Chapter Five
823 Words
The estate had finally fallen quiet.
Gone were the clinking glasses, the fake laughter, the compliments laced with judgment. The house had swallowed its guests, leaving behind the soft hum of night and a sky littered with stars.
Andrelle padded barefoot down a hallway lined with polished art and ancestral portraits, feeling out of place and a little restless. Her heels had been ditched somewhere near the coatroom. Her curls were looser now, a few strands sticking to her neck, but she didn’t care.
The party mask was off. She needed air.
She almost didn’t notice the door cracked open at the end of the corridor — until a whisper of cool breeze pulled her attention.
Curious, she nudged it open.
“Can’t sleep either?”
Juma was already there on the rooftop, leaning back in a lounge chair, shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, tie undone. City lights sprawled behind him, glittering like fallen stars.
Andrelle hesitated. “Didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You didn’t,” he said without turning. “Come. This place is better with company.”
She stepped out onto the terrace, the stone cool under her feet. The wind played gently with her dress.
“Nice view,” she murmured.
“Best in the house,” he said. “It was my mother’s favorite spot.”
That caught her off guard.
“She used to sneak up here when my father was away,” Juma continued. “She hated the formalities. Said it was the only place she could breathe.”
Andrelle sat beside him. “She sounds... like someone I’d like.”
“You would’ve,” he said, eyes still on the horizon. “She was different. Loud in the best way. Kind without reason. She made this place feel like a home.”
He paused. Swallowed.
“She died when I was thirteen.”
“I’m sorry,” Andrelle said softly.
He nodded. “Me too. Things changed after that. My father became... distant. Everything became about image, performance. Business over breath.”
His voice was calm, but she heard the ache behind it. Not dramatic — just deeply, quietly sad.
“It must’ve been hard,” she said.
Juma gave a humorless chuckle. “He told me at her funeral that it was time to ‘man up.’ That there was no room for softness in the legacy.”
Andrelle’s chest tightened.
“I think that’s why I stayed away so long,” he added. “Studying abroad wasn’t just about the degree. It was peace. It was... being someone outside the weight of this name.”
She looked at him then. Really looked.
And for the first time, she didn’t see Juma Jux, billionaire heir, confident and composed. She saw a boy who lost his mother and was never really allowed to grieve. A man trying to carry a name that was never his choice.
“You’re allowed to be soft, you know,” she said gently.
He turned to her, surprise flickering in his eyes.
“You’re allowed to breathe too,” she added. “Even if your father never did.”
The rooftop fell quiet again — but it wasn’t uncomfortable.
Their shoulders brushed slightly. Neither of them moved away.
“What about you?” he asked after a while. “What’s your escape?”
Andrelle leaned her head back, eyes tracing constellations. “Books. Stories. I used to read under my blanket with a flashlight, like some people sneak snacks.”
“What kind of stories?”
“Ones where girls like me didn’t have to explain themselves. Or beg to be enough.”
Juma turned to her fully now. “And are you?”
“What?”
“Enough.”
She looked at him — really looked — and it wasn’t just moonlight painting him in silver and shadow. It was the way he waited for her answer like it mattered.
“I want to believe I am,” she said, almost whispering.
He nodded. “You are.”
And it wasn’t just words. He meant it.
Her throat tightened.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them thickened with something unspoken — something fragile and real.
Then, like gravity had shifted, he leaned in.
Not fast. Not certain.
Just... drawn.
She didn’t pull away.
Their foreheads touched first — breath to breath, skin to skin.
But before lips could follow, Andrelle gently pulled back, heart racing.
“We shouldn’t,” she murmured.
Juma nodded, jaw tight. “I know.”
It wasn’t rejection. It was restraint.
They sat in silence a moment longer, letting the cool wind calm the fire between them.
Eventually, Juma stood, offered his hand. “Let me walk you back.”
Andrelle hesitated. Then placed her hand in his.
No kiss. No confession. But something had cracked open between them.
And neither of them knew how to close it again.
- Writer
