Zaire has waited three long years to reunite with her best friend, Aiyana. Their joy is unmistakable, but her excitement quickly shifts when she meets Aiyana's boyfriend-Omari, the man Zaire once loved deeply.
Unbeknownst to Aiyana, Zaire and Omari...
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I can't sit still.
The walls of my roon feel like they're closing in on me, suffocating me with all the questions I can't answer. My mind won't shut off, replaying every moment, every glance, every interaction between Omari and Zaire.
I keep pacing, my bare feet making soft sounds against the hardwood floor. I squeeze my eyes shut, but it only makes the memories sharper.
That night at the restaurant... when Omari followed Zaire to the bathroom.
I remember laughing about it with Zaire after. I'd thought it was a coincidence, a meaningless thing. But now, with the weight of everything I know—or think I know—it feels like something more. Like there was something happening right in front of me, and I was too blind to see it.
I stop pacing and lean against the counter, gripping the edge as my stomach twists.
The argument in the kitchen.
It had been quick—barely a few sentences—but I remember walking in and feeling like I'd interrupted something. Omari had looked at me like he was caught. Zaire had brushed it off so easily, laughing and changing the subject.
How did I not see it?
And then there was that date. The double date. Omari had been so distracted, so out of it. I'd chalked it up to stress or maybe something with track, but now I wonder if it was something else entirely.
My hand shakes as I grab my phone. The weight of all these memories presses down on me like a storm I can't escape.
I open Omari's name in my contacts, staring at it for what feels like forever.
He owes me the truth.
I press the call button before I can overthink it, holding the phone to my ear. It rings, each tone dragging on like an eternity.
"Hello?" His voice is low, cautious.
"Omari," I say, my voice steady even though my heart pounds. "I need to see you."
"Aiyana, I—"
"I don't care what excuses you have," I cut him off, my grip tightening on the phone. "You owe me this. One conversation. Face-to-face."
There's silence on the other end, but I don't let it stretch.
"Tomorrow," I say firmly. "You can name the time, but I'm not letting this go."
After a moment, he sighs. "Fine. Noon. That café downtown."
"Fine," I snap, ending the call before he can say anything else.
I don't let myself breathe yet. I scroll down to Zaire's name.
This call feels harder. My thumb hovers over the button, hesitation creeping in. But the doubt and suspicion swirling in my head win out. I need answers, and I need them now.
