A family grathering in their shard ancrstral home's garden . The sun is dipping low,casting an orange hue over everything.Kids are playing . Laughter echoes. But little Amira is still, hidden halfway behind a tree .
Amira was six years old the first time she felt her heart do something strange.
It happened quietly, beneath the hibiscus tree, where she watched her cousin from a safe distance. Zayn was twelve, tall (in her eyes), and impossibly cool. He was laughing at something one of the older boys said, the sound like music in her tiny ears.
She tilted her head, staring dreamily. "Waaaaaaoooow," she whispered, the word long and breathy, drawn out in awe.
"Big brother is so pretty," she mumbled to herself.
Zayn turned slightly, and she squeaked, ducking behind the tree. Her heart pounded like she'd stolen something.
She hadn't learned the word for it yet—crush, love, longing. But right there, in the fading sunlight, a quiet seed was planted.
One that would grow in shadows for years to come.