All that was left : what remains after darkness?

CHAPTER 9

Jonas's pov

After dinner, we all headed upstairs. Rita stayed behind in the kitchen, clattering dishes into the sink even though Zara had offered to help. "I've got it," she'd insisted, waving us off with that no-nonsense tone of hers.

Zara disappeared into her room with a soft goodnight, the kind that lingered in the air long after her door clicked shut. I crossed into the guest room, shutting my own door quietly before sinking onto the bed.

The house felt different now... too still, too heavy. I lay back, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts refusing to settle.

Everything replayed in my head: the hospital, Zara's first steps back into this house, the way her hand clung to mine like a lifeline. And now, here we were, on the edge of goodbye. Rita had promised I could visit her in London every few months, but every three months felt like a lifetime. Too far. Too long.

I checked the clock on the nightstand. 10:45pm. My chest felt tight, like the walls were pressing closer with every passing minute.

That's when I heard it, a soft knock at the door.

I pushed up, padded across the floor, and opened it.

Zara stood there. Sweatpants. A large hoodie that nearly swallowed her frame, probably her dad's. Her hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, her face pale, eyes shadowed with exhaustion.

"Can't sleep?" I asked.

She shook her head slowly.

"Can I..." her voice faltered, and she tugged at her sleeve. "Can I lay with you for a bit?"

For a second, I hesitated. My mind shouted this is a bad idea, but my chest... my chest broke the second I saw how sad she looked. Like she'd been holding herself together all day, and now she just couldn't anymore.

I stepped aside. "Yeah. Come in."

She slipped past me, moving quietly, like she was afraid of waking the whole house. I shut the door behind her, the soft click echoing louder than it should have in the stillness.

She hovered at the edge of the bed, fidgeting with the drawstrings of her hoodie. I pulled the covers back without a word, and she slid in carefully, curling up on her side to face the wall. I got in on the other side, leaving space between us, trying to act like my heart wasn't thundering in my chest.

I could hear it in the way her breath hitched, she wasn't okay. Not even close. I hesitated for a moment, then reached out under the blanket, finding her hand. Her fingers were cold, trembling, and the second I touched her, she clutched onto me like she was drowning.

"I don't want to go," she whispered, so quiet I almost missed it.

My chest tightened. "Zara..."

Her voice cracked. "I've already lost so much. My parents. My brother. Everything that made this place feel like home. And now..." She finally turned to face me, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Now I'm going to lose you too."

The words hit me like a punch. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out at first. Because she wasn't wrong. The thought of her flying across an ocean, of this bed being empty tomorrow night, of her hand slipping out of mine, it felt unbearable.

But I couldn't let her believe she was losing me. Not when she was holding on this tight.

I shifted closer, closing the distance between us, and cupped the side of her face gently. "Listen to me. You're not losing me. You hear me?" My voice was low, firm, even though my throat burned. "I don't care if it's three months, six months, whatever, I'll be there. You'll call me, I'll call you, I'll visit. You're stuck with me, Zara. I'm not letting go."

Her lip quivered, and a tear finally slipped free. I brushed it away with my thumb before it could fall any further.

"You're not alone," I whispered. "Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever."

Something inside her broke at that. She let out a shaky breath and buried her face against my chest, her hands fisting in the fabric of the hoodie like she was afraid I'd disappear if she let go. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her as tightly as I dared, wishing I could absorb every ounce of her pain and carry it for her.

For a long while, we just stayed like that, her trembling against me, me whispering quiet reassurances into her hair. That she was safe. That she was loved. That distance couldn't touch what we had.

Eventually, her breathing slowed, uneven sobs giving way to the heavy pull of exhaustion. She didn't let go, even in sleep. And I stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying her words in my head.

I've already lost so much.

I kissed the top of her head softly, a promise pressed into her hair. "Not me," I murmured, even though she couldn't hear me anymore. "You'll never lose me."

—

I don't remember when I finally fell asleep, only that when I opened my eyes again, she was still there, snuggled up against me, her head resting on my chest, her hand tangled in my shirt like she'd never let go. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming.

