Not Today - Chapter 8
1300 Words
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The house had never felt so quiet. Shadows stretched across the wooden floorboards, carrying whispers of the past. Dust floated in the sunlight, catching on every picture frame, every shelf, every secret the walla refused to release.
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Zeva's POV:
I told myself I didn't care about the box. There were too many papers, too many memories already pressing down on me. But the weight of it lingered in the back of my mind, like a word caught on the tip of my tongue.
The house pressed in on me — every creek, every scent of lavender and old wood. It was supposed to be safe here. This was the place where I'd spend holidays curled up on the couch, summers on the porch with lemonade in hand. But it felt like a mausoleum, like every chair and every framed photo was silently mourning with me.
I sank onto the couch, clutching the frame of my grandparents. My eyes drifted to the one of my parents, smiling in a world I couldn't remember. My throat tightened
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Jazmine's POV:
She said she didn't want to open it, but I saw the way her fingers hesitated on the drawer. I knew Zeva. She always wanted to know the truth, even when it scared her. She just wasn't ready to admit it yet.
I wanted to make her laugh, to distract her, but there was no space for jokes here. The house was too heavy with memories. The best I could do was keep her grounded, help her sort papers, and remind her she wasn't alone.
"Do you want me to keep going through these letters?" I asked softly, holding up a stack.
She just nodded, her voice small. "Yeah... thanks."
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No One's POV:
The lockbox waited. Inside, faded ink and yellowed paper rested quietly, the edges worn from hands that had opened it many times before. Her grandparents' hands. They had searched for answers but found only fragments, half-truths, shadows that refused to take shape. And then time ran out.
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Kiante's POV:
Kiante sat on the edge of his bed, his phone glowing in his hand. He read Zeva's last message over and over, each word carving deeper into him. He wanted to call again, but he didn't know what to say that wouldn't sound empty. He wanted to tell her he believed in her strength, that they would get through this. But he also knew she was carrying something bigger—something she hadn't told him yet.
She was hurting. He could hear it in the cracks of her words. He wanted to drop everything, grab a bus, a train, something — but the game held him like chains. If he left, he'd be letting down the team, the coaches, the fans. But if he stayed... he was letting her down.
He ran his hands over his face, jaw tight. "Damn it, Z..." he muttered.
He scrolled to her number again, thumb hovering over the call button, but her stopped. What could he even say? "I'm sorry" wasn't enough. She needed him there, not trapped miles away in a room full of noise.
So instead, he typed out a simple message: Call if you can't breathe. I'll answer, no matter what.
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Zeva's POV:
I lifted a frame of my parents from the mantel, my hands trembling. Behind it, a lip of yellowed paper fluttered free. I caught it before it hit the ground, unfolding it with care.
My grandmother's handwriting stared back at me, shaky but strong:
"Never forget — the truth is not always in plain sight. Keep it safe until the time is right."
The words blurred as my eyes filled. My throat burned, my chest heavy.
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Jazmine's POV:
She froze when she read the note, her lips parting like she couldn't breathe. My heart clenched — I wanted to ask, to see, but I didn't push. Zeva didn't need questions right now; she needed space.
Still... I couldn't stop my eyes from flicking toward the drawer, toward that damn lockbox.
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No One's POV:
The lockbox. The words on the note meant for it. Meant for her. But Zeva didn't know that yet. She folded the paper too quietly, shoving it back against the frame, her heart refusing to chase the shadows her grandparents had left behind.
The house held its breath, waiting.
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Zeva's POV:
I pressed the note flat against the photo, forcing it back into place. My hands were shaking so badly I had to steady myself on the mantel.
The lockbox burned in my mind like an ember.
But I shut my eyes, turned away, and whispered to myself.
Not today.
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Jazmine's POV:
Her voice was barely a whisper, but I heard it. I didn't know what she meant by "not today," but I let her have the silence. She was fighting too many battles in her head already.
So I just sat beside her on the couch, close enough to lean if she wanted. Close enough so she'd know she wasn't alone.
When she finally walked into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, I stayed behind. My eyes flicked to the frame, to the note she had tried to shove back in place with trembling hands. Something about the words and how she reacted didn't sit right with me.
Quietly, I slid the paper free again. My chest tightened as I read the message in her grandmother's shaky handwriting. Never forget — the truth is not always in plain sight. Keep it safe until the time is right.
I folded it carefully, slipped it into my pocket. Not to keep it from her, but to protect it. To ensure it didn't get lost in the chaos of grief, or shoved away like the lockbox she refused to face.
Because even if Zeva wasn't ready for the truth...I was
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No One's POV:
The lockbox sat untouched in the drawer, silent, waiting. The key hadn't yet been found, but the first move had been made. The note was no longer hidden in the shadows of a frame — it was carried now, pressed close to someone's heart.
And in time, when the threads began to unravel, that single choice would change everything.
- Writer
