Yami || WLW

Yami was sitting on the bench, with the half-smoked cigarette between her fingers. The smoke swirled around her face, as if it too wanted to hide her. When she heard the soft footsteps behind her, she didn't need to turn around: she knew that rhythm, that way of walking as if the ground were fragile.

He barely turned his head. His voice came out low, rough, broken between calm and memory.

—I thought you wouldn't come back here, Eli.

Eliza did not respond immediately. She stood there, watching the lights flickering across the street, the fried food stand still open, the grease sizzling on the metal. The air smelled of smoke, old oil, and something that hurt in the chest.

Yami looked at her, and for a moment, the entire neighborhood disappeared. Only the two of them remained, with the distance marked between their bodies and the past biting their tongues.

"They say you don't talk about me anymore," Yami said, the cigarette going out between his fingers. But look at you… you still tremble just the same when you see me.

Eliza was always the kind of girl the neighbors held up as an example. He got good grades, helped his mom with the shopping, and greeted everyone in the neighborhood with that neat smile that seemed to have never been stained. I lived in a small but tidy house; one of those where it smells of soap, freshly baked bread, and the curtains are always clean. He had big dreams and seemingly endless patience.

Yami, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. She had a heavy gaze, a quick gait, chipped nail polish, and a hoarse voice from smoking so much. They knew her by her nicknames, by her fights, by the raucous laughter that could be heard in the middle of the night when she came home from a party. She was one of those who didn't ask permission, one of those who didn't look back. He had a huge heart, but it was covered in scars.

The day they met was a dirty and divine coincidence. Eliza had gotten out of school late, the sky was threatening rain, and Yami was sitting outside a store, holding a warm beer and a look on her face that said, “Come closer if you dare.” And Eliza came closer. Maybe out of curiosity, maybe because of that feeling you get when something inside you wants to burn.

Since then, the neighborhood looked at them strangely. A saint and a sinner, they said. But what no one knew was that when they were together, all the noise in the world faded away. Eliza learned to laugh with her mouth full of smoke, and Yami discovered that she could still cry without shame. They loved each other as if love were a wound that only they understood.

They shared early mornings of cheap wine, broken songs, and secrets that were never fully told. Sometimes they shouted at each other, sometimes they hugged each other until they ran out of breath. And when they were apart, everything smelled bad, as if the air in the neighborhood had gone bad.