Two months later, school already felt less daunting, and more like a place I belonged.
Every Thursday in the library, Hamza and I had fallen into a routine: after school, he would explain the exercises in my maths workbook and I'd mark and edit his English essays.
"You're brutal," he said one afternoon, fixing the grammar in a sentence I had pointed out.
"You're welcome," I shot back.
"You're lucky I like you enough to fix your algebra," he teased.
It was like that every week - easy, simple and comforting.
Tanisha and I had become inseparable. We painted together on weekends and laughed over in‑jokes that made no sense to anyone else. She still called me "Sabah," and whenever she called it, it made my heart warmth. I felt like I belonged. I felt seen and loved.
By the time the October holiday arrived, the whole school buzzed with restless excitement, an eagerness to start the holidays. kind of happiness. Teachers let lessons dissolve into chatter but Ms Clark remained as strict as ever in the corridors.
"Sabah, we're making a group chat," Tanisha declared, shoving her phone into my hand. "You, me, Amir, Hamza. It'll be great fun, we can plan hangouts during the holidays!" She said excitedly.
I nodded in agreement. That sounded fun.
"Done." Her fingers flew over the screen.
When the final bell rang, everyone spilled out into the afternoon.
"See you, Sabah!" Tanisha said, throwing her arms around me.
"See you!" said Amir with a grin.
"See you soon!" Said Hamza with a small smile and a small wave as we left the gates.
My parents picked me up by car, so I didn't take the bus with Hamza.