Bound By Hearts, Torn By Secrets.
-♡♥︎♤♥︎♡⁃
Life as a college student has been nothing but smooth sailing for 23-year-old Aleesha, and now that she's graduated, her life is about to take a different...
"𝑺𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 not talking to me?" Corey asks for what feels like the hundredth time since we left the café. He keeps glancing in my direction as we drive in silence to the grocery store to pick up a few items for the café. "You might not see it now, but one day you'll thank me for this."
"For what? Embarrassing me?" I respond, my disbelief punctuated by an eye roll.
"No, for looking out for you, like I always do."
"Wha—" My response comes out as a frustrated puff rather than a word, stunned by his nonchalant attitude. "Looking out for me? How is interrupting a conversation you had no business being in 'looking out for me'?" I emphasize his words with a gesture, trying to show how absurd his rationale is.
After more than four years, my brother still meddles in my love life, scaring away any potential interest under the guise of protection. If you ask me, it's just embarrassing, and screams 'I want my sister to be single for the rest of her life.'
"Hey, I know how guys can be, all right? I was just making an observation and trying to figure out if he had any hidden agenda."
"By interrogating him?"
"Which is better than stalking him on social media to gather information about him. Don't look at me like that," he adds, noticing my disapproving expression. "I know, and I'm pretty sure almost every girl has done it before."
"Regardless, what you did was rude and unnecessary."
"I'm sorry," he says, his voice softening with sincerity. "But at least now I can be sure he's a good guy and not just someone interested in you for the wrong reasons, like your body."
"Oh my gosh, can we drop this already?! You've made your point." I place my fingers on either side of my temple, emphasizing how uncomfortable this conversation is making me.
"I'm glad we're on the same page," he replies.
"But this doesn't mean you should repeat what you did today. I can take care of myself, you know."
"And what kind of big brother would I be if I let some jerk break your heart?"
"That's something I'll handle," I reply, resting my elbow on the window as the cool breeze brushes my face.
He doesn't respond. Instead, he turns on the music and cranks up the volume slightly—his silence clearly indicating his disagreement with what I just said.
Before long, the car breaks down.
"Not this again," he mutters, leaning back in his seat and letting out a frustrated sigh while keeping his hands on the steering wheel.
"I'm not surprised anymore. Why not just get rid of it and buy a new car? I don't think fixing it will solve the problem permanently."
"Would you get rid of something Dad gave you?" His voice is soft as he glances at me.
Suddenly, a wave of sadness hits me, the ache in my heart intensifying with each passing moment, bringing back that familiar, and unbearable pain.
"This car holds a lot of memories," he continues, his voice heavy with emotion. "Getting rid of it would be like tearing a piece of my heart away." He pauses, staring ahead at the almost empty road, while my eyes start to well up with tears.
"He was so protective of this car that he never let me near it, even though he taught me to drive in it," he says, his voice tinged with nostalgia as he gazes into the distance.
"It's because you weren't responsible enough; you were always breaking things. How could he have trusted you with his car when you couldn't even take care of your toy cars?" I reply, trying to lighten the mood amidst the heaviness of the conversation. "He wasn't that overprotective of his car with me, though. On some days, he'd even let me wash it with him."
"Isn't it funny how, the older we get, the more our parents' words start to make sense? All the things Mom and Dad used to scold us about," he reflects.
As memories of him resurface, my heart feels like it's being torn apart. Four years later, and I'm still struggling to accept his passing. I know he's gone, but a part of me clings to the hope that he'll come back, no matter how impossible that seems.
"You know," Corey's voice draws me back to the present, "You haven't visited his grave. I was thinking we could go there one day and see where we laid him to rest."
"I'm not ready yet," I respond, my voice wavering as I lower my gaze.
"I understand," he says softly, as if he's been through something similar himself.
Our conversation is abruptly interrupted by a phone call.
"It's Mom," he says before answering. After a brief conversation, he hangs up and informs me that Mom is impatiently waiting for the items we were sent to get.
"Luckily, we're not far from the grocery store. We can leave the car here and walk there. I'll just call Tony to come take care of it," he says, pulling out his wallet.
"Tony? The boxer?" I ask as I get out of the car.
"Yep, he's now a part-time mechanic and part-time boxer. He's all over the place," Corey replies.
"Just like before. It's like he hasn't changed at all."
"Exactly," Corey says, dialing his friend.
As we walk to the grocery store, my mind is flooded with memories of the past. I recall Corey and his friends annoying the hell out of me when they'd come over to our house sometimes only to make noise while I was trying to study.
Unable to contain my frustration, I would scurry out of my room to ask them to quiet down. Often, I'd find them discussing the girls at our school and what they wanted to do with them. To say that I was grossed out hearing their conversations is an understatement.
Upon entering the store, we split up to gather the items Mom urgently needs.
