Some promises fall silently

CHAPTER FIVE: The Part He Never Told Me

CHAPTER FIVE

The Part He Never Told Me

I didn't sleep that night.

Not because I was afraid of the person who had called me.

Not because of the strange messages.

Not even because of the notebook.

It was because of the photograph.

I kept staring at it.

My father.

My cousin.

And Mmesoma.

Together.

The three people who, somehow, seemed to be connected to a part of my life that I knew nothing about.

I zoomed in on the photograph.

Maybe I had missed something.

Maybe there was something in the background.

Something that could explain when or where the picture had been taken.

But there was nothing.

Just the three of them.

And the date.

A date that made everything worse.

It had been taken before Mmesoma came to my school.

Before she sat at my desk.

Before she introduced herself to me.

Before we became friends.

Before I even knew her name.

I dropped my phone on the bed.

My mind was racing.

How was that possible?

Had she known me before I knew her?

Had she known my father?

Had she known my cousin?

And if she did, why had she pretended to be a stranger?

I thought about the day we met.

The way she had been sitting at my desk.

The way she had looked at me.

The way she had smiled.

The way I had immediately felt like I wanted to become her friend.

At the time, I thought it was just coincidence.

Now I wasn't so sure.

Maybe there was a reason she had sat at my desk.

Maybe there was a reason she had followed me to the library.

Maybe there was a reason she had that notebook.

And maybe there was a reason she had refused to tell me what was inside it.

I picked up my phone again.

I opened our chat.

I stared at her name.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard.

I wanted to ask her everything.

Who are you?

How do you know my cousin?

How do you know my father?

Why were you in that photograph?

Why did you lie to me?

But I couldn't bring myself to send any of them.

Instead, I locked my phone.

I needed to talk to my father first.

The next morning, I woke up earlier than usual.

I barely remembered getting dressed.

My mind was still stuck on the photograph.

When I walked into the sitting room, my father was already there.

He was drinking coffee and looking through his phone.

The moment he saw me, he looked up.

"Good morning."

"Morning, Dad."

I sat opposite him.

He looked at me for a few seconds.

"You look tired."

"I didn't sleep."

"Why?"

I hesitated.

"I have something to ask you."

He placed his phone on the table.

"What is it?"

I took out my phone.

Then I showed him the photograph.

He looked at it.

His entire expression changed.

It was subtle.

But I noticed.

His eyes widened slightly before he quickly looked away.

"Where did you get this?"

"Someone sent it to me."

"Who?"

"I don't know."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He picked up my phone and stared at the photograph again.

This time, he didn't say anything.

"Dad."

He looked at me.

"How do you know Mmesoma?"

His face became completely blank.

"I don't."

"Then why are you in a photograph with her?"

"I told you. I don't know her."

"But she's standing beside you."

"I know."

"So?"

"So I don't remember taking that photograph."

I stared at him.

"How can you not remember?"

"I don't remember."

"And my cousin?"

He went quiet.

"You know him."

"He's your cousin."

"That's not what I mean."

I leaned forward.

"How do you know him?"

My father sighed.

"There's a lot about my past you don't understand."

"Then explain it to me."

"It's complicated."

"I'm tired of hearing that."

He looked at me.

"I keep finding things you don't want me to know."

"I've never wanted you involved in my past."

"But your past is already involved in my life."

He didn't answer.

I could see the hesitation in his eyes.

"Dad, who is Mmesoma?"

He looked down.

"I don't know."

"You're lying."

He immediately looked up.

"Don't accuse me of lying."

"Then tell me the truth."

He stood up.

"I have already told you more than I should have."

"More than you should have?"

I repeated.

"So there are still things you're hiding?"

He remained silent.

"Tell me."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because some things are better left buried."

That sentence reminded me of something Mmesoma had said.

There are things that are better kept hidden.

I froze.

Mmesoma had said almost the exact same thing.

I looked at my father.

"Who taught you that?"

"What?"

"That some things are better kept hidden."

He frowned.

"I don't understand."

"Mmesoma said the same thing."

His face changed.

This time, I was certain.

He knew something.

"What does she have to do with you?"

He walked toward the window.

"Nothing."

"Then why did you react like that?"

"I didn't react to anything."

"You did."

He turned toward me.

"Listen to me."

His voice became serious.

"You need to stop asking questions about her."

"Why?"

"Because you don't know who you're dealing with."

"Then tell me who she is."

"I can't."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know what she wants."

I stared at him.

"What do you mean?"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he walked back to the table.

"There are people from my past who never forgave me for leaving."

