If it was real

Chapter Three: The Space Between Stars

Author's Note 💭
Chapter Three is all about childhood magic, friendships, and the first quiet shifts before growing up. If a moment hits you in the heart-or makes you smile-leave a comment and let me know! Your thoughts make this journey even more special.

- dreamteam2001

Third grade began with the smell of sharpened pencils and the whisper of brand-new spiral notebooks being cracked open, their pages full of promise. I was eight now, which felt like standing at the edge of something-still a kid, but not completely. Dev and I were still at the same school, Springcrest Oaks Elementary, but our lives were beginning to split into parallel lines. Not bad ones-just separate. He was all about math club, soccer practice, and his core friend group-Noah, Matthew, Armaan, and Kavish-who loved drawing superheroes and comparing sports stats. On the other hand, I found comfort in the library, where the carpet was soft, and the air always smelled like ink, dust, and something sweet, like a memory you didn't know you had.

Dev and I still rode the bus together every morning and afternoon. At home, we were close in the way twins are supposed to be-brushing our teeth side by side, fighting over the last gulab jamun, racing up the stairs like the world depended on it. But at school, we were satellites spinning in different orbits. I remembered my spelling words. He forgot his. I couldn't color inside the lines. He solved math puzzles like they were jokes only he understood. We were mirror images in motion-reflecting each other but not overlapping.

It was in that classroom, sometime in early spring, that I met her.

Basmala.

She transferred in during a week when the sky couldn't decide if it wanted to rain or shine. Ms. Khan introduced her quickly-"This is Basmala. She's just moved here from Cairo. Let's help her feel welcome." Then she gave her the empty desk next to mine, and just like that, my world tilted.

Basmala had this calm energy about her, the kind that made you want to lean closer without realizing why. Her black hair was shiny and thick, tied with a clip that had a little silver butterfly. She looked at everything like she was studying a secret map only she could read. When Ms. Khan told us to find a reading partner, Basmala didn't hesitate. She walked right up and sat beside me like we'd been friends forever.

"I'm Basmala," she said with a smile like sunlight. "I just moved from Egypt."

My brain short-circuited. Egypt. The real Egypt-with pyramids and camels and golden tombs. My hands practically shook with excitement.

"You've actually been to the pyramids?" I whispered.

"Yup," she said, matter-of-fact. "They're way taller in real life."

I knew then, without a doubt, that we were going to be friends. Real ones. The kind that passes notes in glitter pen and builds secret worlds in the margins of their notebooks.

From that day on, we were tape-stuck. She spoke Arabic, French, and English and lived in London, Singapore, and Mumbai before landing in Houston. Her mom had been a diplomat, but now they were staying in a peach-colored apartment complex near my house.

Her younger brother, Kamel, was about a year and a half younger than us and had his own circle of friends. He wasn't close to Dev, but he tagged along sometimes when Basmala visited, the way little brothers do when they're bored and have no better plans.

At lunch, Basmala and I taught each other words from our languages-"shukran" for thank you and "aabhar" in Gujarati. We wrote our names in Hindi and Arabic script in each other's notebooks. Hers was perfect and flowing. Mine looked like the alphabet had slipped on a banana peel, but she still smiled and said, "It's beautiful."