The distance took time to register.
Not physically, Aaliyah still moved through the same city, passed the same buildings, recognized the same institutional rhythms. But the internal distance, the kind that marked a true transition, arrived gradually.
She noticed it one morning when her phone buzzed with an update and she didn't feel the reflex to open it immediately.
The notification sat there.
Unanswered.
Unnecessary.
She finished making tea first.
Rowan watched her from the kitchen doorway, saying nothing. They had learned, over years, not to interrupt moments that signaled change.
"You didn't check it," Rowan said eventually.
Aaliyah glanced at her phone, then set it face down on the counter. "I know."
Rowan smiled faintly. "How does that feel?"
Aaliyah considered. "Like trust. Not in people. In structure."
The update, when she read it later, was routine.
