It all fades into background noise.
She looks different.
There’s a steadiness in her face I haven’t seen in weeks.
My heart pounds.
I stand there frozen while the crowd continues celebrating a goal I barely remember seeing.
Mrs. McKingsley notices her next.
“Ah!” she exclaims. “Chinaza!”
My mum turns.
Za nods politely to both of them.
Then her eyes come back to me.
No smile. No hostility.
The game continues but I’m not watching anymore. I’m watching her.
She sits three seats away.
Close enough to talk to.
Far enough to remind me what distance feels like.
For a few minutes, neither of us speaks. Then she leans slightly toward me.
“Nice goal,” she says, voice neutral.
I let out a breath I didn’t realise I was holding. “Yeah.”
“You look… claimed,” she adds, glancing at my jacket with his number stitched on the sleeve.
“Yeah,” I reply softly.
She nods once.
On the pitch, Jabari steals the ball again and drives forward, and the stadium lifts with him.
Za watches him this time.
“He looks happier,” she says.
“Yeah,” I answer.
“And you? Are you happy?”
“I should be,” I say honestly.
She doesn’t press.
“I didn’t come to fight,” she says.
“I didn’t think you did.”
