Better Late Than Never

01

December, 2021

Aomi, Atlantica

Her phone consecutively beeping thrice was what pulled Ayra Leilani Abdulaziz out of the semi-conscious state she'd been in since she dragged herself back to bed after the Fajr prayer.

Knowing the new notifications had to be important as she'd muted quite a number of apps she had, Ayra rolled over and reached for her phone which comfortably sat on the top of the nightstand. Through the icons on the lock screen, she took in the reminder from her calendar, a notification from Instagram, and then an email.

Hoping it wasn't yet another media house trying to reach her via email or via her now privatised Instagram account, she sighed and pulled herself up to a sitting position. Her movements were slow, almost lethargic, and they'd been that way ever since her divorce from Ibrahim Fahad back in November.

Leaning back against the headboard, she unlocked her phone and clicked on the calendar reminder first. Her heart dropped and her stomach did too. It was a reminder that her first therapy session was by 10AM. A glance at the time told her she had less than an hour and half to meet the session's schedule if she could convince herself to go. If there was one thing she'd been dreading other than stepping out in public once again, it was the therapy sessions she'd booked before she could talk herself out of it.

She knew she needed them, especially with how post-divorce had been, but it was difficult to actually convince herself to go so it was no surprise that she'd forgotten about it. She wondered if her family and her best friend's forgot about it too or if they'd simply said nothing because she wasn't talking about it. She leaned towards the latter and it made her chest squeeze.

She dismissed the reminder and then clicked on the Instagram notification. It took her to the app and then to the page of a media outlet she'd been following for years in order to stay up to date with everything happening in Atlantica. Wondering how she'd forgotten to turn off their post notifications, Ayra moved to do just that when their most recent post caught her attention.

For just a moment, time stopped and she felt a number of ways at once as she took in her ex-husband's face. Subconsciously, her hand moved and she clicked on the post, opening it fully. Ibrahim Fahad's face stared back at her and it was amazing – yet sad – how her brain recognised the fact that it wasn't a recent picture of his. If she was guessing correctly, the photo should have been taken back in August or July; back when he was still a part of The Hexad, both the company and the squad.

She stared at the picture for a moment longer before she brought her gaze down to the headline underneath. Her brows furrowed as she read it, re-reading it a moment later to be sure she got it right.

[Ibrahim Fahad to hold press conference at the Fahad Residence after the Friday Prayer]

She scrolled down to the post's caption and read the news bit which stated that Ibrahim had called for a press conference earlier that morning, inviting interested media houses to his parents' home after the Jumm'ah prayer. It was his first public address following his exit from The Hexad and his divorce, the news bit stated, and although he let very little slip about what he was to say, the country – Atlantica – and the world were patiently waiting and were more than ready to listen.

For a near moment, Ayra found herself wondering what it was Ibrahim wanted to say. The reminder that she didn't have to know as they were no longer together was a painful pill to swallow. She turned off the media outlet's post notifications, cleared the follow requests she had, and then exited the app. She clicked on the last notification and waited for a few seconds as the email loaded. She told herself she wouldn't hesitate to thrash the mail if it turned out to be yet another journalist who didn't know when to stop trying to snoop around.