Between the Flags.

Back in 2012.

_____

After school, late evening, Isradora is home on her bed. Alexia calls her, voice quiet but firm. She's just found out she’s been called up for her first senior Spain camp—big news. But it means no more sneaky trips, no more flights, no more being able to call when she wants.

Alexia:
“Tengo que decirte algo… I got the call. La selección absoluta. I leave next week.”

Isradora:
“Wait—like the senior team?”
(she’s stunned but proud, trying not to show she’s scared too)

Alexia (softly):
“Sí… It’s what I’ve been working for. But… we won’t see each other. Not at all.”

Isradora:
“We can make it work. I can come to Spain in the summer. I can—”

Alexia:
“It’s not fair on you. You’re still in school. And I can’t be what you need from here. It’s too far now, Issy.”

Isradora (voice breaking):
“So that’s it? We just stop?”

Alexia (pauses, trying not to cry):
“I don’t want to. But yes.”

Isradora (quietly):
“Okay.”
(then, after a beat)
“I’m proud of you, you know. But I hope you know I wouldn’t have let you go if it wasn’t worth it.”

Alexia:
“You were my favourite part of all of this.”

Isradora:
“Don’t say that now.”

And she hung up, tears already falling.

The room is dim, just the glow of fairy lights strung across the window. Isradora is curled up on her bed, back to the door, her phone face down on the pillow beside her. Silent tears stain her cheek, falling as quietly as they can. She doesn't want Leah to hear. Doesn't want to explain.

But Leah always knows.

The door creaks open slowly.

Leah's soft voice broke the silence.
“Issy?”

No reply. Just the hitch of her breath giving her away.

Leah doesn’t ask again. She pads over, socks brushing against the carpet, and climbs onto the bed behind her, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her close, like she’s done since Isradora arrived. She doesn’t push for answers. Just tucks her chin into Isradora’s shoulder and holds her like something might break.

Leah spoke quieter this time.
“You don’t have to tell me. But I’m here, yeah?”

Isradora sniffles, lets out a breath that sounds like a whimper.

Isradora:
“She left me.”

Leah doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch.

“Because of Spain?”

A nod. Barely noticeable.

Isra's voice cracked slightly.
“She said it wasn’t fair on me. That we wouldn’t see each other anymore. But I didn’t care. I didn’t want her to go.”

“You would’ve waited.”

“Forever.”

Leah tightens her grip, rests her cheek against Isradora’s hair.

“Then she’s the one who’s missing out.”

They lie there in silence. Leah doesn’t try to fix it—she just stays. Stays until Isradora’s breathing softens, until the tears dry on her cheeks. Until the ache becomes something bearable.

_____

The house is quiet. Leah’s in the kitchen, and Isradora’s curled up in bed scrolling her phone, the glow of the screen the only light in the room. She’s mid-laugh at an old video someone reposted of her and Leah doing some botched keepie-uppies—until she sees the tagged post.