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When Zari Tarazi first set foot in Starling City, it wasn’t exactly a grand entrance.
The bus station reeked of gasoline and cheap coffee, the sky overhead a dull smear of grey as if the city itself wasn’t sure whether to welcome her or swallow her whole.
Behrad had met her by the rusted bench outside, grinning under a baseball cap, his arms thrown wide as if he could hug away the exhaustion etched into her bones. He was already two years into his Computer Science degree at the city university, and though Zari hadn't seen him since he'd left home, he looked exactly the same—like the boy she'd taught how to climb onto the roof when they were kids and chase stars with their bare hands.
Behrad talked her ear off as he drove, the radio low, old cassette tapes littering the dashboard.
"You're gonna love it here, Zee," he promised, cutting across lanes with the easy recklessness she'd missed. "Small city. Chill people. And hey, my professor’s cool. You gotta meet him."
She barely had time to drop her duffel bag at Behrad’s tiny, poster-peeling apartment before he was dragging her across campus, weaving between brick buildings and sleepy college students. Nate, when she met him, turned out to be a whirlwind of smiles and button-up shirts, a history professor with the aura of a golden retriever who somehow made being awkward into an artform. He welcomed her with an exuberant handshake, talking animatedly about whatever documentary he'd seen last night, and then casually mentioned he had an "adopted sister" around her age, someone she just had to meet.
That was how she met Ava Sharpe.
The first meeting was... not what anyone would call magical.
Ava was polite, impeccably so, in a buttoned blazer and a bun so tight it could've held up a suspension bridge. Zari was nearly concerned for her scalp. Her handshake was brief and sharp, her smile nonexistent, and the two of them sat across from each other in the campus coffee shop, sipping lukewarm lattes and saying absolutely nothing of substance, waiting for their brothers.
Zari had fidgeted with her straw. Ava had checked her phone. The silence grew into a second, awkward entity that wedged itself between them like a clumsy third wheel.
After that, they didn't talk much. A nod in passing. A quiet "hey" at Behrad’s gatherings.
That might’ve been the end of it, kind of like two ships in the same harbor, politely ignoring each other's lights.
Until one rainy Thursday, when Zari found herself wandering aimlessly after work, soaked through her hoodie, the city around her glistening with wet neon.
On impulse, pure, stupid impulse, she texted Ava.
u busy? coffee?
The typing dots popped up almost immediately.
sure. where?
They met at a hole-in-the-wall place tucked between a laundromat and a tattoo parlor, the kind of spot where the espresso machine hissed like an angry dragon and the lights buzzed faintly overhead. They sat by the window, steaming mugs in hand, and for the first time, the conversation stumbled into something real.
Zari talked about how weird it was starting over, how the city never felt warm enough, how she missed the smell of her mother’s cooking. Ava confessed she still sometimes got panic attacks before performing onstage, that she hated crowded spaces but loved the sound of strings filling an empty hall.
At some point, Zari admitted, almost sheepish, "I play the violin. Not, like, crazy good or anything, but... enough."
Ava’s eyes lit up like a switch had flipped behind them.
"You play?!" she said, suddenly leaning forward, the sharp edges of her professional shell peeling away to reveal something brighter underneath. "You should come by the Arts Centre. I work there, part-time, cello section. They're always looking for tutors."
It happened so fast after that, like someone had quietly turned the page and started a new chapter without telling her.
Within a week, Zari was standing in the echoing halls of the Starling City Arts Centre, a battered, sticker-covered violin case slung over one shoulder. She started tutoring once, twice, three times a week, little kids whose hands could barely hold a bow, teenagers who sighed dramatically at every wrong note. She found herself smiling more than she expected.
It didn’t pay much, but it was enough. Combined with her customer service job at a grimy computer store where she spent most of her shifts fixing jammed printers and explaining to old men why their passwords didn’t work, she scraped by. Rent. Groceries. The occasional thrift-store flannels. She made it work.
Ava became her anchor. Coffee dates turned into movie nights turned into long walks down rain-drenched sidewalks, laughing about nothing and everything. Turns out, Ava can be a huge dork and a loud drunk at game nights over their apartment.
Zari had been there for her, and Ava vice-versa. Zari had been the person Ava had cried on when she received news of Kendra’s proposal to the blonde, screaming in joy through Facetime. Ava had been the one who immediately dropped everything to accompany Zari in the hospital after Behrad got into an awful bicycle accident.
In a way, Ava was the sister Zari never knew she needed.