It was Friday. I had piles of work to finish with my groupmates. I already knew it would take hours—probably until night—so we agreed to meet at Blooming Dale, a large park with open courts, a wide grassy field, and a small playground surrounded by tall, leafy trees. Wooden benches lined the area, their surfaces smooth and worn from years of use. Some were carved from stone, cool and solid beneath the shade. The air carried a faint scent of grass, bark, and damp soil—the kind of fragrance that makes you breathe slower, feeling both grounded and heavy.
As we arrived, a strange sense of familiarity hit me. I knew she'd be here.
I glanced around, scanning the open park, and before I could spot her, Ezekiel appeared beside me again, that teasing smile already plastered on his face.
"Oops, who are you looking for?" he said, his tone playful, his smirk irritatingly wide.
"It's none of your business," I answered coldly, giving him a sharp look before walking away to sit on another wooden bench.
The air wasn't too cold nor too hot, but something about the atmosphere felt heavy—almost suffocating. The chatter of different groups filled the park, laughter and arguments overlapping like unending waves. Blooming Dale had somehow become the "students' meeting place," buzzing with ideas, projects, and gossip. I could feel people's eyes flicking toward me, curious, judgmental—it made my skin prickle, as if I were on display.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her—Zia.
She stood under one of the large acacia trees, sunlight filtering through the branches and scattering across her shoulders like golden dust. She wore white denim shorts and a black cotton top with a cat design—and the word "GAY" printed beneath it in bold, unapologetic letters. She looked effortlessly confident, one hand tucked into her pocket, the other brushing her hair away from her face.
When her eyes met mine, she smiled—small, knowing, teasing. Her brow arched slightly, as if she could read my thoughts.
I quickly looked away, pretending not to notice. My chest felt tight, like I'd been caught doing something I shouldn't.
"Solleil, what should we do to make our presentation better?" Aliah asked, pulling me back into focus.
"Maybe GL would help," Cassandra said, glancing at Eunice with a teasing grin.
I sighed quietly. I didn't care about the topic or the jokes— all I wanted was to finish the project.
"Will GL even work for us? Who's going to be the couple?" I asked coolly, my eyes narrowing toward Cassandra.
"Well, since you're the masc, why don't you be the other woman?" Ezekiel chimed in, his grin stretching wider. I hated that look—the smug teasing that always made my blood simmer.
"I don't want to," I said sharply, glaring at him.
"So, I guess—?"
Eunice cut in, her tone edged with something between annoyance and resignation.
"Fine, I'll be the other woman," I said at last.
"She agreed," Cassandra said quickly, smiling. "Eunice will be your partner."
I sighed again. I didn't really have a choice. I trusted Eunice—she was a great actress. Maybe this project would actually turn out fine.
As I began writing the script, my focus was broken by a familiar presence—Zia.
She was walking back and forth near our table, her movements casual but noticeable, like she was trying to look busy but wasn't really doing anything. The faint, fruity scent of her perfume drifted in the air—sweet and distracting.
I tried to steady my breathing, forcing my thoughts to stay on the project. I told myself her presence meant nothing.
But deep down, I knew it wasn't working.
Time passed too quickly.
We finally finished everything—scripts, props, all the small details. The only thing left was to film our short movie.
I was the director, editor, and one of the actors. I didn't really have a choice. Everyone expected me to handle it all anyway.
We started filming at the same desk where our characters first met.
"Eunice," I said, looking straight into her eyes, "I know you can do this. I believe it won't take long for us to finish."
She smiled softly, and with that, we began.
Time slipped away again. Before I knew it, we were done—no retakes, no second shots. Just one clean take. I felt proud. My hard work hadn't gone to waste, and seeing everyone satisfied with the outcome was enough for me.
When we packed up, everyone decided to head home. Ezekiel's father couldn't pick us up, so he left early. I stayed behind for a moment, cleaning the leftover props and checking the files on my camera.
That's when I saw her—Zia.
She was asleep on one of the tables nearby, her head resting on her folded arms. Strands of her hair fell across her face, moving slightly with each slow breath. The park lights cast a faint orange glow on her skin, soft and warm. I looked around—there was no one else with her.
I sighed. For some reason, I couldn't just leave.
So I stayed.
I didn't wake her. She looked tired, like she'd been carrying the weight of the day on her shoulders. I sat nearby, pretending to review footage, but really, I was just watching her breathe—calm, quiet, unbothered by the world.
Waiting was boring, but I couldn't bring myself to go.
I caught myself staring again and thought, What is this woman even doing here? And why here, of all places?
Just to be clear—I didn't care about her. I didn't have any romantic feelings. That's not what this was.
Or at least, that's what I kept telling myself.
Then suddenly, she moved. Her head lifted slightly, her eyes fluttering open.
She blinked, surprised to see me there—and honestly, I was just as surprised to still be sitting.
"Uh—I'm sorry," she said, her voice still heavy with sleep. "Did I really fall asleep here?"
She rubbed her eyes, faint redness showing, maybe from irritation or exhaustion.
"Yeah," I replied simply, meeting her gaze. She blushed and quickly looked away, her nervousness almost visible in the way her fingers fidgeted.
"Oh… did I make you wait?" she asked softly, still avoiding my eyes.
"You only made me wait for three hours," I said with a small shrug. "It's already 9 p.m., but it's alright. Don't worry."
I didn't mind waiting—not really. I just wanted to make sure she was safe.
At least, that's what I told myself again.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, finally looking at me—really looking this time. Her voice trembled slightly.
I didn't know what made me say it, but the words just slipped out.
"Don't think or assume that I like you," I said, my tone flat but my chest oddly tight. "I'm only here because I was concerned. You looked alone, and leaving you might've been my biggest regret."
The words hung between us, heavy and quiet.
She didn't reply—just looked down, a small, unreadable smile forming at the corner of her lips.
And I sat there, unsure whether I said those words for her—or to convince myself.
She looked up again and said softly,
"Don't worry, I won't think that way. Thank you for making it clear to me."
Her eyes shimmered, bright and trembling, as if holding back tears.
Before I could say anything, she turned away and walked off—quick, silent, not looking back.
To be honest, I felt bad after that.
So I went home, the guilt pressing against my chest, her sad expression replaying in my mind like a film I couldn't stop.
As I walked, the cool night air brushed against my skin, carrying the faint rustle of leaves and the distant hum of crickets. Every step felt heavier than the last.
When I reached home, I sank into the sofa. That's when my mom approached me.
"Leil, what's the matter? You look sad," she asked gently, her face lined with worry.
I could see the concern in her eyes, but I couldn't bring myself to speak.
"Not today, Mom. Maybe tomorrow," I said, keeping my face calm even though my thoughts were a storm.
"Alright," she said softly. "I just hope you can sort everything out, okay?" Then she walked away, leaving me in the quiet glow of the living room.
I leaned back, staring at the ceiling. I still felt awful for Zia. I didn't know if she really liked me—but what if she did? What should I do?
I didn't want anyone to think I liked them.