Can't get over you

Chapter 11

The morning after the prep felt like waking up inside a fog. I sat by the window of our hotel room

with a lukewarm cup of tea, the sky outside dull and grey. Tara was still asleep, her chest rising

and falling in the steady rhythm of much-needed rest.

Layla knocked gently at our door around nine.

"Rise and shine, sleepyheads," she called, pushing the door open with a grin. "We’ve got a

fundraiser to run."

I gave her a tired smile. "You’re awfully chipper for someone who ran the whole place

yesterday."

"Sleep is a luxury. I prefer adrenaline and caffeine," she winked, flopping onto the edge of my

bed. Then her expression softened. "You okay?"

I hesitated. My fingers tightened around the mug. "Not really."

She glanced at Tara, then back to me. "Talk to me."

I exhaled. "I keep thinking about it. About the breakup. About the way I left. I didn’t even give

him a real explanation, Layla. I just... vanished."

"Farah..."

"I thought I was doing the right thing. But lately, I wonder if I made everything worse by not

staying long enough to talk. Maybe he deserved to know why. Maybe I wanted him to fight

harder."

Layla nodded slowly. "And now?"

"Now I don’t know what’s real. I see him with other people and I wonder—was I ever enough?

Or did I make the whole thing up in my head?"

There was a long pause before I whispered, "I saw a message. Back then. One of his

coworkers. It wasn’t clear but... it felt like something."

"Did you ask him about it?"

"No. I just... left."

Layla leaned forward, her voice gentler. "Look, I love you, but you both made mistakes. He shut

down, you shut out. It doesn’t matter whose fault it is anymore. What matters is whether you

want to keep carrying it or finally put it down."

Tara stirred in the bed and sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. "She’s right, you know. You’ve both

been dancing around this thing like it’s not suffocating you."

"Tara—"

"I mean it," she said, sitting up fully now. "You talk to everyone else but him. Maybe it’s time you

stop running."

I looked between the two of them. "I don’t even know what I’d say."

Layla smiled. "Start with the truth. Then go from there."

They left me with those words. And a silence so full it might as well have been screaming.

****************************************

By the afternoon, the energy in the ballroom was a whole different universe. Tables gleamed

with silverware and centerpieces. Guests flowed in like water, dressed in shades of power and

prestige.

I stood beside Layla, going through the cue sheet. The fundraiser had begun.

Aaron gave the opening remarks.

He stood under the soft lights, tall and confident, reading from a crisp white card with the same

poised calm that made me fall for him once.

"Thank you all for being here today. Every contribution made, every voice in this room—you're

shaping a better world."

He glanced briefly in my direction.

My stomach twisted.

After the speeches, we rolled into the activities. Raffles. Pledges. A silent auction.

Tara moved gracefully among the tables, helping distribute information cards.

At one table, she paused as a tall woman with deep brown skin and an immaculately tailored

emerald suit caught her attention. The woman looked up from her bidding sheet, her expression

amused.

"You’ve got the eyes of someone who takes these events seriously," the woman said, voice

velvet-smooth with a hint of playful edge.

Tara blinked, momentarily thrown. "I just like when things are... in order."

The woman extended a hand. "Danika. CFO at Halberton. Also a sucker for a well-run

fundraiser."

Tara shook her hand, her smile blooming slow. "Tara. Volunteer. First-time sucker."

Danika chuckled. "Well, first time or not—you wear that name badge like you run the place."

"Confidence is the costume," Tara said lightly, but her voice dipped, almost shy.

Danika held her gaze just a second longer than expected. Not too much. Just enough.

"Then it suits you," she replied.

Tara looked down at her clipboard, suddenly flustered. "Let me know if you need anything."

"I’ll remember that," Danika said, and turned back to her card—but her smile lingered.

Tara walked away quickly, cheeks warm.

It was nothing. Just banter. Just... a little spark under the surface. Layla handled the mic like a

seasoned host, calling out names and numbers with effortless charm.

"This beautiful artwork here," she gestured to a framed piece behind her, "was donated by local

artist Renee Aki. Bidding starts at five hundred. Let’s give back and walk away with something

stunning."

The room buzzed with soft excitement.

I stood near the back, watching it unfold. It should’ve felt triumphant.

But all I felt was the weight of the day pressing down harder.

Then Layla's voice rose again.

"Before we close out, I want to say thank you. To every volunteer, every coordinator, every

person who lost sleep and sanity to pull this off. We see you. And we appreciate you."

Applause.

Then:

"To show that appreciation, we’re inviting everyone to the appreciation dinner happening right

after this. Same hotel, second-floor restaurant. Drinks on us."

Cheers broke out.

I caught Aaron exchanging nods with someone across the room. When our eyes met, he didn’t

look away.

And for the first time in days, neither did I.

I didn’t know what was going to happen next.

But I was done pretending it didn’t matter.