It had only been an hour.
An hour since Raya had stormed off, since Namaari had turned away, jaw tight, refusing to let the hurt show on her face. An hour since the air between them had thickened with unspoken words and old wounds.
Raya was tired. Exhausted, really. the weight of their continuous arguments sat heavy on her chest, pressing down until it was hard to breathe. She ran a hand down her face, fingers lingering at her temple, trying to ease the dull ache settling in her skull.
They hadn’t even been fighting about anything significant. Not really. It had started with logistics; reinforcements in Spine, patrol rotations, supplies for the rebuilding efforts. Practical things. Necessary things. But somehow, the discussion had slipped, shifted, and suddenly they were standing on opposite sides of the room, words laced with something sharper than they intended.
It always came back to this: trust. or, the lack thereof.
She exhaled sharply, glancing at the clock on her desk. Only an hour. But it had been feeling like much longer.
It had been like this for weeks; small fights, fragile truces, fleeting moments of peace before another argument sent them spiralling again. A cycle they couldn’t seem to break. And yet, despite it all, neither of them walked away.
Raya wasn’t sure if that made them foolish or just desperate.
She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, willing the frustration away. She was sat hunched over in her arm chair, her reflection in the window opposite barely visible in the dim glow of her room, staring at the clock on her desk. The soft flicker of candlelight cast long shadows across the walls, making everything seem warped, distorted.
She exhaled shakily. Her hands wouldn’t stop trembling.
The room felt too small, the walls pressing in, the silence unbearable. Her breath came in short, shallow bursts, chest tightening with every inhale.
She slowly stands, trying to steady herself, but instead desended to the floor on her knees, trying to catch her breath. She tried to focus on the cool wood beneath her fingertips, on the faint creak of the floorboards, on anything that could ground her. but it wasn’t working.
Her vision blurred at the edges.
Realising sets in at once; she’s experiencing another panic attack. “Please, stop, not right now.” her voice is hoarse as she continues to feel around the floor, hoping the small, indented grooves would bring back her focus.
But her body wasn’t listening.
Panic clawed its way up her throat, thick and suffocating. Her pulse hammered against her ribs, her limbs tingling, her skin burning with a heat that wasn’t real. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to will herself to breathe, but the more she tried, the worse it became.
She felt as if she was drowning.
And yet again, as it had been for so many years; there was no one here to pull her out.
A sharp, broken sound escaped her lips, something between a gasp and a sob. Her fingers dug into the fabric of her shirt, as if she could hold herself together through sheer force of will. But it just wasn’t enough. It never was.
And somewhere in the haze of it, she knew she could call for someone. A guard. A healer. Namaari. Her Namaari.
But she didn’t.
Because the truth was, this was hers. Hers to carry. Hers to endure. Hers to figure out how to survive. And was too afraid to look weak.
What would namaari think of her? Panicking over a fight raya most likely helped cause? She couldn’t find out. No one could.
Minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity before the panic began to ebb, leaving her drained, shaking, curled in on herself like something fragile, something shattered.
She sat there in the quiet, chest still rising and falling unevenly, the weight of exhaustion settling into her bones.
And between the panic, the candle on her desk flickered once, twice, then snuffed out.
Raya didn’t bother relighting it.
She simply closed her eyes and focused on letting the darkness take her.
///
Meanwhile, Namaari sat across from her mother in one of Hearts’ many drawing rooms, exasperated as she relayed her most recent conflict with Raya; another spontaneous argument that has sprung up this week.
Virana listened in silence as namaari finished explaining, her expression unchanged. When she finally spoke, her words were careful, measured.
“You’re both too proud for your own good.”
Namaari’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Well, yes, mother, I think we gathered that much.”
Virana sighed, but there was something almost amused in her eyes. “You love her, don’t you?”
Namaari opened her mouth, then closed it again. she swallowed. “That’s—“
“Not the point?” Virana supplied, arching a knowing brow.
Namaari scowled. “Look, I didn’t come here to talk about—”
Virana held up a hand, to which Namaari stopped to listen. “Perhaps not. But it is relevant, Namaari.”
Namaari exhaled sharply, looking away. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter if we can’t stop fighting. I don’t know why I asked.”
Virana studied her for a long moment before sighing. “You remind me of your father sometimes,” she said at last. “He was terrible at admitting when he was wrong, too.”
Namaari frowned, and turned back to face her mother. “I—“
Virana simply stood, resting a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “If you truly want to make this work, you have to be willing to change. you both do.”
Namaari’s expression soured. she hated conflict; especially with Raya. And most of all, she hated how much sense her mother’s words made.
Virana walks over to edge of the table to pour herself some more water from the pitcher, as Benja stepped forward to say his piece.
