|
Thanks AI
Listen to this short story.
.
| Amaqjuaq sat quietly in the corner of the dimly lit soup kitchen in Montreal, his thick jacket draped over his broad shoulders. The rain tapping against the window felt oddly soothing. He tapped his fingers against the table, his thoughts far from the chatter around him. He had ignored his father’s latest calls again. It had been months since they last spoke, and even longer since they had any real conversation. His father’s imprisonment had created a rift too deep to cross. “Amaqjuaq, more soup?” called a kitchen volunteer, mispronouncing his name. He shook his head and waved her off, his eyes drifting back toward the window. Across the room, Ahnah sat sketching in her notebook, her fingers tracing smooth lines that revealed a world of emotions beyond words. She wasn’t used to the city, but Montreal offered her anonymity, something she craved ever since leaving Tuktoyaktuk. Her gaze wandered across the room and landed on Amaqjuaq, who seemed isolated, like a storm cloud waiting to burst. She didn’t know him well, but she had noticed his presence throughout the summer, a quiet intensity that intrigued her. Her curiosity always got the better of her, and today was no different. She stood, dusting crumbs off her jacket, and approached his table without hesitation. “Mind if I sit?” she asked, sliding into the chair across from him. Amaqjuaq barely glanced up. “Aakka,” he muttered, the Inuktitut word for no, slipping out before he could stop it. Ahnah’s brow lifted. “What does that mean?” she asked, amused. “Was that a mysterious way of saying you don’t want me here, or are you just shy?” Amaqjuaq hesitated before responding. “Aakka means no,” he said, his voice low, as if admitting it were a burden. Ahnah smiled, her interest piqued. “Learning already. What else can you teach me?” Amaqjuaq shrugged, still unsure about this girl who seemed too curious for her own good. “Qanuipit?” he asked after a pause. Ahnah blinked. “What?” “It means, ‘How are you?’” he explained, looking at her more directly now. She smiled, leaning back in her chair. “Qanuipit. It sounds nice. Like the sound of snow falling.” She studied his face for a moment. “But I think the real question is, how are you?” He stiffened. “I’m fine.” “That’s not an answer,” Ahnah replied gently. “That’s a deflection.” Amaqjuaq’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. “I’m dealing with stuff,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze. “You wouldn’t understand.” “Try me,” she challenged, her tone soft but persistent. He hesitated, his fingers clenching into fists. “My dad,” he said quietly. “He’s in prison. He keeps calling me... expecting me to forgive him. But I can’t.” Ahnah didn’t flinch. “I get it. Maybe not exactly like you do, but I understand that feeling. Family isn’t always easy, especially when you’re torn between love and anger. Nalligivagit, ‘I love you’, can be more complicated than it sounds.” Amaqjuaq blinked, surprised. “You know Inuktitut?” Ahnah shrugged. “A little. I grew up hearing it, but I never really embraced it. My family didn’t push our culture much. They let me figure it out on my own.” “So why start now?” he asked, leaning forward. “Montreal feels disconnected,” she admitted. “I guess learning more about my culture is my way of finding something real in this city.” Amaqjuaq nodded slowly. “It’s tough. I don’t feel like I belong here or back home.” Ahnah watched him for a moment, then smiled. “Tunngasugitsi.” “What?” Amaqjuaq asked, confused. “Tunngasugitsi,” she repeated. “It means welcome, right? Welcome to this confusing world where nobody feels like they belong, and everyone’s just trying to figure it out.” For the first time that day, Amaqjuaq chuckled. “You make it sound like we’re all lost.” “We are,” Ahnah said with a grin. “But at least we’re lost together.” Summer in Montreal was alive with festivals, street performers, and the constant hum of people moving in every direction. Amaqjuaq and Ahnah spent the next few weeks exploring the city, wandering through parks, watching street poets, and diving into the endless mess of city life. Despite the crowds, they found a strange comfort in each other’s company. They talked about everything - Montreal, home, their families, their dreams. Amaqjuaq learned that Ahnah wasn’t just someone who asked questions; she was someone who genuinely listened, even to the things he didn’t say. And Ahnah saw something in Amaqjuaq that intrigued her, his simmering rage, his quiet resilience, and the way he hid it all behind a calm exterior. But despite their growing friendship, Amaqjuaq’s father remained a shadow over his life. The calls kept coming, and with each one he ignored, the weight on his chest grew heavier. One evening, as they sat on a bench overlooking the city, the lights of Montreal twinkling below, Amaqjuaq finally broke the silence. “I think I need to talk to my dad,” he admitted. Ahnah didn’t push. She simply nodded. “But only when you’re ready.” “I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready,” he said, his voice tight. “You don’t have to be,” Ahnah replied softly. “But if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here.” Amaqjuaq nodded, grateful for her understanding. The next day, Amaqjuaq finally answered his father’s call. Their conversation was awkward, full of long pauses and unfinished sentences, but it was a step. When he hung up, he felt lighter, as if the weight of the past few months had finally started to lift. That night, as he and Ahnah walked through the rain-soaked streets, he turned to her and smiled. “Qujannamiik.” She raised an eyebrow. “For what?” “For being here,” he said simply. Ahnah laughed, giving him a playful nudge. “Tavvauvutit,” she teased. “Goodbye.” Amaqjuaq shook his head, a smile spreading across his face. “Not yet.” And with that, they continued walking, into the endless streets of Montreal, neither of them quite sure where they were going, but content knowing they were not alone. |
More Audio Books