"The gang?"

He nodded.

"Some of them believed I betrayed them."

"And my cousin?"

He hesitated.

"He was involved."

I felt something tighten inside me.

"Involved with them?"

"Yes."

"How deeply?"

"Deeply enough."

I waited.

He didn't continue.

"And Mmesoma?"

He looked away.

"I don't know."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's the truth."

"Then why were you all together?"

"I don't remember."

I didn't believe him.

But I knew I wasn't going to get anything else out of him.

So I stood up.

"Fine."

He looked at me.

"Where are you going?"

"School."

"Wait."

I stopped.

He looked at me seriously.

"If anyone asks you about me, don't tell them anything."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know who is watching."

I stared at him.

"Someone is watching me?"

He didn't answer.

"Dad."

"Just promise me."

I hesitated.

"Okay."

"Good."

I turned toward the door.

Then I remembered something.

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"What happened to the people you couldn't change?"

His expression immediately hardened.

"What?"

"The people you said refused to leave."

He stared at me.

"Who told you about them?"

"Someone sent me a message."

He went silent.

"Where are they?"

He looked away.

"I don't know."

"You said some disappeared."

"Yes."

"How many?"

He didn't answer.

"Dad?"

Finally, he said,

"Three."

My eyes widened.

"Three people disappeared?"

"Yes."

"Who were they?"

He hesitated.

Then he said,

"My brother."

"My cousin's father."

"And someone else."

"Who?"

He looked directly at me.

"Someone you already know."

My heart skipped.

"Who?"

Before he could answer, his phone rang.

He looked at the screen.

His expression changed immediately.

He answered.

"Hello?"

I watched him carefully.

He didn't speak for several seconds.

Then he said,

"How did you get this number?"

Silence.

"Don't call this number again."

Another pause.

Then he suddenly hung up.

"Who was it?"

"No one."

"That wasn't no one."

He put his phone in his pocket.

"Go to school."

I stared at him.

There was something he wasn't telling me.

I knew it.

And now I knew something else.

The people who had disappeared weren't just some random members of a criminal gang.

One of them was connected to my cousin.

And another was someone I apparently already knew.

But who?

I left the house with more questions than I had arrived with.

On my way to school, I kept thinking about what my father had said.

Someone you already know.

Who could it be?

When I finally arrived at school, I walked into the classroom.

Mmesoma was already there.

She looked up the moment she saw me.

For a few seconds, neither of us said anything.

Then she smiled.

"Good morning."

I didn't respond immediately.

I walked toward my seat.

She watched me carefully.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She looked at me.

"You don't look okay."

I finally turned toward her.

"Do you know my father?"

Her smile disappeared.

For a moment, she said nothing.

Then she looked away.

"Why are you asking?"

"Just answer me."

"Why?"

"Because I saw a photograph."

Her eyes widened slightly.

"What photograph?"

I studied her face.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

She shook her head.

"I don't."

"Then why are you nervous?"

"I'm not nervous."

"You are."

She stood up.

"Look, I don't want to talk about this here."

"Then where?"

"Not here."

"Why?"

She looked around the classroom.

"Because someone might be listening."

I froze.

"What?"

She lowered her voice.

"Just trust me."

I stared at her.

Those words again.

Just trust me.

The same words she had used before.

But this time, they didn't comfort me.

They frightened me.

"How long have you known my family?"

She looked at me.

Then she whispered,

"Longer than you think."

Before I could ask another question, the bell rang.

Students began filling the classroom.

Mmesoma quickly returned to her seat.

I sat down beside her.

Neither of us spoke.

But I couldn't stop thinking about her words.

Longer than you think.

Then I noticed something.

The notebook.

It was sitting inside her bag.

The same notebook she had told me never to open.

The same notebook that somehow kept appearing wherever I went.

I looked at it.

Then at her.

She noticed.

Her expression changed.

"Don't."

I frowned.

"Don't what?"

"Don't look at it."

"Why?"

"Because you won't like what you find."

I stared at her.

"Then maybe I need to find it."

She shook her head.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because once you know the truth, you can't unknow it."

The teacher walked into the classroom.

Everyone became quiet.

But I couldn't concentrate on the lesson.

Her words kept repeating inside my head.

Once you know the truth, you can't unknow it.

I looked at the notebook again.

And for the first time, I wondered if the answers I was searching for had been sitting beside me all along.

I just hadn't been brave enough to open the right page.

What I didn't know was that before the end of that day, I was going to see something inside that notebook that would change everything.

Something that would make me question not only Mmesoma...

but my own family.