A walk on thorns

Chapter 43| All Yours...

MJ's POV

The uneasiness in her was unmistakable. It lingered in her shallow breaths, each one echoing like a quiet alarm in my mind. Even as the song played, softening the tension, I could sense the subtle shift. She was unwinding, little by little, though the air between us still held a quiet storm.

You have nothing to be jealous about, Sabrina, I thought, though I wasn’t even sure if jealousy was the right word. But if it wasn’t, then why did she mention Lujain? Why the clipped tone, the averted gazes?

If I’d known taking her there would make her feel this way, I would’ve gone alone. But then, would I have realized how much this emotion, this vulnerability, meant? The way she felt, the way she reacted, it struck a chord deep inside me.

Pulling into the Faculty of Arts parking lot, I turned off the engine, letting the silence fill the car again. I couldn’t help but glance at her.

“I have scopophobia, MJ. Stop staring at me,” she said, eyes still closed. How did she even know?

I chuckled softly, marveling at her unpredictability. “Sit up, please, and let’s talk,” I said, expecting resistance. But to my surprise, she complied, shifting upright like the enigma she always was.

Sabrina's POV

“What is it?” I asked, my voice laced with a mix of frustration and guilt. I knew I was being difficult, but I couldn’t shake off the annoyance stirring inside me.

“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable by taking you to Lujain’s shop, okay?” he said softly, his eyes searching mine with a tenderness that made my breath hitch.

“Don’t be. She’s your bestie,” I replied, deliberately emphasizing the word.

His lips quirked into a faint smile, but his gaze didn’t waver. “No, I should’ve asked you before taking you there. But… why are you worked up? Did either of us hurt you or say something that upset you?” he asked, his voice impossibly gentle, yet probing.

I swallowed hard, the weight of his attention making me falter. After a long silence, I heard myself mutter something I barely registered. “She was cleaning something on you.”

It was so quiet, so faint, I doubted he even heard it. But he did.

“So, you’re upset because she was cleaning something off my blazer, Beauty?” His lips curved into a smile, soft, knowing, and my cheeks burned as I looked away.

“I don’t know,” I whispered, my voice trembling with honesty I hadn’t meant to reveal. I didn’t know what was wrong with me.

He exhaled quietly, the sound heavy with meaning. “Okay, let me tell you something.” His tone shifted, tender yet steady, as if he wanted to reassure me while unveiling something deeply personal. “I’ve known Lujain since childhood, not from school, but she was my neighbor. Her mother was close to Mommy Malika, so they used to visit us often. That’s how we became friends. But after her father passed, she and her mom moved to New York. For ten years, I didn’t see her.

“When I enrolled at Harvard Medical School, Mommy Malika contacted her mother and told her I was in the States. I was asked to visit them, and though I stayed on campus, whenever I missed home-cooked food, I’d go there. Lujain, being a chef, always made sure I was fed. That’s how we reconnected. She moved back to Nigeria two years ago, but I’ve barely seen her since last year.” His explanation was calm, measured, but his eyes never left mine, as though he needed me to believe him.

“But I’m still apologizing,” he said with a smile that made my heart ache. “I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.”

His sincerity disarmed me completely. “You have nothing to apologize for,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… I’m not used to sharing you.”