I put the cake in the fridge and walk upstairs. I stop in front of her room, open the door, and step inside. I lie down on the bed. This room doesn’t have her scent, butshe has lived here long enough to leave her presence embedded in it.
I rest the back of my hand on my eyes. All the stolen glances and touches of the evening replay behind my eyelids.
I tell myself every time I meet her that I will not meet her again, but I can’t stop myself. I can’t stop counting down the days until I see her again, nor from going there in person, to touch her, even if it’s just holding her hand for a few seconds. Every second with her is sacred.
I open my phone and turn on the low-light camera in her room. She is sleeping. I zoom in on her sleeping face. She doesn’t look peaceful. Something has been bothering her for many months. The change is subtle and gradual, but I notice it.
She spends long hours sitting alone, thinking—God knows what. I’ve seen her forcing smiles through the camera, and today I saw it in real life.
“What’s bothering you, little Dove?”
Whatever it is, I can’t see it. It’s not physical. It’s not about some boy, nor anyone else. Maybe it has to do with her books.
My thoughts concentrate on a reason I refuse to believe.
chapter 13
11 October 2050
Avira (19 years old)
I sit on the edge of the parapet wall, watching the sun sink into the horizon. Wen is downstairs, playing piano for Ma and Pa, and I’m here alone once again. Loneliness has become my best companion, another love I must hide from the world.
I’m exhausted from pretending in front of my family, exhausted from forcing smiles and laughter when happiness is nowhere inside me. There’s an emptiness hollowing me out, growing heavier with each passing day. I don’t know when it started, but now it’s the only thing I feel. It has smothered every spark that once made me smile.
I don’t write anymore. The motivation is gone. Books no longer shield me from reality. The worlds I once escaped to now collapse into ash as soon as I turn a page. Stories no longer grant me the illusion of freedom, instead, they remind me of the cage I live in. Reality presses down on me, suffocating, inescapable. And I feel it killing me, slowly.
I’m tired. Tired of craving what I can’t have. Tired of carrying this guilt and shame for wanting him. Tired of carrying a secret so heavy it crushes me every time I breathe.
Tired of everything.
I tilt my face up to the sky, eyes blurring with tears. My lids shut, and the world dissolves in muted darkness.
The creak of the rooftop door jolts me. Footsteps follow. Hastily, I wipe my tears away and force my eyes open, blinking until they look normal. If Ma, Pa, or Wen find me crying again, I won’t have any excuses left. I’ve already used them all.
Wen has started to notice. I overheard her talking to Ma about my mental health.
The last thing I need is to be sent to therapy, compelled to unearth secrets of an unforgivable love, of a life where I possess everything yet remain desolate. Sometimes I feel guilty about it too—how dare I be like this? I have everything people dream of, every fortune, every luxury, and yet here I am, crying over the one thing I cannot have.How can a single impossible want make every other blessing look so small?
“Why are you sitting on the edge?”
My heart stills at the voice. I don’t turn my head. What if it’s just my mind playing cruel tricks again?
But then I hear footsteps approaching, slow, steady, certain. With each step, my heartbeat grows louder, pounding against my ribs until it’s the only sound left in my ears.
“Dove.”
My jaw clenches to stop its trembling. The tears I fought so hard to bury come rushing back, spilling hot down my cheeks.
A warm hand presses against my cold shoulder. The contrast makes me shiver. I bow my head, trying to hide my face, and climb down from the edge. But he doesn’t let me retreat.
His hands turn me gently by the shoulders until I’m facing him. Then, with such unbearable tenderness, he cups my jaw in his hot palms and tilts my face upward. His thumbs brush across my skin, wiping away the evidence of my weakness.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice weighted with concern.
I shake my head. Words are impossible. My tongue sticks like glue to the roof of my mouth, this alwayshappens when I cry in silence. I can’t speak, even if I tried.
But even if I could speak… what would I say? That I love you, Zoan. That this love is a fire burning me alive from the inside out.
