Chapter Nine: The Name I Never Say
695 Words
The market was busier than usual.
Maya moved slowly through the narrow aisles of Mile 3, one hand gripping her basket while her eyes scanned yam sellers and tomato piles. She wasn’t really there for groceries — not fully. She needed to feel the noise. Needed to remind herself she still belonged somewhere, even when her mind tried to convince her otherwise.
“Fine girl, come buy fresh pepper!” someone called.
She forced a small smile and shook her head, hurrying forward. She hadn’t expected to feel so... restless today. Maybe it was the dream she’d had the night before — the one where he had shown up again.
Not Luca.
The other he. The one she never named aloud.
She thought she was done dreaming of him — the one who left bruises hidden under sleeves and spoke love in a language laced with threats. But in the dream, he had been standing at the art center. Smiling. Holding one of her old sketchbooks like he had the right.
Maya blinked fast, trying to shake the memory off. She didn’t realize how tight her grip on the basket had become until the plastic handle dug sharply into her palm.
Luca leaned over the table, talking a student through shading techniques. The girl was barely paying attention, eyes flitting toward the door every few seconds.
“You looking for someone?” he asked with a small smile.
She giggled, caught off guard. “No — I just... I heard someone new was joining today.”
His smile faded, just slightly. “Oh. No one new today.”
Not unless she changed her mind.
He didn’t say Maya’s name out loud anymore, not even to Chika. But her absence had started to shape the room. There was always a space — a literal, physical one — that didn’t feel right without her.
He couldn’t explain it, even to himself.
That was the dangerous part.
Later that day, Maya sat in her small room, the walls closing in around her. The sketchbook lay open beside her on the bed. She had finally drawn something. Not a face, not a flower. Just... a doorway. And a shadow half-stepping through it.
She didn’t know what it meant yet.
Then her phone buzzed.
Chika: Hey. Can we talk? It’s important.
Maya frowned and called immediately. “What’s wrong?”
“You need to know something. I ran into someone today. From your past.”
Maya’s heart froze.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you remember Nathan?” Chika asked gently. “The one you—”
“Don’t say his name,” Maya cut in, voice hoarse.
Chika exhaled. “He’s in Port Harcourt.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry,” Chika added.
Maya felt like the air had been sucked from the room.
“Why now?” she whispered.
“I don’t know. But listen—he doesn’t know where you live. I promise. I didn’t even speak to him. I just... thought you should know.”
Maya didn’t respond. She ended the call quietly and sat still for a long time.
Then she stood. Picked up her bag. Walked out the door.
When she arrived at the art center, it was past six. Most people had left. But she heard music coming from the main studio — soft, wordless, a piano humming gently over speakers.
She stepped inside.
Luca stood by the back window, painting in the fading light. He hadn’t heard her yet.
She could leave. Again. He’d never know she came.
But she didn’t.
This time, she cleared her throat.
He turned.
Their eyes met.
Neither spoke.
Then, finally, Luca smiled — slow, like he wasn’t sure if it was okay to.
“You came,” he said quietly.
“I needed somewhere to be,” Maya replied.
“You still like art?” he asked.
“I’m trying to remember why I ever stopped.”
He gestured toward the empty canvas beside his. “You can sit. Or stand. Or just breathe.”
Maya stepped forward.
“I can do that,” she said.
And for the first time in weeks, she did.
- Writer
