Chapter Two
733 Words
Shakira closed the door behind her quietly. For a moment, neither of us spoke.
She leaned against the door as if she needed the support, her arms folded tightly across her chest. That alone was strange. Shakira was never the quiet one between us. Usually she walked into a room like a burst of energy talking, laughing, commenting on everything.
Tonight, she looked… restrained.
“You ignored my calls,” she said again, though this time her voice was softer.
I held up my phone slightly. “I have just seen them now. I was upstairs.”
Her eyes flicked to the screen in my hand for half a second before returning to my face.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
I almost laughed.
“That’s my line,” I replied. “You called me three times like the house was on fire.”
For a moment she didn’t respond. She just looked at me, studying my face in a way that made me suddenly aware of the silence in the room.
Then she forced a small smile.
“Wedding nerves,” she said lightly. “I wanted to check on you.”
That explanation sounded reasonable. Too reasonable.
I nodded slowly and placed my phone back on the bed.
“Well, I’m still here,” I said. “No dramatic bride meltdown yet.”
She gave a short laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
I noticed then that she hadn’t moved further into the room. She was still standing by the door like she was ready to leave at any moment.
“That’s a new behavior,” I said casually.
Her brows furrowed slightly. “What?”
“You,” I said, gesturing toward her. “Standing like a guest instead of sitting like you live here.”
For years, Shakira had walked into my room without knocking, jumped on my bed, stolen my snacks, and criticized my outfits. She had never once looked like she needed permission to be there. Tonight she looked like she was visiting someone else’s house.
She pushed herself off the door and finally walked toward the bed.
“You’re imagining things,” she said, sitting beside me.
Maybe I was.
But the feeling in my chest didn’t completely settle.
Downstairs, someone shouted my name again, followed by a loud burst of laughter.
Shakira glanced toward the door.
“They’re looking for you,” she said.
“They’ve been looking for me all day,” I replied.
I picked up my phone again, mostly out of habits
The unknown message was still there.
Are you sure you know everything?
I hesitated before locking the screen.
Shakira noticed.
“What was that?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said quickly.
Her head tilted slightly. “You don’t usually hide things from me.”
That was true.
For years, we had told each other everything: embarrassing stories, heartbreaks, fears, stupid decisions. There had never been a reason to hide anything. Until now.
“It was just a weird message,” I said.
Her eyes sharpened.
“What kind of message?”
I shrugged, trying to make it sound unimportant.
“Wrong number, probably.”
For a brief second, something flickered across her face.
Not curiosity. Something else.
Something that disappeared too quickly for me to name.
She stood up suddenly.
“I should go back downstairs,” she said.
“That fast?” I asked.
“Your aunt is already stressing about tomorrow,” she said. “If the bride disappears, she might cancel the wedding herself.”
That made me laugh.
“Fair point.”
She moved toward the door, but before opening it, she paused.
“Pearl.”
I looked up.
“Yes?”
Her hand rested on the door handle, but she didn’t open it.
“Are you happy?” she asked quietly.
The question caught me off guard.
“Of course I am,” I said slowly.
She studied my face again.
Then she nodded once, almost to herself.
“Good,” she said.
And then she left.
The door closed softly behind her.
I sat there for a moment, staring at the empty space she had just occupied.
Something about that conversation felt unfinished.
Like a sentence that had stopped halfway.
My phone buzzed again.
I looked down.
The unknown number had replied.
You should check where your fiancé is tonight.
- Writer
