Arriella never anticipated that their online chats would turn into a nightly ritual—but they certainly did.
Every evening, as she dropped her bag on the floor and settled onto her thin mattress, her phone would buzz.
Khalid:
"Made it home?"
Initially, their conversations were brief—sharing tidbits about work, exchanging jokes about quirky customers, and slipping in light encouragements without getting too serious.
But over time, those chats evolved.
They grew longer.
And more meaningful.
He sent her hilarious memes, voice notes of him singing off-key, and screenshots of online courses he thought she might enjoy. Sometimes, they even playfully debated which local snack was superior.
Then, one evening, he shared a link.
Khalid:
"Download this. Let's play."
It was an online chess app.
Arriella chuckled to herself but decided to download it anyway.
She lost the first game in mere minutes.
Arriella:
"You cheated."
Khalid:
"I didn't cheat. You just sacrificed your queen like a bad boyfriend."
Arriella:
"😭😭😭"
Khalid:
"Don't worry. I'll teach you."
And he did—oh, so patiently.
Night after night, they played. He guided her through strategies, patterns, and the importance of thinking ahead.
He even made the learning process enjoyable.
"Chess is like life," he remarked during one of their calls.
"You thrive by planning, not panicking."
Arriella leaned back against her pillow, smiling at the ceiling.
"How do you even think like this?"
"I read a lot," he joked. "And I had to mature quickly."
They spent hours talking, sometimes until midnight, discussing dreams, fears, and the people they aspired to be.
Khalid was brilliant—almost too brilliant at times.
He wasn't just academically smart; he was emotionally intelligent as well.
And he used that brilliance like a gentle light, illuminating the forgotten corners of her world.
One evening, after a chess match she was thrilled to win, the conversation took a turn.
Khalid:
"Ella… can I say something?"
Her heart raced. "Go ahead."
He exhaled softly through the call.
"You're improving. I can see it. You're healing piece by piece, and I'm really proud of you."
Her throat tightened. "Thank you… truly."
"But there's one thing left," he continued gently.
"The truth."
Her fingers froze on her bedsheet.
"You need to talk to your parents about school," he said softly.
"You're carrying a burden you shouldn't have to bear alone."
"Khalid…" she whispered.
"I'm not judging," he quickly reassured her. "I promise. I just… don't want you to build your future on fear."
A heavy silence settled between them.
"While lying feels easier now," he added, "the longer it lingers, the more painful it will become."
Tears welled in her eyes before she could hold them back.
"I'm scared," she admitted.
"I understand," he said. "That's why I'm here. You won't face this alone. We'll plan together—what you'll say, how you'll say it… even when."
Arriella wiped her cheeks.
"Do you think they won't hate me?"
Khalid chuckled softly. "You're their daughter. They might shout a little—okay, maybe a lot—but they will forgive you."
A shaky laugh escaped her lips.
"You promise you won't disappear?"
"Ella," he assured her, his voice steady, "I'm not going anywhere."
Her heart warmed.
For the first time in a long while…
she truly believed in someone.
That night, after they ended the call, Arriella gazed at her phone, a soft smile spreading across her face.
Her life wasn't perfect.
Her problems hadn't vanished.
But she wasn't navigating them alone anymore.
And maybe… just maybe…
it was time to stop running and start confronting the truth.
With someone cheering her on.