Page 28 of Oliver
Zahra smiled, swiping through more recent posts. Six days since Zahra had returned from Norman, six days of carefully crafted social media posts showing a couple desperately in love after a week apart. The performance had been flawless.
"Who knew you'd be so good at this? My engagement rate has nearly doubled since I got back."
"Social media presence is essentially a controlled experiment in human behavioral response," I said with a shrug. "Identify the variables that trigger the desired reaction, then repeat with slight variations to maintain interest."
"Very romantic," she teased, setting her phone down. "What should we post tomorrow? Something about heading back to our hometown together?"
"I suggest a photo at the airport," I said, jotting down notes. "Morning lighting is optimal for creating a warm aesthetic. Perhaps something about returning to where it all began, with an implied reference to our shared history."
"Perfect." Zahra nodded, then shifted gears, pulling out a folder. “Shall we review the finalized timeline?"
I took a seat on the couch. It felt too familiar, sitting beside her, reviewing itineraries, our knees almost touching. Almost. Not quite. Just an inch of space, sometimes less.
I spent every one of those moments fighting the urge to close the gap, reach out, and place a hand on her knee. Maybe higher.
Zahra would let me, I had no doubt. I saw the appreciative glances she snuck my way when she thought I wasn’t paying attention. But I was always paying attention, especially to her.
Not so much to the pages in front of me, though. I pulled myself back to the task at hand, looking over the color-coded sheets as Zahra walked me through each day's schedule, my attention caught on several blocks marked "Mixed Wedding Party" and "Groom's Party Setup." My stomach turned as I realized how many opportunities Ryan would have to get near her.
"These won't work," I said, keeping my tone professionally detached as I pointed to the problematic time slots.
Zahra's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"There are too many gaps where I can't fulfill our agreement," I explained, trying to keep any hint of personal concern from my voice. "These periods here, here, and here—you'll be working directly with the wedding party, including the groomsmen."
"I'm the wedding planner, Oliver. I can't skip significant wedding events."
"You hired me to be a buffer between you and your ex," I pointed out, clinging to contractual language to mask my growing unease. "But your schedule makes that impossible for several hours each day."
"I'll be fine. There will be other people?—"
"Who aren't contractually obligated to maintain an appropriate distance between you and Ryan." My voice raised; my jaw wound tight. I was angry. Not at Zahra, but at myself for not considering this ahead, at Ryan for being the menace that he was. “I won’t allow it. I forbid it.”
Zahra’s features shifted at my sharp words, her eyes widening and lips parting with a sharp inhale. The quickening of her pulse should have been my first clue, but I was too engrossed in thoughts of Ryan taking advantage of my absence, of Zahra’s vulnerability to his unwanted advances.
"The agreement specifically states?—"
"Stop trying to control my job!" Her voice rose unevenly, a note of panic cutting through her words. The shift in her demeanor was swift, and it threw me deeper into my protective spiral.
This wasn't about the schedule. She was scared, and it triggered something deep inside me that I hadn’t felt for years. I struggled to push it down, but one thing was clear—I wasn’t about to let her sideline me where she needed me most.
I moved forward, hand lifting, intending to show Zahra the relevant contract clause in my notes, and she flinched.
Not a small, startled movement. Not the kind of reflexive shift people made when someone invaded their space. A full-bodied, instinctive recoil. Back pressed against the couch, hand half-raised as if expecting?—
My stomach dropped.
I went completely still. If my next move was wrong, the moment would collapse like a dying star, folding in on itself under the weight of something it was never built to withstand. Then, slowly, carefully, deliberately, I made myself smaller, lowered my hands, and backed away, giving her space.
"Zahra," I said, voice gentler than I'd allowed it to be in years.
Seconds ticked by as she stared at me, her breathing too rapid, her gaze not quite focused. Then, slowly, I watched her come back to herself, embarrassment replacing the fear as she realized what had happened.
"I'm sorr?—"
"No." My voice was soft but firm. "I'msorry. I crossed a line. Your job, your decisions. I just..." I ran a hand through my hair, releasing a long exhale, struggling to find the right words. "I don't trust him."
The silence between us felt heavy with unspoken things.
