Zolani’s POV
I paced the room like a trapped animal, phone clutched in one hand, thumb swiping the screen every few seconds as if sheer willpower could force Evan’s name to appear.
But nothing happened. No missed call. No text. No “sorry I missed you, babe, why did you end my call” or even a lame emoji. Just silence. The same cold, indifferent silence I’d gotten used to over the years.
I deserved better.
I deserved to be loved the way other girls were, the way they are loved fiercely, obsessively, and stupidly. I deserved late-night calls just because someone missed my voice.
I deserved flowers for no reason, silly arguments that ended in make-up s*x, someone who’d drop everything when I was spiraling. I deserved to throw a tantrum, loud, childish, irrational and have someone wrap me
