The Space Between Us
by IMAN_PERVAIZ · 25 October 2026 · Short Stories
Aurelia lives with her warm, bustling family but repeatedly finds herself overlooked — her sentences interrupted, her stories swallowed by louder news, her presence felt only at the margins. The story traces her quiet loneliness through small domestic moments, revealing the particular ache of being unseen by people who love you. It ends on a note of gentle, unresolved longing.
The Space Between Us
“Lila, that's Aurelia's.”
Clara caught the last piece of toast before their youngest sister could steal it.
“But she hasn't touched it!”
“I'm saving it,” Aurelia said.
“For what? Next week?”
Their father laughed into his tea. Their mother placed a cup beside Aurelia's plate, exactly how she liked it.
At breakfast, Clara talked about her upcoming interview. Their father promised to drive her there. Their mother reminded her to take the folder from the sitting room. Lila interrupted twice to tell a story about school.
“And you, Aurelia?” her father asked. “How are your classes?”
“Fine. Something happened yesterday, actually—”
“Mama! Where's my blue folder?” Lila called.
“On the dining table!”
“No, it isn't!”
Her mother rose to help her look. Clara followed, offering to check the car. Their father reached for his phone.
Aurelia buttered the same piece of toast again.
That evening, Aurelia came home with a story. She found her mother matching socks in the sitting room, Clara sorting papers beside her, and Lila lying upside down on the sofa.
“Guess what happened today.”
“What?” Lila asked.
“At university, our professor—”
“Wait! Clara, tell her what happened with the application!”
Clara groaned. “There's nothing to tell.”
“She got shortlisted!” Lila announced.
Their mother dropped a sock into the wrong pile. “Clara! Why didn't you tell me?”
“I was going to.”
“When's the interview?” their father asked from the hallway.
“Monday.”
He crossed the room and kissed Clara's forehead. “Well done.”
Aurelia stood beside the laundry basket, her bag still hanging from one shoulder.
Her mother looked up. “You were saying something, darling?”
Aurelia glanced at Clara's papers.
“Nothing. It can wait.”
“Tell us after dinner,” her father said.
Aurelia carried her bag upstairs.
Later, her mother brought dinner to her room.
“You barely ate today.”
“I'm not hungry.”
“Then eat a little.” Her mother set the plate beside her book. The salad had no onions.
“Mama?”
“Yes, darling?”
Aurelia watched her mother straighten the crooked corner of the bedsheet.
“Do you ever think—”
From downstairs, her father called her mother's name.
“One minute!” she answered, turning back to Aurelia. “What is it?”
Aurelia looked at the plate.
“Nothing.”
Her mother kissed her forehead. “Don't stay up too late.”
After she left, Aurelia ate the chicken while it was still warm.
On Sunday, the family gathered in the sitting room. Lila was showing everyone a video. Clara leaned against their father's shoulder; their mother laughed before the punchline.
Aurelia stood in the doorway.
“What are you watching?”
“Come here!” Lila patted the cushion beside her.
Aurelia sat down. The video began again. Everyone laughed.
She watched the screen, a moment behind them.
When the video ended, her father asked if anyone wanted tea. Her mother said yes. Clara asked for coffee instead. Lila demanded hot chocolate.
“And you, Aurelia?” her father asked.
“Tea, please.”
He nodded and went to the kitchen.
Aurelia remained on the cushion, her hands folded in her lap. Lila had already begun showing her mother another video.
That night, her father paused outside Aurelia's room.
“Still awake?”
“Just reading.”
“Don't stay up too late.”
“I won't.”
He nodded and began to leave.
“Papa?”
He turned.
Aurelia's finger held her place between the pages.
“Nothing. Goodnight.”
He smiled. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”
He pulled the door nearly closed.
From downstairs came another burst of laughter.
Aurelia looked at the narrow strip of light beneath her door. She listened until the voices blurred into the hum of the house.
Then she reached for her lamp.
The room went dark.
The door remained open by an inch.
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