“I do,” I say. “I just can’t carry it.”
Then, I turn and walk away.
The trains screech somewhere below,air rushing up the tunnels in hot bursts. I missed my bus, thanks to Jabariand had to take the tube. I tap my Oyster and move fast, head down, shoulders tight. If I don’t stop walking, I won’t think.
My phone vibrates again and I know it’s Za or her stupid brother so I don’t look.
I shove my hands into my coat pocket and take the stairs two at a time.
My chest still feels tight from the car park. My hands are shaking, and I hate that part most. I hate that even after everything I said—everything I meant—my body still hasn’t caught up.
People brush past me.
Someone mutters “sorry.”
Someone else sighs loudly.
Normal life.
It’s time to get back to some layer of normalcy. I’ll talk to Za when I’m ready and explain the media circus around me and her brother, but for now, I just want to decompress as I put together what to say to her.
I reach the platform just as the train pulls in.
Doors slide open and I step inside without thinking and grab the nearest pole before I slide my headphones in. My reflection flashes back at me in the window. I look… tired. I am tired. Exhausted really, and I’m sick of carrying it. With that, I sit down and let my head fall back against the seat, closing my eyes for half a second.
The carriage fills up slowly with voices rising, laughter leaking into my headphones.
The doors start to close but stop.
A body wedges through at the last second.
The air shifts as phones come out and whispers ripple.
I don’t look. I already know by the smell of his cologne.
“No way—”
“Is that?—”
“Rah, it is him.”
I slowly openmy eyes and across from me, Jabari sits.
He’s breathing hard, like he ran for it. Fans crowd him immediately— one guy lifts his phone, pretending not to film, someone asks for a photo, another person shoves a phone too close to his face.
But Jabari doesn’t look at them.
He stays silent and his eyes never leave me.
I don’t react but I feel heat crawl up my neck. I look past him, through the window, at the dark tunnel rushing by.
My phone vibrates again and I don’t answer.
He sits with his knees spread, elbows resting on his thighs.
Watching. Waiting.
The train roars through the tunnel. Lights flicker and the carriage sways. People keep sneaking glances between us, trying to piece it together. I realize a few of them start to recognize me and shrink into my seat, tempted to cover my face with my hands.
