Episode 3: Ghosts Don’t Text
413 Words
Nadim stood in front of the mirror, buttoning his shirt like he was preparing for war — quiet, clean, controlled.
He hadn’t cried. Not yet. He wasn’t sure if that meant he was strong… or numb.
Behind him, Yasmin sat on the edge of the bed, like she didn’t recognize the man she used to share it with.
“He wasn’t supposed to mean anything,” she said again.
“You’ve said that three times,” Nadim replied, not turning. “But you don’t sound like you believe it.”
“I don’t,” she whispered. “That’s the problem.”
It was past midnight when the message finally came.
From Ali 🚗.
“I’m outside.”
Nadim didn’t reply.
He just stepped out into the cool night air.
Ali was leaning against a black Hyundai, leather jacket, smirk too comfortable for a man who’d just been caught sleeping with someone else's girlfriend.
Nadim walked up slowly.
“You’re him?” Ali asked.
“You know who I am,” Nadim said, voice low. “You're texting my woman. Talking about her back like it's yours.”
Ali chuckled. “She didn't say she was taken.”
Nadim's jaw clenched. “She didn’t say you were Ali Adjem, either.”
Ali blinked.
“You remember that name?” Nadim asked. “Or should I remind you?”
Ali straightened up.
“I was fifteen,” Nadim continued. “My sister was seventeen. You were twenty. You lied to her, too.”
Ali’s face fell. The smirk drained.
“She left school because of you,” Nadim said, his voice almost trembling now. “You ghosted her when she got pregnant. We lost her a year later.”
Silence.
“I didn’t know—” Ali started.
“Don’t lie,” Nadim cut in. “You never forget a girl who begged you not to disappear.”
Yasmin stood in the doorway now, listening.
She hadn’t known. You could see it in her face.
“You didn’t just cheat,” Nadim said, without even looking at her.
“You handed me back a ghost I already buried.”
Ali’s mouth opened, closed. No defense.
“I’m not going to hit you,” Nadim said to him.
“That’d be too easy. I want you to live long enough to feel as worthless as you made us feel.”
Then he turned and walked away — past Yasmin, past the apartment, into the dark.
---
- Writer
