She walked in wearing a long, modest dress and hijab, looking much older than when I last saw her in Baltimore. She was twelve when my twin sister and I ran off to Cali. But she was beautiful, serene, and modest. Everything our father had wanted his daughters to be.
My heart stopped.
I turned immediately, walking quickly toward the kitchen, keeping my back to the dining room. My hands were shaking so bad the dishes rattled on my tray.
“Zahara, you good?” Cookie asked as I pushed through the kitchen doors.
“Yeah. Just—bathroom. Be right back.”
I didn’t wait for her response. Just set the tray down and kept moving, heading for the back hallway where the bathrooms and storage room were.
“Z?” Mehar’s voice called out from somewhere in the dining room.
I froze for half a second, then kept walking. Faster now.
“Z! Is that you?”
I pushed into the bathroom and locked the door behind me, my heart pounding so loud I could hear it in my ears.
“Hey?”
She was closer now. In the hallway.
I pressed my back against the door, holding my breath, praying she’d give up. Praying she’d think she was mistaken.
A knock on the bathroom door. “Z? I know you’re in there. Please. I just want to talk.”
I didn’t answer. Just stood there, frozen, my pulse racing.
“Please. Just for a minute. Nobody’s seen you in years. We thought—” Her voice cracked. “We thought y’all were dead.”
Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them back. Stayed silent.
Another knock. Softer this time. “If you’re in trouble… if you need help… please. Let me help you.”
I closed my eyes, my hand on the door handle, fighting every instinct that wanted to open it. Wanted to fall into my sister’s arms and tell her everything.
But I couldn’t. Opening that door meant risking everything. Meant exposing myself. Meant putting Yusef in danger.
Then I heard footsteps. Someone else in the hallway.
“Miss, you can’t be back here.” Cookie’s voice, firm but polite. “Employees only.”
“I’m sorry, I just—I thought I saw someone I knew.”
“Well, she ain’t back here. You need to return to the dining area, or I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”
A long pause. I could picture Mehar standing there, deciding whether to push it.
“Okay,” she said finally. “I’m sorry.”
I waited, listening to her footsteps retreat. Listening to Cookie mutter something about customers not knowing boundaries.
I stayed in that bathroom for ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. Long enough to be sure Mehar was gone. When I finally emerged, I peeked around the corner first. The dining room was visible through the kitchen window. Mehar’s table was empty. I let out a breath of relief.
“You aight?” Cookie asked, giving me a look. “That lady was looking for you.”
“Wrong person,” I said quickly. “Happens sometimes. Common name.”
