Her Love, His Scars
Chapter Seven – The Secret Yes
Ziora left his message on read.
And then another.
And another.
Damian:
Hey. You okay?
Damian:
What's going on?
He noticed. Of course, he did. Her dry replies, her lack of "lols," no voice notes, no soft late-night "hi." She was pulling back, and she wanted him to feel it.
But deep down, she wished he'd fight for her a little more.
By the third day, her phone buzzed again.
Damian:
Zee.
Did I mess up? Or did someone tell you something?
She stared at the message for a long time. Then typed.
Ziora:
Someone said you have a girl.
That she's always at your place.
And she lives on your street.
The typing bubbles showed. Disappeared. Came back.
Damian:
Oh.
You're talking about Sarah.
Ziora waited.
Damian:
She's not my girlfriend.
She's my best friend. Has been since I was thirteen.
Her stomach fluttered in a confused way. Best friend?
Damian:
We hang out, yeah. But there's nothing between us.
People always assume things. They see one girl and one guy together and draw their own conclusions.
Ziora didn't reply immediately.
Was that true? Could she believe him?
Damian:
Wait… why does it bother you this much though?
Do you love me ni? Or are you already catching feelings for me?
Her fingers hovered.
She should lie.
She should say she didn't care.
She should act unbothered.
But she didn't.
Ziora:
Maybe I am catching feelings.
Stupid ones. I didn't plan to.
For a while, the chat was silent. She almost regretted sending it.
Then his message dropped.
Damian:
Then I guess we're both stupid.
Because I love you too.
Her chest clenched. She smiled without meaning to.
The girl who warned herself not to fall... had fallen.
Hard.
But she wasn't ready for judgment, especially not from her friends.
Not Fola's rolling eyes.
Not Chioma's sarcastic "I told you so."
Not Halima's disappointed sigh.
So, she said nothing.
No updates. No teasing. No late-night gists.
Ziora and Damian became a secret.
A sweet, quiet, risky secret tucked between WhatsApp chats and Sunday evening calls.
And though part of her feared it would end badly, another part whispered:
This might be the beginning of something real.