She wasn’t screwed. She was done for. Dead. There was no reasonable, believable way to explain why she was hiding in some bush. A thousand of scenarios hurtled through her mind but she didn’t manage to catch a single one as adrenaline coursed through her veins. Her heartbeat was deafening and preventing her from processing her thoughts clearly.

The steps neared her position and she almost got out of her hideout in surrender. At least, she’d have some semblance of dignity left. Maybe. Just as she was having an inner debate with herself, the shrill ringing of a phone sounded. Her heart felt heavy as a stone and almost fell to her feet before she realized it wasn’t her phone but the guy’s.

He instantly picked up. “What is it?” His raspy voice resonated in the silence of the night. Bora seized the opportunity to take an intake of breath, as quietly as possible. She reminded herself of a gaping goldfish. “I’m working on it.” Jackson said.

Silence ensued and stretched on for so long, Bora thought he had hung up and was pulling a prank on her, testing her stamina. Her squat-like position was uncomfortable and she was a messy tangle of limbs. Her legs were begging for release when a chuckle echoed and Bora cocked an eyebrow. It can laugh? 

“Where even do they sell that?” He said and Bora could tell he was smiling from his voice. “Okay, text me the restaurant’s address. I’ll get you a box when I come back.”

She rolled her eyes. He sounded like he was on a leisure trip in the capital city and would bring back souvenirs to a girlfriend, when really he was conducting hush hush business with her father.

“Text me the address, I’ll go check it out now.” He said, his steps fading away. Bora thought she’d cry in relief. A car door slammed shut and the roaring of the engine eventually disappeared into the night.

Even as the night grew still, Bora couldn’t stop her hands from shaking. Even though he had left, she stayed in position, too scared to dare lift a finger and only after a good fifteen minutes had passed did she carefully step out the bush. Her limbs were numb from the fresh breeze. She managed to get to her studio on wobbly legs before they gave out and she was on her knees.

Her body was trembling in fear, incomprehension and anger. She was so angry. Her life had been a masquerade. A parody built on a lie. A comedy in which she had been the lead, unbeknownst to her. Her only family member left presumably lied about the fate of the person she had cared about the most in this world. Her father had lied about her mother’s death. He had let her dwell on the past, never easing her pain, albeit the fact he could have. He hadn’t.

Questions swirled in her brain. What was one supposed to do in this kind of situation? She wasn’t sure she could google that. Should she confront her father? Should she forget everything all together? The last option wasn’t one. No way could she forget about this.

She was still prostrated on the floor, when the door flew open making her shoot up from her spot on the floor. She spun around, channeling her inner combat moves her father had taught her growing up. But she didn’t do anything as she took in the familiar features of her best friend.

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