Chapter 9: Behind the Smile
639 Words
Everyone thought Amara was okay again.
She laughed at the right times, posted cheerful pictures online, and even started going out with friends more often. To anyone watching, she looked like a girl who had healed. But behind that smile lived a heart that was still bleeding quietly.
Michael was still in the picture, not fully, not gone either. He came and went like the wind, unpredictable, cold some days, warm on others. And Amara, in her weakness, accepted whatever he gave. A text once in a while, a call on lonely nights, a few sweet words just enough to make her stay.
Her friends noticed the change.
Kemi especially.
“Amara, you’re not yourself anymore,” she said one afternoon as they walked out of class. “You laugh, but it’s empty. You’re talking, but your eyes look lost.”
Amara smiled faintly. “You’re overthinking again.”
“No,” Kemi said softly, “you’re over-hiding again.”
That night, Amara lay awake, staring at her ceiling. Her phone vibrated. It was Michael.
Hey babe, I miss you.
Her heart fluttered instantly. She wanted to ignore it, but her fingers betrayed her.
I miss you too.
And just like that, she fell into the same pattern, the sweet, poisonous routine of a love that only existed when he felt like it.
Days passed, then weeks.
Michael stopped visiting as often. He always had excuses: busy, tired, not in town. But what hurt most was seeing his new posts, pictures of him and Anita laughing together, living freely, while she was still trapped in her own silence.
Still, she told her friends, “We’re fine.”
Still, she smiled when anyone asked.
Still, she defended him.
“He’s just private,” she would say, forcing laughter. “He doesn’t like to show things online.”
Even though deep down she knew the truth — he wasn’t hiding his life, he was hiding her.
One Sunday morning, she stood in front of the mirror, preparing for church, and caught her reflection.
The girl staring back didn’t look like her anymore. Her eyes were tired, her skin looked pale, and her once-bright aura had dimmed.
“Is this really love?” she whispered to herself.
Because love was supposed to make you better, not smaller. It was supposed to give peace, not leave you restless.
But even with all that, she couldn’t walk away. She told herself it would hurt too much to start over, as if staying didn’t already hurt enough.
That evening, she visited Michael.
Anita’s shoes were by the door again.
Michael looked surprised. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“I wanted to surprise you,” she said quietly.
He rubbed his neck awkwardly. “You should have called first.”
Her lips trembled, but she forced a smile. “It’s fine. I was just around.”
Anita came out of the kitchen holding a drink. Their eyes met. For a second, silence filled the room, thick, heavy, unbearable.
Amara turned away. “I should go.”
“Wait, Amara—”
“No, it’s okay,” she said, voice shaking but controlled. “I just wanted to see you. I’ve seen enough.”
Back home, Kemi didn’t even ask what happened. She just hugged her tightly.
Amara didn’t cry. She had no tears left.
All she said was, “Maybe he’ll love me right one day.”
Kemi looked at her with pity. “You don’t deserve someday, Amara. You deserve now.”
But Amara smiled weakly, pretending she didn’t hear. Because pretending had become her new survival.
Behind every smile she gave, there was pain.
Behind every “I’m fine,” there was a storm.
And behind every heartbeat, there was his name, still echoing like a wound she couldn’t heal.
- Writer
