Borrowed Affection

2

I had never been happier to leave the house.

Slipping out after Mum left for work and making it back before she returned had become my little thrill. She usually worked late, and I always took advantage of that. The evening sun painted the sky in soft shades of orange and pink as I walked briskly, cutting corners along the street. My heart pounded not out of fear, but from the adrenaline of sneaking out again. Not like it was my first time, but there was always a rush that came with it.

The café wasn’t far, tucked into a quiet corner downtown. Café Nostros, owned by Charlie and his wife, Vanessa both in their sixties. Rumor has it they were involved in some underground businesses the government conveniently overlooked. No one could ever confirm anything, but the whispers always added an extra edge to the place and they've just being kind to Ella and I ever since we were little,they have a son who's in our age group but he rarely comes around.

The café had a rustic charm to it wooden floors, exposed brick walls, and the sweet, lingering scent of cinnamon sugar that clung to your clothes long after you’d left. It was never packed to the brim, but always comfortably full. Families came for weekend lunches, couples celebrated quiet anniversaries, and businessmen filled the corners for midweek meetings.

Ella was early as always.I spotted her right away, seated at our usual table. Her laptop was open but clearly forgotten, fingers curled around a cup of something rich and steaming. When she saw me, her eyes lit up.“Took you long enough,” she teased, standing to pull me into a warm, dramatic hug. She rolled her eyes playfully. “Come on, play me.”

“I had to make sure the coast was clear before leaving,” I replied, sliding into the seat across from her.

She reached across the table, took my hand in hers, and asked her usual question the one she always asked, and I always brushed off.

“Are you okay?”

This time, I didn’t say I’m fine. I couldn’t.

Instead, I broke down."It’s like… nothing I do is ever enough,” I said, my voice low and shaky. “She gets stricter every day. Keeps reminding me of how she wants me to turn out. She throws out names like Dad, Grandpapa, and even my cousin like I’m supposed to measure up to all of them.”

Ella just shook her head softly, There was a pause.

“You know,” Ella said finally, “I still don’t understand how you let her get away with it how you let yourself be treated like that. You’re the most brilliant, beautiful girl I know.”

I let out a soft, bitter chuckle. “It’s like living in a room with the volume turned down. Everything’s muted"

Ella reached for my hand again, squeezing it firmly in both of hers.

“You don’t have to earn love and attention, Kamsi. Not from your own mother.”

I looked out the window, heart heavy and it was like the universe mocking me a woman strolled by, holding the hand of a little boy, chitchatting and smiling at him softly. I envied them,the closeness, the warmth. It was the kind of bond I never had with my mother. I can’t even remember the last time she held my hand or smiled at me. Sometimes, I feel invisible in that house, like a living reminder of everything she’s lost. It’s like she wants me to just exist, to run businesses, to be useful. Nothing more.

Ella’s gaze on me softened. “Carla....”

“I’m fine. It’s fine,” I replied quickly, catching her look and managing a small smile. “Hey, let’s talk about something else. How’s your social media thing going?”

Ella, ever the outgoing one, brightened a little. Social life was her thing she took it seriously. Though hesitant at first, she let the topic go and told me about a guy she met recently on i********:. She kept gushing about his eye color, his smile, and that deep voice. I had a feeling she’d end up hooking up with him.

I told her about how I tried a baking recipe I found online, and how horribly it turned out. We laughed really laughed. So loud that people around us gave us curious looks. We didn’t care. I hadn’t realized how much I missed that kind of laugh until it came from someplace genuine, sitting across from Ella.

But the heaviness in my chest didn’t lift. Still, I pushed on.

“Actually…” I hesitated, then leaned in. “I was thinking about creating that i********: account you suggested.”

Ella’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Finally. Maybe you’ll meet a real man one day. Like my Jackson. And maybe just maybe you’ll finally let go of Mike.”

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help laughing. Ella and Mike'my not-so-serious 'boyfriend from school had never gotten along. She always said he wasn’t the best for me, that I needed someone more mature, more present. I guess this was her subtle way of rooting for me to find someone better.

“So I created the account,” I said. “Well… I haven’t finished setting it up yet.”

She put her hands together like she was praying. “God bless this journey. I’m so excited for you.”I chuckled.

“I mean, I already have some really nice pictures I want to post.”

I smiled, but my mind drifted uninvited to Mr. Whitaker.

Mr. Ethan Whitaker wasn't the type of man you expected to notice you. He was in his mid twenties and runs a multi-million publishing company, clean-cut, tailored suits, deep voice that sounded like it came with subtitles. He was on the school board, gave motivational speeches about career readiness and self-worth.

The first time we talked, he complimented my essay on small business ethics. Said I had "an unusual depth for someone my age."

Then he DM'd me. Once. Then again. Then more. Always respectful but always... too much.

We started texting after a school fundraiser. I told myself it was innocent. That he just appreciated my mind.

But minds didn't get compliments like:

"You look mature in that dress."

"You're the kind of girl who deserves more than boys your age."

"If only l'd met you sooner."

One evening, I mentioned I needed funds for a school project. He sent $200 without hesitation.

And just like that, he became the man who didn't say no not like my mother.

I never told Ella about him though I'll have to sooner.

After we left the café, I walked home slower than usual, listening to the gravel crunch beneath my feet. It was dark by the time I reached my street. Porch lights flickered on like quiet warnings. Our house sat cold and still, my mom's car parked, her bedroom light glowing behind the drawn curtains.

I didn't knock.

I went straight to my room, shut the door, and sat cross-legged on the floor.

l opened i********: created an account.Posted a picture one of my favorites. No face. No profile picture. Just enough to hint, not reveal.

I was about to crawl into bed when my phone pinged.

I glanced at it… then turned away.

I’ll check it tomorrow.