I turned my head toward the nightstand. 7:30am. Her flight was at eleven. A stone dropped heavy in my stomach.

I tightened my arms around her, holding her closer, selfishly letting her sleep just a little longer. An hour, maybe. One last hour with her like this. I watched the way her chest rose and fell, the way the morning light brushed across her face, softening every edge until she looked almost unreal. Peaceful. Untouched by everything she'd been through.

God, she was beautiful.

My throat ached as I lowered my lips and pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead. I wanted her to feel it even in her dreams, the promise I couldn't stop making, that I wasn't going anywhere.

She stirred. A soft sigh escaped her lips, her lashes fluttering as her eyes slowly opened. And then, just like that, her ocean-blue eyes locked on mine.

For a second, I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The world narrowed down to nothing but that gaze.

She tilted her head slightly, her lips brushing against mine in the faintest, softest kiss. No movement, no rush, nothing, just the barest press of her mouth to mine. Gentle. Fragile. Like goodbye and thank you and I'm sorry all wrapped into one.

Before I could even react, she pulled back.

"Good morning," she whispered, her voice carrying the sweetest smile I'd ever heard.

And then, just like that, she slipped out of bed, her warmth vanishing with her, and walked out of my room.

I sat there frozen, lips still tingling, heart racing like I'd just run a marathon. That single kiss played over and over in my head, burning itself into my memory.

Because if she was going to leave me today... that kiss was going to haunt me forever.

—

The drive to the airport was quiet. Too quiet. Rita tried filling the silence with small talk—traffic, the weather, some random story about the airline—but it all slid past me like static. My focus was on Zara.

She sat beside me in the backseat, hood pulled low over her face, hands clenched in her lap. From time to time, her fingers twitched, like she wanted to reach for mine but couldn't bring herself to in front of Rita. I wanted to take her hand anyway, to remind her she wasn't walking into this alone, but I respected her silence. She was saying goodbye in her own way.

When the car finally rolled to a stop outside the terminal, reality hit like a hammer. People bustled past with rolling suitcases, loudspeaker announcements crackled overhead, and just like that—time was up.

We unloaded her bags. Rita stayed busy fussing over details, double-checking tickets, repeating the gate number. I just stood there, my chest tight, watching Zara.

She stepped into my arms without hesitation, and I wrapped her up, holding on like I could anchor her here with me. Her face pressed into my chest, and I felt it, the trembling she was trying to hide, the way her breath hitched like she was seconds away from breaking.

"I don't want to go," she whispered, her voice muffled against me.

My throat burned. I pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, my hands cupping her face. "I know. But this isn't the end, Zara. You're not losing me. You'll never lose me."

Her blue eyes searched mine desperately, like she wanted to believe me but was terrified to. I leaned in, pressing my forehead against hers. "Call me. Anytime. Doesn't matter what time zone it is—I'll pick up. And I'll come see you. As often as I can. You hear me?"

Her lips trembled, but she nodded.

The boarding announcement echoed through the speakers, her flight being called. She flinched like it physically hurt to hear.

Rita touched her arm gently. "It's time."

Zara clutched her carry-on a little tighter, her eyes darting to me one last time. I saw everything in that look: the fear, the grief, the hope she didn't dare voice.

Rita touched her arm, gently steering her toward the gate. "Come on, sweetheart. We don't want to miss it."

Zara hesitated, her steps faltering. She turned back, wrapped her arms around me in one last hug. It was quick but fierce, her whole body pressed against mine like she was trying to memorize me. "Goodbye, Jonas," she whispered, her voice trembling.

I swallowed hard, forcing out words I barely held together. "Not goodbye. Just see you soon."

She pulled back, gave me a watery smile, then let Rita lead her away. I stood there, watching until the crowd swallowed them both, until I couldn't see her blue eyes anymore, until she was gone.

My chest felt hollow, like something vital had been ripped out. I thought that was it... that I was about to walk away carrying nothing but the echo of her kiss and the memory of her voice.

But then Rita stopped. She turned back, weaving through the crowd until she stood in front of me again. Her expression was unreadable, her eyes sharper than usual. Without a word, she pulled a slim white envelope from her bag and pressed it into my hand.

