How to be loved

72 - How to be loved

How to be loved

72 – How to be loved

The minutes dragged like an eternity as Becky sat in the living room, unable to quiet the storm raging in her chest. The phone call replayed in her mind, every word between Freen and Noey a sharp dagger twisting deeper. The "I love yous," the affectionate tone—each syllable felt like another betrayal. Her heart ached so fiercely it felt like it might shatter.

Across from her, Freen sat with a calmness that was both infuriating and impenetrable. Her demeanor offered no clues, no comfort. The silence between them was deafening, pressing down on Becky like a weight she couldn't bear. She wanted to scream at her, demand answers, but her voice wouldn't come.

Becky's tears had slowed to an occasional drip, but the evidence of her emotional unraveling was still starkly visible. She was holding herself together by a thread, and the tension in the room was only pulling it tighter. When her eyes finally lifted to meet Freen's, the pain in them was raw and unfiltered.

Freen swallowed hard at the sight of Becky's heartbreak. Every tear that fell stung like a lash against her soul. A part of her wanted to cross the room, to wipe away those tears, to hold her and whisper that everything would be okay. But she couldn't. This moment was necessary, no matter how cruel it seemed. Becky needed to face the truth—needed to understand.

When the doorbell rang, the sound cut through the thick tension like a knife. Becky flinched visibly, her hands gripping the armrest of the couch as though it were her lifeline. Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, to stop Freen, but nothing came out.

Freen hesitated, just for a moment, her gaze flicking back to Becky. There was a flash of something in her eyes—concern, perhaps, or guilt—but it was gone in an instant. She rose to her feet with measured calm, leaving Becky to sit there, paralyzed by fear and anticipation.

As Freen walked to the door, Becky hastily wiped at her tear-streaked cheeks, trying to compose herself. Her heart pounded in her chest, every beat echoing the question she was too afraid to answer: Who is Noey to her?

When Freen opened the door, Becky strained to listen, her body tense as a bowstring.

"Hey, gorgeous," came a voice from the doorway, light and teasing. It was Noey, unmistakably the same voice she had heard over the phone.

Becky's chest tightened, her breath catching painfully.

"Come in," Freen said, her tone warm and welcoming, as if she were greeting an old friend—or worse, a lover.

Noey stepped into the room with an easy confidence that only made Becky's stomach churn. She was dressed casually yet impeccably, a tray of milk teas in one hand and a bouquet of tulips in the other. Her smile was magnetic, the kind that could light up a room, but to Becky, it was blindingly cruel.

"I brought your set of milk teas, just like you asked," Noey said, her voice laced with familiarity. She held up the tray, then gestured to the flowers. "Plus, a beautiful bouquet of tulips—your favorite."

Freen's face lit up, her smile so genuine it made Becky's heart ache. "Oh, thank you, Noey," she said softly, taking the offerings.

And then Noey leaned in and kissed Freen on the cheek.

Becky's world tilted. The kiss wasn't casual—it was intimate, affectionate, and the way Freen accepted it, her body language open and unbothered, made Becky want to scream. The air left her lungs as if someone had punched her, and she clutched the edge of the couch to steady herself.

As Freen led Noey into the living room, Becky's gaze remained glued to the floor. She couldn't bring herself to look up, couldn't face whatever this was turning into. Her thoughts spiraled uncontrollably.