Chapter Five
1124 Words
BIANCA.
When I got home, silence wasn't silence anymore. My apartment felt smaller, it seems like the walls knew something I didn't.
I tried distracting myself,washed my face, set the kettle on, went through my phone and stood outside my balcony staring at the streetlights and how the winds blew the leaves.
But the stranger's voice, his words, was there in everything. The tea had turned cold in my hands before realizing I hadn't taken a sip.
In bed,I became so restless, turning from side to side, dragging my bedsheets with me,but no position was better. His words kept on repeating until I lost shape,and became a rhythm pounding in my head.
I closed my eyes,but sleep never came. My mind refused to rest.
My thoughts grew sharp, “why now? Why him? Who is watching me?”
Everything felt too sudden for the stranger to step into my life.I already had unfinished projects. “The old man that tied things to me, the lady in room 211 whose Illness is tangled around the past.” They were pieces I intended to find later.
And yet there is another stranger. A total stranger interfering in all that I had carefully postponed to face later.
Morning came in like an intruder. The air was stale, the room itself had been awakened as if it was watching me unravel.
I moved slowly, my body was heavy, with my thoughts heavier, weighed down by the kind of exhaustion that no amount of tea could rinse away. My hands moved slightly as I buttoned my shirt. My reflection in the mirror offers no comfort. I almost turned away forgetting I was supposed to tie my hair back.
Every sound in the house seemed sharper,the hum of the refrigerator, the drip in the running tap and the faint c***k on the floor was as if the stranger's voice had left an imprint.Even on the wall.
At the door, I paused. An old rack with a scarf hanging. My fingers brushed against it, the once bright blue scarf is now sickly grey.
It hers.
It belongs to my younger sister. The exact one the old man drew in his book.
For a moment I couldn't breathe my fingers trembled around the dusty scarf and it wasn't just a scarf anymore it was a memory. “Her laughter, her footsteps, chasing me around, everything she does clung to me like I was her only safe space but now…. She has gone, nowhere to be found.
The distant sound of a car horn broke the memory, like a dissolved smoke. The scarf felt heavy. I yanked the scarf free from my hands, and held myself back.
I told myself I was ready,but the truth was different. I was preparing myself for something unnamed, something that was already waiting for me at the door.
SMITH
The atmosphere was warm,welcoming with a blend of soft music, aroma of roasted coffee, baked goods and the smell of lavender plants.
Dr. Bianca Iago
I wasn't the only one watching her.
I had reporters who would come every morning giving every piece of her life.How she left her apartment. How she would carry silence like her second skin.
A woman who would always think she is unreadable but I already knew her.
I knew she would come. I didn't doubt for a second. she wasn't a woman who could turn from the truth.
“Not when it broke her down. Not when it whispered her mother's name like a ghost.”
She would tell herself she came for answers, that she could leave whenever she wanted. But I had already seen the truth in her eyes.
I lifted my cup of coffee cooling between my palms, sipped unhurriedly.
Then without warning,the air shifted. A sharp line cut through the room,and I knew.
“There she's.” I whispered. The quiet weight behind every glance of the door.
She walked in five minutes late. Not because she lost track of time, but because measured mine.
Her eyes found mine. “Sit pls” I added.
leaning back, with a small smile.
She slid into the chair opposite me without taking her coat off, her posture straight,her hands folded too neatly on her lap. Defensive elegance.
“Hi Bianca, " I said softly, like we were alone in the room.
Her eyes landed, unflinching.
“Why did you invite me here?”
I didn't speak, not yet I wanted her to feel the quiet first.
I set my cup down, slowly and move forward a bit just to close the distance.
“Because,” I murmured, “ a good conversation begins with a coffee. My gaze didn't leave hers. “And we have a lot to discuss, Bianca.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I don't have time for games,” she said. “If I'm here to play riddles I'm leaving.”
A smile curved my lips. “This isn't a game,I asked you here because I know you.”
I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice.“You thought the only thing you had inherited from your mom was just a scalpel hand?
Her jaw tightened.
“You know that’s not true. I continued.
“You inherited her obsession,her hunger to know. You will dig until your fingers bleed if it means finding the truth.”
I paused, letting it settle. The cafe warmth pressed in, with the scent of lavender.
“I think you’ve already started digging.”
She looked away towards the window.
“What truth? Have you been watching me?” she asked in a low voice.
I smiled, faintly. “I wouldn't say I was watching. Observing.” You probably made it difficult.
“Are you a reporter or something?”
“I’m not."
“No you are worse. You think you know me?”
“I do, Better than the stories they print, better than you let yourself admit .”
“If you knew me,”she said at last, “ you would know I don't come when summoned. I choose my own ground.”
“And yet,” I gestured towards her chair, “you are here.”
She gulped. “Don't mistake curiosity for surrender,” she warned.
“ I wouldn't dare.” I said but curiosity is a start and you are here because deep down you want the same thing I do.
She raised a brow, “And what is it?”
“The truth” as I have said earlier.
Bianca looked at me without blinking.
And if the truth is something I can't live with?”
I moved in,my voice whispering. “Then the truth will live with you Bianca..whether you want it or not.
- Writer