“You and Raya have always been like this,” Benja said, shaking his head fondly. “Even when you were children. Always challenging each other. Always pushing.”
Namaari groaned. “Maybe so, but back then it wasn’t exhausting. We were children. We didn’t have as many responsibilities and titles as we harbour now.”
Benja hummed in thought, taking a seat next to namaari before he spoke again. “Have you considered that maybe you’re fighting so much because you’re trying too hard not to care?”
Namaari blinked, shocked. “What?
Benja smiled, knowingly. “Sometimes, when we’re afraid of losing something… we push it away first.”
Namaari looked back at him again, thanking both him and her mother, before standing and making her way towards raya’s quarters.
Truth was, as she found herself moving closer to Raya’s room, she considered instead sitting alone elsewhere, staring at down her shaky hands.
She hadn’t gone after Raya earlier. She hadn’t chased, hadn’t knocked on her door, hadn’t tried to fix whatever had broken between them this time.
She didn’t know why.
Or, maybe she did. Maybe it was because she was tired, too. Because they had been fighting all week now, and she wasn’t quite sure if they knew how to do anything else.
Maybe it was because she was afraid that if she went after Raya now, there would be nothing left to salvage.
So she stayed where she was, fingers curling into fists, jaw tightening, forcing herself not to move.
But then, she heard it. Raya’s small, hushed sobs, from the inside of her room. Namaari moved closer, pressing her ear against the cool wooden door, listening in as Raya struggled to catch her breath.
to namaari, she sounded scared, perhaps even unwell.
Panic started to rise within her; was Raya okay? What was going on?
Making a swift decision, she stepped back and knocked on the door. Three short raps, measured and precise. A familiar knock that Namaari hoped Raya hadn’t forgotten within the past week.
She moved toward the door again, listening in for a slight change in her breathing pattern, but to no avail.
Raya had distantly heard the knock, slightly pulling her out of her panicked trance. upon knowing who waited behind the door, hesitated to open it, her heart lurching in her chest. She wasn’t ready to fight with Namaari again. and she couldn’t let her see her this vulnerable; this weak.
“Raya?” Namaari’s voice was steady, but there was something beneath it, something softer. “Dep la, can we talk?”
Raya clenched her jaw, warring with herself, before finally pushing herself up from the floor and waddling unsteadily to the door. She opened it just enough to meet Namaari’s gaze, taking in the tension in her stance. The way her arms were crossed; not in defiance, but in restraint.
They looked at each other for a long moment, neither speaking. The hallway was dark, shadows stretching between them, but Raya could still see the tension in Namaari’s jaw, the hesitation in her fingers where they gripped the fabric of her sleeve.
It wasn’t much. But it was enough.
Raya sighed, stepping back just enough to let her in.
Namaari hesitated, before moving past the threshold, but her movements were careful, quieter than usual, as if she knew she was stepping into something fragile.
Neither of them continued to speak as raya sank back onto the edge of her bed, elbows resting on her knees. Namaari lingered a few feet away, fingers flexing at her sides, like she was still trying to decide if she belonged here.
Finally, Raya broke the silence with a sigh.
“I….had another panic attack.”
The words felt strange on her tongue; foreign, like admitting them to Namaari again made it more real. But she said them anyway. Because if she didn’t, the silence might consume her whole.
Namaari inhaled sharply. “Raya…”
Raya shook her head before she could finish. “It’s fine, ‘maari. It’s over now.”
Namaari frowned. “That doesn’t mean it’s fine, Dep la.”
Raya let out a humorless laugh, running a hand down her face. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Namaari was quiet for a moment. and then, soft, barely above a whisper: “I’m so sorry.”
Raya blinked, looking back up at namaari, her tired expression unchanged. “For what?”
Namaari exhaled, looking away, jaw tight. “For letting you walk away. For not checking on you sooner.” Raya watches as her fingers curled into fists. “For whatever it is we keep doing to each other.”
Something in Raya’s chest tightened.
Should she have been angry? Maybe a part of her still was. But more than anything, she was just… tired. She craved namaari’s gentleness more than anything, and she just wanted to be done with the pointless arguments.
She sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t know how to fix this.”
Namaari swallowed, then, after a beat of hesitation, took a slow step forward. Then another. Until she was close enough that raya could see the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, the way her fingers twitched like she wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure if she should.
Raya made the choice for her.
She reached for Namaari’s wrist, fingers brushing over the pulse point there, hesitant at first, but steady. Namaari stiffened, then relaxed, exhaling as raya’s grip tightened just slightly.
She pulled her closer towards her bed, to which Namaari sat beside her, holding her arms out; motioning for Raya to sit with her.
She obliged, shuffling closer, and into her arms, sighing as she let herself be more vulnerable in Namaari’s presence.
It wasn’t much. But it was enough.
For tonight.