Three weeks later…
ATHENA
“Girl. Spill it!” Isabelle turns to face me like I'm holding onto the juiciest gossip this week. “You're killing me here.” She adds.
I bring my coffee to my lips, needing something to distract me.
Instead of relief and joy, I feel sad.
Maybe it's PMS week.
Isabelle slides onto the bench beside me, probably now tired of standing. Her brows arch with that all-too-familiar look of curiosity and concern.
I let out a breath. “I said yes.”
She blinks. “Yes…?”
“To Zayan.”
Her eyes widen. “As in yes-yes? Like proposal, yes?”
“Girlfriend yes.” I correct.
“Are you serious?”
I nod once, staring into the steam of my cup like it might offer me answers I don’t have.
"But why do you look like someone killed your cat?"
"I'm just tired."
“Liar... anyway, so, Alex? Does he know?” she asks carefully.
I laugh bitterly. “He lost his mind. I'm not shocked he knew where I was when he showed up at the restaurant, acted like a lunatic. Called me his wife and nearly ripped Zayan’s head off in front of everyone.”
Isabelle snorts. “Classic. That man’s ego is the size of the entire fucking universe. He probably just hates the idea that someone else gets you now.”
I want to agree. I do agree. But it doesn’t silence the ache in my chest.
“I mean,” she continues, “Zayan is a good guy. Kind. Reliable. And definitely not going to give you emotional whiplash every two minutes.”
“I know,” I whisper. “He is.”
But even as I say the words, they fall flat.
Zayan is good. He shows up. He listens. He doesn’t complicate things.
So why does it feel like something’s missing?
Why doesn’t my heart race when he touches me?
Why do Alex’s eyes still haunt me even when I’m not looking for them?
“Maybe… maybe the spark comes later,” I mumble, more to myself than to her.
Isabelle tilts her head, watching me closely. “ Have you felt no spark yet?”
I shake my head.
“Tell you what, give it three dates and three kisses. It will come to you. Bet.”
I laugh, “Zayan’s advocate huh?”
“Till the day I die.” She touches her heart mimicking a swearing. “The man brings you flowers that aren’t from his secretary. That’s rare, babe.”
“Okay, but roses are overrated,” I mutter.
“Yeah, well, so is emotional stability, apparently.” She side-eyes me.
I nearly choke on my coffee. “Wow. Okay. Personal attack noted.”
“I’m just saying,” she continues, holding up a finger, “Zayan makes sense. You don’t have to decode him like a CIA mission.”
“True,” I sigh. “With Alex, everything is…. How do I put it, heightened."
Isabelle raises a hand. “Let’s not forget the eye contact. The way he looks at you. Although I must admit, most times I get so curious I want to open his head to know the dirty thoughts running through his head.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me,” I groan.
She squints at me. “But you like that burning look don't you?”
“I do not!”
“You do.”
“I don’t!”
“You do. I also have a strong hunch you're looking for Alex in Zayan. But that's understandable, you've loved the man for five years. That just doesn't go away. But I think you deserve to be happy and if Zayan can give you that, you Should give it a try. Go all in.”
“You think so?”
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