I need to go in now before he…” She trailed off, her fingers clutching the strap of her bag tightly.

Becky raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. “Alright. Get in. And try not to look like you’ve been out having fun or something. You’re terrible at lying.”

Freen managed a small smile at that, though her nerves were still on edge. “Goodnight, Becky.”

“Night,” Becky said, turning to leave with a wave.

Freen slipped inside the house as quietly as she could, her heart pounding. She hurried to the kitchen and set her bag down, grabbing a glass of water to make it seem like she’d been home all day. She straightened the cushions on the couch and moved a few things around, trying to leave no trace of her absence.

When her father arrived an hour later, Freen was in the kitchen, pretending to wash dishes. He entered with his usual scowl, barely glancing her way.

“Dinner’s ready,” she said quickly, avoiding his gaze.

He grunted in response and sat down at the table, eating in silence. Freen’s hands trembled as she continued washing the already-clean plate in her hand, but he didn’t seem to notice. After finishing his meal, he muttered something about being tired and disappeared into his room.

As soon as she heard his door close, Freen let out a shaky breath, her knees nearly buckling under the weight of relief. She cleaned up quickly, her movements automatic, and retreated to her room.

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Later that night, Freen lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. The house was silent except for the faint ticking of the clock on her nightstand. She was safe. He hadn’t suspected a thing.

A grin spread across her face, unbidden and uncontrollable. She had done it. She had actually done it. For the first time in what felt like forever, she’d had a taste of freedom—real freedom. Her chest swelled with a giddy, almost childish excitement, and she couldn’t stop herself from rolling onto her stomach and burying her face in her pillow to muffle the delighted squeal that escaped her.

Her fists clenched around the blanket as she kicked her legs in a fit of cute, aggressive excitement. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, the emotions bubbling up like an overflowing fountain.

“I did it,” she whispered to herself, her voice muffled by the pillow. “I really did it.”

The memory of Becky pulling her through the market, her hand warm and steady, replayed in her mind. For a moment, she felt a flicker of something unfamiliar—something she couldn’t quite name.

She hugged her pillow tightly, her cheeks flushing as she thought about Becky’s determination to get her out of the house. Becky’s confidence, her stubbornness, her casual yet caring attitude… it had all left an impression Freen couldn’t shake.

But those thoughts were for another time. Right now, she was basking in the joy of her small victory, the taste of freedom still sweet on her tongue. For the first time in years, she felt alive.