Zurianne never imagined that saving her mother's life would cost her own freedom. Forced into an arranged marriage with Christopher Whyte the infamous Jamaican Don feared by many,she braces herself for a life of cold stares and ruthless commands. Bu...
SWEET LIPS BEAUTY SALON | KINGSTON JAMAICA WEDNESDAY 30, 2:15pm
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I stood behind the chair, the hot comb sizzling as it pressed down on a stubborn coil of hair. Steam curled upward like restless thoughts I was struggling to catch. The metal plates bit a little too hard, and the girl in the chair winced, her delicate scalp tender.
"Bloodclaat Pinky," she teased, turning her head slightly. "Yuh wan burn off mi whole edges?"
I pulled back quickly, fanning the heat away with my hand. "Hush Mon ," I mumbled, my voice quieter than usual. "Mi jus'... mi mind deh somewhere else."
Her fingers played nervously with the edges of her chair's armrest, a subtle rhythm tapping beneath my fingers. I clipped the smoothed section, trying to focus on the task, on the gentle routine that usually soothed me. But inside, my thoughts spun wildly — tangled like the very hair I was working on.
The visit to the hospital looped in my mind — the sterile walls, the soft, clinical voice telling me I was pregnant. That single word rolled around inside my chest, heavy and strange, like a secret too big for me to carry alone.
The girl shifted in her seat, breaking the silence with a quiet question. "Yuh alright, though? Yuh nuh seem like yuh usual self today."
I forced a smile, brushing it off. "Mi jus' tired. Long day pon mi feet."
She nodded, eyes kind but curious. "Mi granny use to seh, when woman silent too long, she carryin' somethin' heavy — a secret or a burden."
Her words brushed against something raw inside me, a truth I wasn't ready to speak.
"Granny sound wise," I said softly, voice barely above a whisper.
She laughed—a warm, easy sound. "She beat mi wid sense more than broomstick."
We shared a light moment, but I could feel her eyes linger on me in the mirror, searching, like she saw past the surface.
I twisted a stubborn coil tighter, trying to focus on the hair — the small, manageable task. But my heart was elsewhere.
Would this baby look like me? Would it have Sinna's eyes? Would either of them even care?
The client's voice was low, thoughtful, breaking into my spiraling thoughts again. "A hope yuh nah stress out yuh self too much enuh, trust me it nuh worth it."
Her gaze caught mine in the mirror, steady and calm.
"What yuh mean?" I asked, curious despite myself.
She shrugged, eyes distant like she was remembering something from long ago. " all I'm saying that man stress nuh nice, especially if the man move on and a you alone a battle the pain all by yuh self."
My stomach tightened.
She didn't know what I carried — the pain, the confusion, the loneliness — but somehow, her words landed deep.
