Title: Still, She Loves

Chapter Ten: When Ghosts Breathe Too Loud

The walls of the studio felt too still.

Maya sat by the window, her sketchpad untouched on the desk before her. Light from the setting sun fell in golden slants across the floor, making the dust dance. Across the room, Luca was packing up brushes, giving her space.

She hadn’t said much since arriving. Just that she wanted to sit. That she didn’t want to be alone.

Luca hadn’t asked why. He hadn’t needed to.

But even in silence, Maya could feel it rising — that old storm, furious and too familiar. Her past, thick with bruises and choking apologies, now walking the same city streets as her.

Nathan was close.

That alone made the air harder to breathe.

“I used to come here to feel safe,” she said suddenly, her voice soft.

Luca looked up.

“Now, even here, I feel... watched.”

He didn’t ask who or why. He only moved closer, slow and careful, and took the seat beside her.

“You’re not alone,” he said. “Not anymore.”

Maya looked away. She wanted to believe him.

But believing someone wouldn’t leave was how she got broken the first time.

The next morning, Maya avoided the studio. She spent the day in Chika’s cramped kitchen, helping peel ugwu leaves and staying close to the radio’s low hum. The whole time, her heart buzzed with nervous electricity.

“What if he finds me?” she asked eventually.

Chika stilled. “He won’t.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I know you’re not who you were back then. And I know he doesn’t get to have any power over the woman you are now.”

Maya swallowed, eyes stinging.

“I still remember what he said the last time,” she whispered. “That if I ever left, I’d regret it.”

“You left. And you’ve survived.”

Maya closed her eyes. “But what if surviving isn’t enough anymore?”

(Inserted Flashback Scene in Chapter Ten)

The first time Nathan raised his voice, Maya had laughed.

She thought it was a joke — a heat-of-the-moment frustration about dinner or work. But the second time, it wasn’t loud. It was quiet. Controlled. And that scared her more.

“You think you can leave whenever you want?” he’d said, locking the door with a softness that made her skin crawl.

Back then, she still wore her hair in tight braids and painted her nails pastel. Back then, she thought love was supposed to hurt a little — that passion was messy and consuming and a little cruel.

Back then, she still thought she could fix him.

Until one day, she showed up with a split lip and Chika asked, “Was it him?”

Maya couldn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

That night, she left everything. A job, clothes, phone — her whole identity. Just a small duffel bag and a bus to Port Harcourt. She chose silence over safety. Escape over explanations.

(Back to present day)

Now, sitting in Chika’s kitchen, Maya rubbed her lips together — as if the memory still lingered on them.

“I can’t go back to who I was,” she whispered.

“You’re not that girl anymore,” Chika said gently. “You’re stronger now. And you’ve got people. People who care.”

Maya wasn’t sure who she was yet. But Luca’s steady eyes, Chika’s fierce loyalty — they were helping her remember the shape of someone worth protecting.

Herself.

That night, Luca found a note tucked under one of the paint trays in the studio.

“Thank you for not asking. Thank you for waiting anyway.”

— M

He read it twice.

He didn’t need to know everything. He just needed to be steady enough for her to lean on — if she ever chose to.