It hasn't really been long since the visit to Baal house and Zaria and Baal went on with their relationship.
Oh yes!, she said she hasn't accepted but they were pretty much a couple now
Maybe I was the only one that found he's entire existence suspicious.
The trade fair at Brown University was supposed to be fun.
Bustling stalls, the smell of grilled snacks in the air, laughter, music—everywhere you turned, someone was either selling, buying, or bargaining like their life depended on it.
I had set up my little booth right next to Zaria's. Strategic, I thought. Friends supporting friends. Except, as it turned out, it felt more like watching a gold mine open next to a sand pit. Her table was surrounded. Mine… wasn't.
She was almost sold out by midday, her smile working like a magic charm. Baal, of course, was there too. Because apparently he was her personal marketing department.
He even rolled in a truck—yes, an actual truck—loaded with cups of iced coffee labeled "Thank You for Visiting Zaria." I watched as students swarmed her booth for freebies, their hands full of her products.
Me? I was sitting behind my lonely display, staring at a quarter of my stock gone and thinking that maybe I should start paying her rent for breathing her air.
And yet, even in all that chaos, I could feel it—Zaria's eyes on me. Every time I shifted, every time I adjusted my chair, every time I pretended to check my phone. She was looking. I didn't know why, but it made my skin prickle.
By noon, I decided I needed a break before my booth became a permanent symbol of disappointment. I headed toward the restroom, weaving through the crowd.
Inside, the air was cooler, the noise muffled. I splashed water on my face, took a deep breath, and tried to convince myself that it wasn't that bad.
That's when they walked in—three girls, all chatter and perfume. I recognized them instantly from Zaria's fan crowd earlier. They were still carrying the cups of coffee Baal had brought.
As they passed, they bumped into me. Hard.
No apology.
"Excuse me?" I called after them, my voice sharp. They kept walking, tossing me a quick, dismissive glance.
"What's the link between what just happened here and Zaria?" I asked, stepping forward.
One of them rolled her eyes. "Oh, look. Zaria's lapdog talks."
The second girl snorted. "Lapdog? More like maid. Does she at least give you scraps from her table?"
I should've walked away. I didn't. Something about the smugness in their voices made me step closer. As they turned to leave, I reached out and caught one girl's wrist.
That's when it happened—the slap. Sharp. Hot against my cheek. The sound cracked in the air, echoing in the tiled room.
For a second, I just stood there. Not because I was scared, but because… well, they weren't wrong. I had followed Zaria around like a shadow, convinced it meant something deeper.
They laughed as they left, their perfume lingering in the air like the insult itself.
When the door swung shut behind them, I sank onto the edge of the sink. A couple of tears slipped out, not the dramatic sobbing kind, just the quiet kind that sting more because you're trying to hold them back.
I wiped my face and stepped outside.
"Rough day?"
The voice came from behind me. I turned to see Lateef strolling up like he owned the ground he walked on. His hands were in his pockets, his smile was too easy, and his eyes were scanning me like he was deciding if I was worth a conversation.
"Do you make it a habit to sneak up on people?" I asked.
"Only on people who look like they've just had a bathroom brawl."
I frowned. "You saw?"
"I see everything," he said, leaning casually against a pole. "I also saw you didn't fight back. That's… surprising."
"Why? You think I look like I'd start throwing punches?"
He grinned. "You look like you could—you just didn't. Which tells me you're either smart, scared, or too tired to care."
"Or maybe I didn't think it was worth it," I muttered.
Lateef tilted his head. "Interesting. The Viola I've heard about wouldn't take that."
"Maybe you've been hearing about the wrong Viola."
He chuckled, low and warm. "Maybe. Or maybe you're just pretending you're fine so you can go cry later where no one sees you."
I gave him a flat look. "Do you ever stop talking?"
"Nope. In fact, I was thinking… come out with me tonight."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. Drinks, maybe some questionable food, definitely bad decisions. It'll be fun."
I crossed my arms. "Why would I go anywhere with you?"
"Because," he said, pushing off the pole and stepping closer, "I'm the only one who noticed. The only one who saw you today. And because—" he flashed a grin "—you're curious."
I hated that he was right.
Before I could answer, he shrugged. "Think about it. I'll be around."
And just like that, he was gone, swallowed by the crowd like he'd never been there.
I walked back to my booth, my cheek still faintly stinging. Zaria glanced up from her table the moment I appeared, her smile faltering as she took in my face. She came around, reaching for me, concern in her eyes.
"What happened—"
I stepped back, brushing her hands away. "Don't."
Her brows knit, but I turned back to my table without another word. My chest felt tight, but I kept my head down. The sales chatter filled the space between us, but I could still feel her eyes on me, steady and searching, for the rest of the day.
The night meeting
The night air was thick with the smell of fried street food and the faint burn of cheap cigarette smoke. Streetlights flickered in uneven patches, throwing long shadows across the cracked pavement. Viola stood at the corner, arms folded, trying not to look like she regretted saying yes to this "outing."
She heard the footsteps before she saw him. Lateef moved like someone who was never really in a rush but somehow got everywhere first. He was dressed in black again—black jacket, black jeans, and the kind of smirk that made you feel like you'd already lost an argument you hadn't started yet.
"Wow," he said, looking her up and down. "You actually came. I thought you'd stay home and cry into a mug of pity tea."
Viola rolled her eyes. "First of all, I don't drink pity tea. Second… why exactly did you invite me out here?"
"To cheer you up," Lateef replied smoothly. "Nothing heals bruised pride faster than a questionable night walk with a strange man."
"That's not comforting."
"Didn't say it was."
They started walking. The streets were quieter than she expected—just a few vendors closing up shop, the metallic clink of someone stacking beer bottles, a stray cat darting between trash bins. Lateef kept glancing at her with an expression she couldn't read.
"So…" he began, "those girls earlier. Real charming fan club you've got there."
"Not mine," Viola muttered. "They belong to Zaria."
"Ah yes, the queen herself," Lateef said, his tone dripping with mock reverence. "Tell me—do you ever get tired of orbiting her like a loyal moon?"
Viola stopped walking, fixing him with a glare. "Is there a reason you're trying to be insulting?"
"Who's insulting?" he said, raising both hands. "I'm just observing. You take hits for her, you get ignored by her, and yet here you are, still standing next to her stall like a good soldier. Admirable, in a self-destructive way."
She shook her head. "You don't know our history."
"I don't need to. I read people, remember? And you…" He pointed at her. "You're too used to swallowing things that should've been spat out a long time ago."
The comment sat heavy in the air. Viola didn't respond. Instead, she looked down at the dark stretch of road ahead.
Lateef grinned. "Relax, I'm not here to ruin your evening. I'm here to offer you… an alternative. Fun. Distraction. Maybe even trouble, if you're into that sort of thing."
"Trouble?"
"Harmless trouble," he said with a wink. "Unless you prefer harmful—then we can negotiate."
Despite herself, Viola chuckled. "You're ridiculous."
"True. But I'm also persistent. Come on—there's a place a few blocks from here. Good music, bad decisions, and the kind of drinks that taste like regret but go down easy."
She hesitated, but when Lateef tilted his head toward the dimly lit street ahead, she followed.
Not because she trusted him—she didn't.
But because for the first time all day, she wasn't thinking about Zaria.
....