If it was real

Chapter Three: The Space Between Stars

I'd wrapped it in sky-blue tissue paper with a gold star sticker and kept it hidden under the table all night. When the grown-ups started to lose track of conversations, and Ayaan launched into a salsa-eating contest with Danish, I nudged Zain's elbow.

"This is for you," I said, sliding it across. "It's nothing huge. Just... it reminded me of you."

He took it gently. "Thanks," he said. And for a moment, he didn't look away.

Later, Basmala whispered that she saw him open it in the car. It was a hardcover sketch journal, deep navy with swirls that looked like a galaxy. Inside, on the first page, I'd written:

**For when your words don't fit in sentences.**

He never mentioned it. But two weeks later, I saw the journal in the side pocket of his backpack, its corners frayed. And that was enough.

When the cake came out, everyone sang. Loud, off-key, perfect. There were sparklers, too much frosting, and someone shouting, "Make a wish!"

I closed my eyes.

I didn't wish for things to stay the same. I didn't wish to fast-forward time. I wished-quietly, fiercely-for the feeling to hold. For this fragile, precious stretch of childhood to stay soft around the edges. For the people I loved most to stay close, like stars tied together by a thread only we could see.

That night, I kept the silver box on my nightstand, right next to the constellation napkin Basmala gave me.

----

That summer felt like someone had hit the pause button on time and stretched the days wide open. Houston summers were always hot, but that year the sun seemed more golden, more watchful-like it was waiting for something to happen.

Ba signed us up for a mix of things: swimming lessons in the morning, learning camp two days a week, and math enrichment for Dev, which he claimed was punishment until he got a certificate and immediately framed it. I had Kumon twice a week and a reading log that stretched like a dragon's tail across the fridge. Dev kept teasing me for coloring in the boxes with highlighters, but I liked seeing the weeks turn into color.

Basmala and I made it our mission to fill the spaces in between.

She came over almost every afternoon. Sometimes, we sat cross-legged under the trees in my backyard, inventing new story worlds and assigning planets to our cousins. Karthik was Mars-loud and full of energy. Rohit was Mercury, too fast to catch. Neel was Pluto, small but smarter than people realized. We gave Navya and Dania twin stars in the Andromeda galaxy, linked by glitter and imagination. Dev was Earth. Solid, practical, and sometimes annoying.

Zain, I didn't name. I didn't know which planet he was anymore. Maybe he was the moon-always there, changing shape, watching from far away.

On the weekends, we took trips-Galveston Beach, the Houston Children's Museum, and a cousin's backyard with a trampoline so big it felt like a flying saucer. Dev and Rohit built sand castles shaped like football stadiums at the beach. I collected seashells with Basmala and wrote our names in the sand, watching the waves slowly erase them.

One afternoon, Basmala invited me to her place for a sleepover. Her room smelled like vanilla and something musky, probably her mom's oud perfume lingering in the air. We lay on her rug and looked at her box of postcards again. London, Mumbai, Kuala Lumpur. She handed me the one from Cairo and said, "This was my favorite until I came here."

"Houston?" I asked.

She nodded. "It's not the place. It's the people."

That night, we made up ghost stories in three languages-hers, mine, and something in between. We laughed until our stomachs hurt, and at some point, I realized I didn't feel like the quiet girl in the library anymore. I felt like someone who had been chosen for something-by the universe, maybe, or just by her.