Page 5 of Unravelling: Aria & Crispin
Aria grabbed a tray, balancing mugs and plates, as the early breakfast crowd surged through the door.
Another day. Another shift.
Another piece stitched into this strange patchwork of life she was building.
Binti*-daughter
Jiddo**-grandpa
Chapter 4
Aria
The bustling energy of the breakfast crowd gradually ebbed away, leaving behind scattered coffee cups and breadcrumbs strewn across the tables and on the floor. Aria sighed softly, reaching down to rub her aching feet. It wasn't even noon yet, and she could already feel the exhaustion settle into her bones. Today, she was acutely aware of every one of her thirty-five years.
She glanced briefly towards the back, where she'd secured her bike with a sturdy chain to the wall-mounted bike stand Gallen had thoughtfully fixed to the wall after her bike got stolen. It was her small freedom, a quiet escape route from home.
Jacob lingered at the corner table, sipping his lukewarm coffee and occasionally peering at her over the rim of his mug. He looked slightly nerdy, with brown hair meticulously combed-not a single hair out of place-wire-rimmed glasses perched carefully on his nose, and calm, thoughtful blue eyes. He was tall, with the lean build of a runner. He wore carefully pressed clothes, a crease running down the front of his pants. His laptop was open in front of him as he typed away. Aria couldn't help the hidden smile that tugged at the corner of her lips. Every morning for nearly two weeks, he'd politely asked her out in a manner that was shy, gentle, and entirely unobtrusive. Each time she'd kindly declined, citing vague excuses or simply offering an apologetic smile. But Jacob never seemed discouraged. If anything, his quiet persistence intrigued and flattered her, even though she had no intention of saying yes.
"Thanks, Aria," Jacob said quietly as she refilled his mug.
"You're welcome," she replied softly, noticing how carefully he slipped a five-pound note under his empty plate, always too shy to hand it to her directly. He was an accountant-he'd told her during one of his early visits, almost apologetically, as if he felt it wasn't exciting enough to hold her attention. But it had become clear that he'd wandered into the café out of chance, only to find a reason to keep coming back each day.
"Busy day ahead?" he ventured gently, his voice soft and unassuming.
"Always," she admitted, her eyes meeting his briefly before flickering to the clock on the wall. She had another cleaning job in Notting Hill waiting for her, and the thought made her heart sink.
"Maybe tomorrow, then?" he tried once more, hope mingling with resignation in his eyes.
Aria paused, considering him for a moment. She thought about the faint nausea she had felt after Crispin had finished this morning. A faint distaste, more at herself than him.
"Maybe..." she finally replied, surprising herself with the word that strayed from her mouth, as if it had a mind of its own.
His face brightened slightly, the faintest of blushes colouring his pale cheeks. Aria moved away, clearing tables mechanically as she thought about her busy afternoon. Yet, despite the ache in her feet and the exhaustion creeping in, the smallest flicker of warmth lingered in her chest, making the rest of the day's workload seem just a little less daunting.
After wiping down her tables, Aria waved goodbye to Gallen and gave Jacob a slight nod under Liz's scornful eye. She hurried towards the tube station, leaving her bike safely locked behind. She dashed through the station, taking the elevator two steps at a time, manoeuvring around people who carelessly stood on the left rather than the right. It felt like an obstacle course. Breathless, she just made it onto the tube-car and sank into an empty seat, pulling out her sandwich. She savoured each bite, enjoying the delicate balance of chicken, shaved cheese, and fresh spinach.
Across from her, a petite girl with stylish cat-eye glasses, was absorbed in a book titled "Celestial Paths: An Introduction to Astronomy." The title oscillated with the movements of the train as Aria carefully sounded it out in her mind. Then she watched wistfully, wishing she could do more than merely gaze at the stars. Yet every time she'd attempted to study, the letters seemed to dance on the page, refusing to hold still, tangling themselves in a frustrating blur. A familiar sense of inadequacy rose within her, the struggle she had always faced in silence.
Her thoughts drifted again to Lule, who should be home today. The anticipation brought a gentle warmth, temporarily chasing away her fatigue.
Chapter 5
Aria
Aria paused at the end of the immaculate, pastel-coloured terrace, clutching the heavy bag of cleaning supplies, her fingers already sore from the weight. The houses stood regally, painted in soft shades of pink, blue, and cream-colours, gentle and perfect, which reminded her of the pastel colour set her favourite teacher had once gifted her for her birthday. It was a moment of escape from her harsh reality. She swallowed hard against the wave of bitterness that rose within her chest-she could never afford such elegance, not in this lifetime. The feeling was fleeting, gone as soon as it came. There was much to be grateful for and bitterness left a foul aftertaste on the rest of the day.
The bag's strap cut into her shoulder as she adjusted it, her worn gloves peeking out from the top alongside a faded scarf meant to protect her hair. Aria flexed her hands instinctively, the memory of bleach burning her skin still vivid, despite the passing years. In the beginning, she'd learned quickly and painfully that benevolence often concealed danger.
Standing in front of the elegant iron railing, her thoughts wandered back to a distant, darker time. At ten years old, her life in the UK began not amidst pastel-painted luxury, but in stark, institutional halls of converted RAF bases, filled with echoes of confusion, fear, and the murmured promises of safety from distant adults.
She remembered clutching her younger sister's hand, desperate not to lose her amid the organised chaos. They had been brought to the UK by a neighbour she vaguely knew in Kosovo-someone who had seemed kind but turned out to be very different from what she had expected. The house they were taken to had plenty, but none of it was for her or her sister. Instead, Aria had spent months scrubbing floors until her palms were raw, trying to soothe Lule, who cried endlessly for their mother. Kindness was measured, conditional, and often absent.
Only when Aria began to understand that there were things far worse than hard labour planned for her and her sister did she dare to speak. Hesitantly, fearfully, she confided in the social worker who had come for an inspection. From then on, the two girls were placed in a series of foster homes. Safety came in fragments, and permanence remained a foreign concept.
Unaccompanied refugee children like her, arriving in the 1990s, were often shuttled between temporary shelters, foster homes, and hostel rooms. Each space carried its own silent burden of uncertainty, where belonging was temporary and security a privilege. Friendship was a luxury the survival instinct could not afford.
Aria never excelled at school-English was hard and books were harder still-but she could cook, clean, and work harder than anyone her age. She moved out as soon as she was able, taking Lule with her. From then on, her life had one focus: to give her sister everything she deserved. She owed it to their parents and to the older brother they had left behind. They had given up everything so the girls survived. Some days, she wished she had stayed. At least then they would have been together in a better place.
