“Zahara,” she said softly. “Please. I know you’ve been avoiding me. But can we just talk? Just this once?”
I set the coffee pot down and really looked at her. The dark circles under her eyes. The tension she was carrying in her shoulders. The way she was clutching her hands together in front of her like she was praying I wouldn’t disappear on her again.
Something in me shifted.
I was tired of running. Prime was right about that. And maybe… maybe it was time to stop hiding from the people who actually gave a damn about me.
“You’re persistent,” I said. “I’ll give you that.”
“I had to be.” Her voice cracked a little. “I missed you. Both of you. For so long. And when I finally found you, you kept avoiding me. I didn’t understand why.”
I sighed and glanced around. Cookie was busy. The other servers were handling their sections. Nobody was paying attention to us.
“Come on.” I nodded toward an empty booth in the corner. “Let’s sit down.”
We slid into the booth across from each other. Mehar’s eyes never left my face, studying me like she was trying to memorize every single detail.
“It’s been so long,” she said. “But I still know my sisters. I still know you.”
“Do you though?” I tilted my head, watching her carefully. “It’s been over a decade, Mehar. We were sixteen. You were twelve. And we’re identical twins. You really think you can still tell us apart after all this time?”
Confusion flickered across her face. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m saying…” I leaned forward, lowering my voice. “Zainab isn’t dead. I’m Zainab. Zahara is the one who died.”
The color drained from her face so fast I thought she might pass out.
“No.” She shook her head. “No, that’s not—the police in California told Baba that Zainab was found dead in an apartment. They said Zahara ran off. That she might have known the killer?—”
“The police got it wrong. They identified the body based on the ID that was left at the scene.” I swallowed past the lump in my throat. Even after three years, talking about this still felt like swallowing broken glass. “I left my ID with her. Took hers. Became her.”
“Why would you do that? I don’t—” Mehar’s voice broke. “I don’t understand.”
“Because somebody was trying to kill me.” I kept my voice low and steady even though my insides were shaking. “I witnessed something I shouldn’t have. A murder. The man tracked me down, came to our apartment, but Zahara was there alone. He thought she was me.”
Mehar’s hand flew to her mouth.
“He killed her, Mehar. Murdered my twin sister because he thought she was me.” My eyes burned but I refused to cry. Not here. Not now. “And the only way I could survive—the only way I could protect her son—was to become her.”
Mehar stared at me. Her lips moved but nothing came out. Then her face crumpled and she started sobbing right there in the booth.
“Zahara’s dead?” she whispered through her tears. “She’s really gone?”
“Yeah.” The word came out rough. “For three years now.”
Mehar covered her face with both hands, her whole body shaking. The grief was pouring out of her in waves, and I felt it hit me too. All that old pain I’d been carrying, buried under layers of survival and secrets.
“Baba didn’t even care,” she choked out between sobs. “When the police called, he just… he hung up. Didn’t ask nofollow-up questions. Didn’t try to find out who did it. Didn’t tell nobody.” She looked up at me, tears streaming down her face. “I only found out because I heard him talking to Khadija about it. He said y’all were dead to him anyway, so what difference did it make if one of you was actually dead?”
My jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might crack.
Of course. Of course that’s how my father would react to finding out one of his daughters got murdered. Same cold, cruel, evil man he’d always been.
“He hasn’t changed,” I said flatly.
“No. He’s worse.” Mehar wiped at her face with shaking hands. “He married me off two years ago. To one of his business associates. A man old enough to be my father.”
My stomach dropped. “Mehar…”
