Gia read it twice, then folded it carefully into her pocket. She didn’t tell anyone what had almost happened. Instead, she found Oxuanna at lunch, sat down across from her, and said nothing for a long while. Then she offered her half of an orange.
Oxuanna, by contrast, lived in the shadow of that glow. She and Gia had been friends once, in the careless way of childhood, before envy took root. Oxuanna was sharp-tongued and quick to feel slighted. Where Gia saw abundance, Oxuanna saw scarcity—as if every smile Gia received was one stolen from her. gia love and oxuanna envy
Oxuanna lowered the can. She sat on the cold ground and cried—not for what Gia had, but for what she herself had become. Someone who would rather destroy beauty than learn to create it. Gia read it twice, then folded it carefully into her pocket
“I care,” Gia said. “I just didn’t know.” Then she offered her half of an orange
Instead, she stood there, staring at the mural—at the flowers Gia had painted with such care, each petal distinct. And for the first time, Oxuanna saw not Gia’s luck, but Gia’s labor. The hours. The patience. The love.
Gia Love moved through the world like a beam of sunlight—warm, steady, impossible to ignore. She didn’t try to be the center of attention; she simply was . Her laugh came easily, her kindness was instinctive, and people naturally gravitated toward her. At seventeen, she had everything: a close-knit family, loyal friends, and a quiet confidence that needed no validation.
Gia Love, who painted hope. Oxuanna, who learned to see it.
We use cookies to improve your experience. Privacy Policy.
