chapter 3
1277 Words
Dinner was quiet.
Too quiet.
The silence, the type that crept in your bones and made all the sounds seem louder than they actually were. Spoon clinks, scraping of the metal pot and the gentle buzz of the ceiling fan above. I was sitting at a table with my mom as I was fooling around with rice on my plate, and every time I took a bite, I was lying.
So how did the doctor visit go, she said in a soft voice.
I did not cringe. I had already prepared the words.
“Good. They said I’m responding to the medication.”
She sighed in relief, like I had just handed her a reason to keep breathing.
“That’s wonderful, baby.”
I nodded. “Yeah. It is.”
And the lie went down hotter than the pepper sauce she had stirred into the stew, though the truth left a bad taste in my throat.
she chatted on a bit--of there being no tomatoes again in the market, and about how Mrs. Barnes across the way had got a new dog who barked at everything. I nodded where needed, smiled once or twice. But all I could hear was the doctor’s voice playing on loop in my head:
“Three months, Isabel. Maybe less.”
I assisted to clear the dinner table, washed the dishes as usual and kissed her good night on the cheek.
She never thought anything wrong of it.
And that, somehow, made me feel worse.
---
Sleep refused to come.
My body was lying in bed looking up at the ceiling whereas my mind was still very much awake. that fan above was turning in loose circles, throwing shadows about my walls. Everything felt too quiet, too still. Like the world was waiting for me to decide something.
I thought about love.
Not the kind that stays.
I didn’t want to leave anyone like that.
But I did want to feel something.
To be seen.
To be chosen.
Even if it meant nothing.
Even if it was temporary.
Even if it was a lie.
I turned over, heart thudding louder than I liked, and whispered to the darkness,
“Where do you find someone who’ll never love you back?”
---
The next morning at the shelter, I found Helen sitting in her usual spot—knitting something green that looked like it was losing a fight with the yarn. Her lips were pursed in concentration, glasses perched at the edge of her nose.
I sat beside her, heart already pounding with the weight of what I was about to ask.
“Morning,” she said without looking up. “You look like you wrestled a nightmare and lost.”
I gave her a faint smile. “Didn’t sleep.”
“Ah. Thinking about death?”
“No.” I hesitated. “Actually… I was thinking about men.”
That made her blink.
She glanced up, completely thrown off. “What now?”
“I have a question. A weird one.”
“I’m listening,” she said slowly.
“Where do you find men who have… no emotions?”
She dropped the yarn. “What kind of cult are you joining, sweetheart?”
“I’m serious.”
“Do you mean emotionally unavailable, or clinically dead inside? There’s a difference.”
I huffed. “Someone who doesn’t get attached. Doesn’t want love. Doesn’t… feel things deeply.”
Helen stared at me for a long beat, then raised an eyebrow. “Well, damn.”
“I know.”
She leaned back. “Strangely specific request, but I might have an answer.”
My brows lifted. “Really?”
She shrugged. “If I were to guess… probably a club.”
“A club?”
“Yeah. Where else do people go to forget they have feelings?”
“I’ve never been to one.”
“All the more reason,” she said, grabbing my wrist. “Come on. We’re getting you ready.”
---
Helen’s apartment above the shelter was a mix of chaos and charm. Old perfumes, fashion magazines, throw pillows, African sculptures, and racks of clothes that looked like they belonged on three different continents.
She dragged me to her closet like a woman on a mission.
“You’ve got the body of a storm,” she muttered, tossing hangers aside. “We’re gonna stop hiding it.”
“Helen…”
“No. Tonight, you’re going to dress like a woman who knows what she wants—even if you don’t say it.”
She pulled out a black satin dress with spaghetti straps, cut just low enough to make me flinch and short enough to make me hesitate.
“I can’t wear that.”
“Yes, you can. And you will.”
“But—”
“No more invisible Isabel,” she said. “You want something? You go get it. Starting with this.”
She sat me down, brushed my hair, put a bit of shine to my cheekbones, rubbed the gloss on my lips in a strong deep red.
After she finished I was standing in front of the mirror and I did not recognize myself.
I was dressed like a person who knew what she was going to do.
Someone bold.
Someone fearless.
Even if I wasn’t.
---
The club pulsed like a second heart.
I hopped in and music pounded on my ribs and the lights were flashing like electric stars. There was the smell of sweat and perfume and of something pricey whose name I could not place.
I stood stock still at the doorway.
So much noise. So many bodies. So many eyes.
I folded my arms around myself, and could not think of where to stand, so close to the bar, and I tried to merge into the walls. Some made glimpses my way, but none of them came near.
Good.
I did not come to flirt.
I was here to see somebody who would never be able to fall in love with me even against his will.
I lounged there an hour, as it were, sipping a tumbler of water, surveying the audience. Everyone looked too eager, too alive. Too… soft.
At the moment when I was all set to take off, the urge came over me.
I had to pee..
I was bumping through, falling in my heels, squinting under the strobes. On a sign directing toward the bathroom, I went off in another direction and found myself in a cordoned hall glowing soft in gold light. I ducked past the velvet rope thinking perhaps the toilets might be off in some elaborate corner.
I was left in silence instead.
A long corridor. Cool. Dimly lit.
I paused… and that’s when I heard the voices.
Two men. One calm. One calculating.
“I want it finalized by next week,” one said. His voice was sharp—smooth and emotionless, like a blade made of ice.
“You’re really doing this?” the second asked.
“I need a wife. For business. Not love. Nothing personal. No attachment.”
I stopped breathing.
The man continued, “I want a woman who understands the contract. She’ll pose. She’ll play the part. But she won’t fall in love. That’s the deal.”
I peeked carefully through the cracked door.
He was tall. Dark suit. Impeccable posture. Eyes like winter—no warmth, no softness.
I didn’t know his name.
But in that moment, I knew exactly who he was.
He was the man I’d been searching for.
The man who didn’t want love.
Didn’t need affection.
Didn’t believe in it.
Perfect.
- Writer
