Chapter Text
We grew into our friendship like a sunrise grows the day—
Not sudden, not demanding, but in quiet, steady sway.
A glance exchanged, a shared remark, a laugh too soft to trust—
And slowly, surely, tenderly, our separate worlds adjust.
She lingered near my table now instead of drifting far,
A constellation drawing close to touch a brighter star.
Her midnight eyes still held their depth, still drifting, calm and low,
But now I saw a gentler spark beginning to faintly glow.
Not bright enough to call a flame, not warm enough for fire—
But something small and trembling, like the start of new desire.
She’d greet me with a timid smile she couldn’t hold for long,
A shy, uneven crescent that felt fragile, yet felt strong.
Her voice, once only whispered, found a little strength to stand;
It quivered on the edges still, but reached for open land.
She spoke in slightly fuller tones, though still too soft to claim,
As though she learned that words could rise without the weight of shame.
Her laughter came more easily, though startled when it came—
A sudden flash of brightness she’d forget to try and tame.
One afternoon, she joined me first, before I took my seat—
A small, uncertain bravery that made my pulse skip a beat.
She tucked her hair behind her ear in motions slow but sure,
As though she’d grown accustomed to a world less insecure.
Her slender frame still held its air of gentle fragility,
But something in her stance had changed— a faint stability.
At times I'd catch her looking up, not down or to the side—
A subtle, hopeful difference that she barely tried to hide.
Her gaze, though deep as midnight still, had softened at the rim,
As though the sky inside her eyes was growing slightly dim—
Not dark with distant sorrow now, but dim with waking light,
A fragile, hesitant first dawn that trembled through the night.
She walked with steps more grounded now, though lightness lingered still,
As delicate as fallen leaves that scatter where they will.
But now her steps seemed purposeful, her footing more aligned,
As though the earth beneath her feet had shifted in her mind.
I never thought to question it; I simply saw her grace—
The little hints of quiet strength she carried into place.
She still looked slender, softer-boned, a little underfed,
But something in her cheeks had changed, the whisper of a red.
A touch of warmth beneath her skin, a quiet, rosy hue—
Like winter thawing just enough to let the spring peek through.
I noticed too her hands shook less when she would write or read,
Her fingers moving smoothly now, not trembling with need.
She spoke with me of little things—of books she liked to keep,
Of poems she found comforting before she fell asleep.
She’d ask me for my favorite lines, then tuck them in her chest,
As though she planned to use them later, hidden, for her rest.
Her thoughts were soft, meandering, like rivers slow and mild,
And each new word she shared with me felt tender, felt beguiled.
We’d stay after the meetings now, our papers spread in pairs,
Comparing messy scribbles, trading metaphors and stares.
Sometimes she’d hum a nameless tune, too faint to truly hear—
A trembling little melody she’d let slip when I was near.
Her shoulders loosened gradually, her posture less confined,
As though the weight she used to bear grew softer in her mind.
And yet—
There were moments still when something in her froze,
A flicker of uncertainty too quiet to expose.
She’d pause as though remembering a thought that wasn’t sweet,
Or touch her wrist as if to check her pulse was still complete.
She’d drift into a silence deep, a shadow swift and small,
But then return to light again, as though it meant nothing at all.
But I—
I never questioned it.
I saw the blooming part.
The soft uncoiling petals of the courage in her heart.
Her beauty stayed ethereal, but grounded in the day,
Like morning dew that clings to grass then slowly melts away.
I saw the hints of color now along her fragile form,
The faintness of a spring breeze soft against an autumn storm.
Sometimes she’d bring her lunch to school and eat a little bite,
A simple thing I noticed, though I thought it impolite
To make her feel observed at all, to make her think I cared—
But something in that modest act was sweeter than she dared.
Her chewing slow, her posture tense, as though she feared the act,
Yet something brave in every move, a gentle, blooming fact.
Her clothes fit just a bit less loose, though still they draped her frame—
I thought it was just fashion’s change, no deeper thought to claim.
Her cheeks looked just a shade less pale, her lips a shade less blue,
Her hands a little steadier than when our friendship grew.
But still, to me, she simply seemed more lovely every day—
Not changed, but somehow softening in her own subtle way.
We walked home once on accident, our paths aligned by chance,
And all along the fading light she held a shy romance.
Her steps kept time with mine at last, no longer falling back—
A quiet sign her courage found the space it used to lack.
She spoke of constellations then, of stars she liked to trace,
And as she spoke, the twilight touched her gentle, growing face.
Her midnight eyes, though deep as ever, shimmered differently—
Not hollow now, but luminous with quiet clarity.
They caught the amber evening glow and held it like a dream,
Like someone rediscovering the warmth of summer’s beam.
She brushed her hair behind her ear, her fingers soft and slow,
And though she blushed at nothing, still her cheeks began to show.
Each passing day she seemed to breathe a little more of life,
As though the world no longer felt like such a sharpened knife.
Her smile came more easily, her laughter found its way,
And though each change was delicate, I saw them day by day.
I did not seek to understand; I only saw her shine—
The girl who walked from winter’s shade toward something more divine.
And in those weeks of quiet growth, of fragile blooming grace,
She seemed to gather pieces of a self she’d once misplaced.
I saw it in her rising voice, her steps more firm, more true,
The subtle shift of colors in her pale and gentle hue.
I saw it in her posture’s lift, the calmness in her air,
The way she met the world at last as someone who was there.
I never knew the reasons for her softness growing strong.
I only knew that being near her felt like righting wrong.
Her dawn began to rise for me in every quiet sign—
A slow awakening of light too delicate to define.
And though she never said a thing of struggle or of pain,
Her presence filled with warmth anew, like sunlight after rain.
And I—
Who’d loved her quietly from day one in my chest—
Could only marvel, breathless, at her quiet, gentle crest.
For beauty does not bloom at once; it grows from fragile skies.
And she—
My midnight-eyed girl—
Was learning how to rise.