"Open it when you get home," she said firmly. "Not here. Not now."

Before I could ask what it was, she squeezed my shoulder, gave me a small nod, and then turned away to catch up with Zara.

I stood there, clutching the envelope, staring after them until the gate doors closed and the overhead announcement declared the flight had departed.

Only then did I finally turn and walk out of the airport, the envelope heavy in my pocket like it carried the weight of something I wasn't ready for.

Later, when I made it back to my small room at home, I sat on the edge of the bed and tore it open with shaking hands.

And froze.

Inside wasn't a letter. It wasn't words. It was a cheque. The number written on it made my head spin—$800,000. Eight. Hundred. Thousand.

My breath caught. My pulse roared in my ears. I stared at the paper like it couldn't possibly be real, like my eyes were lying to me.

Rita hadn't said a word. She hadn't explained. She just... gave it to me.

And now, sitting here alone, the reality hit me, everything was changing. Not just for Zara. For me too.

The cheque trembled in my hands. My chest felt tight, my head spinning, like the numbers on the paper couldn't possibly be real.

I shot up from the bed so fast it squeaked under the movement. "Dad!" I shouted, my voice cracking. "Daaad!"

Heavy footsteps thundered down the hall. "What? What happened?" His voice was panicked, the sound of a man bracing for the worst. He burst into my room, hair a mess, his shirt half-buttoned like he'd been getting ready for work. His eyes darted over me, then around the room, like he expected to see blood or fire.

"What is it?!" he demanded.

Wordlessly, I shoved the cheque at him.

He grabbed it, frowning, then froze. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, his eyes bugging out as he read the number again and again. "Jesus Christ."

He looked up at me, his face pale, then back at the cheque like it might vanish if he blinked. "Jonas... is this real??"

I nodded, still breathless.

His eyes narrowed suddenly. "Who did you kidnap and collect ransom from?"

"Dad!" I choked out a laugh, half in disbelief, half in hysteria.

"No, because this—" He waved the cheque wildly. "This isn't normal money. This is—this is cartel money! This is politician money! You got a sugar mama I don't know about?"

"Dad!" I buried my face in my hands, laughing and on the verge of tears all at once. "I didn't kidnap anyone! It was Rita. She... she gave it to me."

Dad paced like he was walking a hole into the floor, the cheque held between two fingers like it might burn him. "Eight hundred thousand dollars," he muttered for the tenth time, shaking his head. "Jonas, this isn't pocket change, this isn't bonus money, this is cartel ransom money."

"Dad!" I groaned, half laughing, half about to cry.

He stopped, staring me dead in the eye. "Who? Who gave you this?"

"Rita," I said quietly.

His jaw dropped. "The bodyguard?"

I nodded.

He blinked, stunned into silence. Then slowly, suspiciously: "Son... did you save her life too? Because from what you've told me that woman doesn't even blink unless it's tactical."

I shook my head. My voice came out softer, weighed down by the truth. "At the hospital, she offered me money. For helping Zara. I told her no. I didn't want anything. I wasn't... doing it for that." I swallowed, the memory catching in my throat. "But I guess Zara's grandparents didn't take no for an answer. She's their only grandchild. They must've insisted. And Rita… she found a way to give it to me without letting me argue."

Dad let out a low whistle, running a hand over his face. "Jesus Christ..."

He sat beside me on the bed, the weight of it hitting him too. His voice lowered. "Jonas. Do you understand what this means? Those people... they're thanking you for saving their future. Their legacy. You didn't just save a girl… you saved everything she is to them."

My chest ached, heavy and hollow all at once. Because I hadn't thought about it like that. I hadn't wanted thanks. I hadn't wanted money. I was just glad i was able to save her.

Dad clapped my shoulder, his voice firm. "Don't waste this, son. Not the money, not the trust they just placed in you. You hear me?"

I nodded, staring down at the cheque, the numbers blurring through the sting in my eyes.

Because if her kiss was going to haunt me forever... this piece of paper would too.

Fuck.