Page 18 of Oliver
I maintained my polite distance for the rest of our scheduled time, but something had shifted. The encounter with Alyssa had created a crack in my carefully constructed façade, and I wasn't sure how to repair it.
If Zahra discovered the truth about Emmet, it could throw my entire plan off the rails. I remembered her complicit bigotry in high school—how she'd stood silently by while Ryan and his friends had taunted kids they thought were "different." How she'd never once stood up for what was right when it mattered.
I needed to get to Norman with a plausible excuse, and Zahra had given me one on a silver platter, with a bonus check included. I needed that house, not just for the money but for what it represented—security, justice, freedom.
All I had to do was play my part, get what was stolen from me, and leave before Zahra figured out the truth.
"Time's up," I announced when my watch chimed with an alert. "I need to get to that appointment."
"Right." Zahra looked disappointed. "I’ll see you tomorrow?"
“As scheduled,” I said, before thanking Elena and confirming we'd receive the edited photos later today.
"I'll forward you the approved photos tonight," I told Zahra. "Choose whichever one you prefer for posting."
I was already walking away when she called after me.
"Oliver?" I paused, turning slightly. "Alyssa seems wonderful. I'm glad you have someone like that in your life."
The sincerity in her voice caught me off guard. I nodded once, not trusting myself to speak, and continued on my way.
Her scent still lingered in my nostrils as a reminder of boundaries crossed. The look in Zahra's eyes when our faces were inches apart, the invitation, was burned into my retina. And the way she examined me after the meeting with Alyssa—curious, questioning, seeing beyond my carefully maintained walls—left me more shaken than I wanted to admit.
Event horizon,I thought as I walked away. In astrophysics, it's the point of no return. I had a sinking feeling I'd just crossed mine. And in a few days we were playing out our first kiss.
Six
ZAHRA
I satat our usual table in Café Reverie at 6:55 PM, the edited park photos still swirling in my mind—Oliver’s thumb on my cheek, the way our laughter curled together in the air, the almost-kiss that haunted my sleep. I’d posted the approved shots last night, a carousel of me smiling at him by the fountain, of warm stares and stolen glances, captioned “Sunshine, smiles, and a full heart,” and the likes were pouring in.
Oliver hadn’t approved the photos capturing our fluttering eyelids and bated breath, our lips inches apart. Elena had sent them to me separately, and I’d been plagued by what-ifs for days.
I checked my watch, tapping a finger against the ceramic mug of now-lukewarm coffee. Oliver was late.
In the month we'd been working together, he had never been late. Not once. Five minutes early was “on time” in Oliver’s world. Our scheduled coffee dates were planned with military precision.
By 7:15, with no text or call, the unease in my stomach hardened into something sharper. This wasn’t Oliver being awkward after the photoshoot. This was something else.
I fired off a message:
Where are you? We’re supposed to meet at 7.
No response. I sent another.
Everything okay?
Thereadsign never showed; three dots never appeared.
I called. It rang unanswered until I was sent to voicemail.
I swallowed. He never ignored me. Not even when he was irritated—not even when he was trying to pretend I didn’t matter.
The café’s warm hum faded into static as I stared at my screen. Oliver’s world ran on structure—it was his lifeline. He didn’t deviate from plans. Ever.
I tried to think rationally. Maybe he fell asleep. Maybe he forgot his phone on silent. Maybe I was overreacting. But Oliver didn’t forget things. Oliver didn’t forgetme.
The thought landed in my chest like a stone.
