In the silence, each of them sat wearing feigned smiles. Those expressions not aimed at each other, mind you, but into their steam-releasing mugs of coffee. Neither of the two twenty-somethings having even made eye contact since Zahra arrived. The events of the day before instilling a frosty chasm between the two college students. Two classmates, who had not necessarily been friends, but had at least been acquaintances. The other, before that day, being a person they liked, if not someone they knew well.
That civility and presumed pleasantness being the case, even though they were each a member, if only in blood, of peoples that had been torn apart. Set at odds. And at war, since either of the two girls could remember. Zahra being Palestinian American and Chloe being a Jewish American.
Part of those ethnicities though they may have been, neither of the two paid even a single thought to the conflicts that brewed and boiled half-a-world away. Battles that happened in a place neither could recall having visited. Fought over slights neither ever knew, let alone understood.
That is until the last month, or so. When each found themselves swept into separate groups of friends that believed hard. Spoke loudly. And took every opportunity to espouse beliefs and aspersions that were not only new to each of the girls but compelling, in a strange, guilt-magnified way.
Those views and voices brought Zahra to a rally for Palestinian rights taking place on her college's Campus (the University of Miami). And in opposite, from those on the other side of the political chasm, Chloe to the counter-protest - she being a student at that same school.
There, each of the two girls regurgitated the words they had heard their friends say, chanting with them and half of those gathered. Each holding signs. Each marching from one end of their barricaded area to the other. Enjoying their first feeling of taking a stand, even if the cause was new to them and the conflict foreign. But, as happens at protests of such passion, things quickly got out of hand.
When it did, barricades fell and lines advanced. At that advance, shouts became yells and chants screams. Crowds on either side of the issue meeting and mixing - challenging and shoving. Somewhere in that chaos of freedom and speech, Chloe and Zahra met. Not as classmates, or acquaintances, but as enemies, at least for that moment.
A moment in which their blood pumped and tempers flared, the two only daughters of rich families facing off. Each pointing in each other's face and shouting.
"Terrorist!" Chloe accused blindly.
"Oppressor!" Zahra roared back without true cause.
For they two, no logic held sway at that moment. No reason. No thoughts of all the days spent before, seeing and smiling at one another. Only hatred. Only anger. Over slights neither gave nor suffered.
The two locking glares as they shoved their signs at each other - each even spitting at the other, when they could no longer control their tempers. Both such attempts at humiliation and aversion missed in the madness of the pushing crowds, and arriving officers.
But just as the moment seemed to be spiraling into actual conflict. When each had it in their mind to reach for the other and hurt. Campus guards arrived, splitting and dragging not just they two, but the adverse crowds apart in riot gear.
It was only hours later when each had left their passionate comrades, that they began to feel it. The sting of regret, and the disbelief at what they had become in that moment, together, in the crowd.
They had become their parents. The men they saw on the news. And every other person they had ever seen that was so involved in the conflict, that they could not see it clearly or at all. And so, with Chloe's number still in their phone from years before, Zahra texted - only a minute or two before Chloe would have done the same.
Those texts sent from one and then back were soft. Apologetic. And most of all wanting of a chance to meet - to talk. An opportunity to mend what had been broken, not just between they two, but within themselves.
A conference of two that was arranged for the next day. The day which saw Chloe and Zahra sitting awkwardly on a shared couch, smiling at their warm beverages. A sofa with sat in the middle of Chloe's house, one she lived in alone - thanks to her family's money.
A sofa on which they sat, neither wearing shoes. Zahra having removed hers out of respect upon entering the home and having seen her host without a pair on of her own. Each in comfortable blouson dresses - Chloe's gray and Zahra's green. Neither of the two, despite their own physical comfort, sure what to say or how to start. Until finally, Chloe spoke.
"Look, I..." She said in a voice more akin to a quivering whisper than a confident beginning.
"You don't have to...," Zahra responded, thrilled that her host had spoken first, and broken the silence that lingered between them.
As each spoke their broken, unfinished sentences, they looked up to each other and then laughed. The relief of the other's softness washing over them like a wave of calm.
"What got ahold of us?" Chloe asked in a demure chuckle.
"I don't know! It was so strange. I am so sorry I spit at you." Responded Zahra, as she placed her left hand on Chloe's bent knee.
"Same. Oh my god, same. And calling you a terrorist? Out of line. Out. Of. Line. You are so not responsible for the sins of your people." In the same, kind, happy tone, Chloe made her comment. And yet...