The summer breeze was cool, carrying the sweet, clean scent of blooming night jasmine and damp earth. On the low cedar table between our wicker chairs sat two steaming mugs of mint tea.
Down at the end of the walk, the eight-foot black iron gate gleamed beneath the yellow glow of the streetlamp—immovable, balanced, and forged of cold-rolled American steel.
Maya took a slow sip of her tea, resting her head against the wooden slats, listening to the peaceful chirping of the crickets.
“Elena?” she murmured.
“Yeah, Maya?”
“Do you think any other neighbor is going to offer to fix our gate for free?”
I let out a soft laugh, clinking my ceramic mug against hers in the quiet dark.
“Only if they have a death wish, little sister,” I whispered. “Only if they have a death wish.”
We sat together in the sanctuary of our own making, untroubled by shadows, watching the night settle over a world that was safe once more.
If you want more stories like this, or if you’d like to share your thoughts about what you would have done in my situation, I’d love to hear from you. Your perspective helps these stories reach more people, so don’t be shy about commenting or sharing.
