Reflections Of Us

Fragments And Fire - Chapter 11

🎶 - https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1dItfQFfoLm8P6B7XxwLzP?si=HLLYhYGTTG2D4v-g7lDQIA

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Zeva's POV:

The words clung to me like smoke: She must never know the truth.

I read them again and again until the letters blurred. My chest felt tight, my pulse uneven. Who was "she"? Me? My mother? Someone else caught in this mess?

I shoved the letters back into the box, then pulled them out again as if the order had changed in the last thirty seconds. But no matter how I stacked them, no matter how I read them, nothing made sense. It was like being handed the pieces of a puzzle with half of them missing.

My phone buzzed on the desk.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Jazmine: Z, talk to me. Please.

I stared at the screen, thumb hovering. I wanted to tell her. I wanted to let her in. But the note burned into me. If my grandparents thought there was danger in knowing the truth... then maybe protecting Jazmine meant keeping her out of it.

I typed: I'm okay. Later.

Hit send. Tossed the phone face down.

And then I shut the lockbox. The click of the latch sounded final, but it didn't close anything inside of me.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Jazmine's POV:

Zeva's "later" text did nothing to ease the knot in my stomach. She was shutting me out again, I could feel it. I lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. The dorm was quiet except for the muffled laughter of girls down the hall. They sounded so light, so normal, while I was stuck refreshing my messages, hoping Zeva would say something more.

Maybe I was being too pushy. Maybe she really did just need time. But the silence between us felt heavier than usual, like she was holding something back — not just from me, but from herself.

I hugged my pillow to my chest and whispered into the fabric: "Don't do this alone, Z."

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Zeva's POV:

By morning, the lockbox was shoved back under the bed. Out of sight. But not out of mind.

The campus buzzed as I crossed the quad. Laughter, footsteps, the rustle of backpacks — it was the kind of energy I should have felt pulled into. Instead, it all blurred around me, a life moving forward while my thoughts were stuck in decades-old shadows.

I spotted Jazmine near the fountain, waving at someone across the lawn. She looked so natural in this world, sunlight in her hair, a soft smile playing at her lips. For a moment, guilt hit me hard— because I was dragging her into something dark when she deserved light.

Her eyes flickered to me, and that smile flattered just slightly. She didn't ask anything out loud, but the question was there in the space between us.

What aren't you telling me?

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Jazmine's POV:

She looked exhausted, like she hadn't slept. Her shoulders hunched like the weight of something I couldn't see was pressing her down.

I wanted to grab her hand, pull her away from everyone else, and make her talk. But the part of me that loved her too much to break her walls... that part stayed quiet.

So I just smiled and said, "Class?"

She nodded. No words, just that small nod.

And we walked side by side into the noise of campus life, carrying silence that was anything but empty.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Zeva's POV:

The lecture hall was buzzing when we stepped inside — pens clicking, backpacks unzipping, the faint hiss of the overhead projector warming up. I slid into a seat beside Jazmine, trying to make myself small, invisible, as if I didn't move too much, the storm in my chest wouldn't show.

But everything was louder than usual. The scrape of chairs against the floor grated. The professor's voice cut sharply through the air. Even the smell of stale coffee from the row behind us made me nauseous.

I opened my notebook, stared at the blank page. My hand hovered with the pen, but the only words in my head were still those from the letter: She must never know the truth.

I didn't hear a single thing the professor said.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Jazmine's POV:

I kept sneaking glances at Zeva out of the corner of my eye. She wasn't taking notes, not really. Her pen just lingered above the paper like she was trying to write but forgot how.

Normally, she'd be the one whispering jokes about how boring the lecture was, bumping her shoulder against mine to keep me awake. But now... it was like she wasn't even here.

I tapped my fingers on the desk, debating if I should slide her a note, if I should risk pushing her when she clearly didn't want to be pushed.

In the end, I just scribbled one word on the corner of my notebook and tilted it toward her.

"Later?"

Her eyes flickered down, then up to me. After a long pause, she gave the faintest nod.

It wasn't much, but it was enough.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Zeva's POV:

The rest of class dragged, my mind half here, half trapped in the lockbox. When the professor dismissed us, Jamine gathered her things, waiting for me without saying a word.

I slung my bag over my shoulder and forced myself to smile at her, though it didn't reach my eyes. "Coffee?" I asked, my voice rough from not speaking all class.

She looked surprised, the softened. "Yeah. Coffee sounds good."

And just like that, the silence between us didn't feel quite as heavy. Not gone. But not crushing either.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Jazmine's POV:

I took the last sip of my coffee and set the cup down with a sigh. "Alright, I've got to head to my next class," I said, standing, "Don't want to be late."

Zeva frowned slightly, like she wanted to argue, but I just smiled. "Don't worry. You'll survive. And hey... try not to get distracted by anyone too much."

She gave me a small nod, her eyes lingering on me for a moment before I stepped outside, the campus energy buzzed around me.

I slipped into my seat in class, spotting Kiante smirking across the row. "Late again?" he drawled.

"Fashionably," I shot back, nudging him lightly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Fashionably late, huh? Sounds like a fancy way of saying predictable."

"Predictable is better than obnoxious," I countered.

"Obnoxious? Me? "Never," he said, leaning closer, voice low and teasing. "I'm charming, thank you very much."

I rolled my eyes but felt a small tug at my lips. "Keep telling yourself that."

The lecture started, but we were already in our own world—quiet laughter, exchanged glances, a spark of frustration and amusement in every jab. Every remark has just enough edge to sting, but enough charm to make me grin.