I turned on the shower, and warm water washed over my face and body. The heat soothed me, but it couldn’t calm the storm raging inside.
I wanted Zioh to talk. I wanted to reallyspeakto him and ask about his life, his last ten years, even though I already knew the answer.
Of course, he was fine—more than fine. He was successful, famous, and a celebrated architect in his mother’s homeland. He was featured in the media and received an award. He had graduated from Cambridge with first-class honors. He had a life of promise and luxury, and someone—a woman rumored to be with him.
The moment I saw the news for the first time, I instantly recognized that gaze… the way he looked at her in the photos in the media.
Because it was the same gaze he once gave me.
The sparkle, the warmth, the depth—the same… love.
It shattered me into pieces so small I couldn’t even gather them anymore because Zioh had broken his promise. The promise that once anchored me.
Or maybe… only I had cherished us with such depth.
“Why, Zi? Why did you throw me away?” I whispered to the steam, to the ceiling, to the memory of his hand in mine.
Then my phone buzzed on the sink.
Stepping out, I grabbed it with wet hands and unlocked the screen. My breath caught. My eyes widened as I read the notification.
A message.
From Zioh.
A rapid thudding erupted in my chest, pinning me in place.
I kept wiping my damp face, trying to convince myself, even biting my lip on purpose. When the pain bloomed, and the text was still there, I knew it was real.
Using his old number, the one that had been dead for ten years, ever since he disappeared to London. The text was only one word, but it stopped my entire world.
Zioh my hero:Sophie
He called me by the name only he ever used. The name he swore would belong only to him.
Failing even to punch in my passcode, my hands shook violently; meanwhile, my heart hammered against my ribs until my knees threatened to buckle.
Then, another message appeared.
Zioh my hero:Ah, I apologise. I meant to say, Miss Sophia? This is Natasha.
3
Tshabina
“So? What exactly did he say?” Andi asked, sipping the Americano.
The two of us were at the dining table. We’d come down from the second floor about half an hour ago, and it was already six in the morning. My body felt sore, but my eyes hurt a thousand times more. I had gone to bed very late after celebrating my dad’s birthday last night.
I’d been drifting in and out of thought since waking up this morning, with no energy to endure Andi’s interrogation. I sat across from him with a cup of hot chocolate, stirring it endlessly without taking a single sip.
I took a deep breath.
I wanted to crawl back into bed, close my eyes, and wake up to discover that everything that had happened since yesterday was only a nightmare.
Andi snapped his fingers in front of my face, jolting me out of my daze. I lifted my head to meet his frown. He sighed and took another sip of his coffee. “Answer me, Bib, for fuck’s sake. Are you a statue or what?”
I stared at him with stinging eyes and a pounding head, and the only thing that left my lips was a weary, “Hmm…” before I dropped my gaze again, stirring the hot chocolate, having no idea when I would stop.
