The days blurred together, one after another, until weeks turned into months once more, with the same monotony repeating itself like an endless loop: classes, homework, dance practice—repeat.

I went through the motions each day, trying to keep busy and distract myself from the emptiness I felt. I couldn’t help still waiting for a knock at the door that would never come. I still found myself looking for him in the halls, my heart leaping when I saw him, only to sink in disappointment when I realized he was too busy laughing with Jamal to even glance in my direction.

It wasn’t just the fact that he was drifting away from me—it was that I didn’t know how to catch up. He had skipped a grade, after all, because the teachers said he was “too advanced”.

Now, he was in Jamal’s grade, a year ahead of me, and it felt like he was moving further away, slipping into a world where Jamal and the others had his attention. And I lived in the space between his footsteps and the echo they left behind.

At home, Blake stayed buried in his books, his notebooks filled with scribbles of Arabic. I could tell he wasn’t learning Arabic for any formal reason, nor was it for anyone else’s approval. It was something personal—a connection to a world that fascinated him. The words weren’t mere letters on a page; they were keys to unlocking a culture, a history, a way of thinking that had always eluded him.

Sometimes Jamal would come over, and I’d hear their laughter floating up from the kitchen as they practiced pronunciation. It was weird, seeing Jamal in our house, hearing Blake laugh at something he said while I sat in my room pretending I wasn’t dying to know what was so funny.

I liked Jamal, though.

He always brought over the most mouthwatering dishes, the kind that made my stomach growl in appreciation even before I knew what was on the plate. There was always something new: falafel, shawarma, hummus… But as much as I appreciated his offerings, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was replacing me.

I wanted to be mad at him, but I couldn’t. Because, if I were honest with myself, it wasn’t really Jamal I was mad at.

It was Blake.

Sure, I could’ve joined them at any point. I could’ve sat beside them and made a joke about Blake’s awful pronunciation.

But I didn’t. Because he didn’t want me to. Somewhere along the line, he had made it clear that Jamal was his priority now.

So I kept dancing.