Page 241 of Eternal
We move through the first boutique, and I can’t help it, it's my mission for today, my eyes sweep every corner. Doors, windows, the woman behind the counter, tapping at her tablet, the man adjusting clothes racks near the back, the people who just walk by.
I clock them automatically, check possible exits, anything and everything at the same time.
And when I glance sideways? Zanae’s doing the same thing. Her eyes catch every detail, every movement, reading body language, micro-expressions, energy.
Still, the words slip out before I think, “Don’t be paranoid, Emira. I’m here for that.”
Zanae glances at me, amused. “That’s my job too,” she says simply, brushing her fingers lightly across a row of dark velvet dresses. Then she adds, “And please, call me Zanae.”
It throws me off, the request, the softness of it.
I nod once, almost confused, because I’m still learning how to accept kindness without flinching.
We walk through rows of clothes, side by side, every few steps, she’ll pull a dress off the rack, hold it up to me, and make a face. “Nope. I don't like this one at all.” Or “Pretty, but not pretty enough.”
I catch myself almost smiling. “You hate doing that, don't you?” I ask.
She laughs and shrugs. “Kinda hate crowded places. But this one's calm enough... and I want you to have fun.”
As we move, she keeps talking and I keep replying. It's soft and easy with her, but she’s still hyper-aware of everything. Turns out Zanae’s not just warm and kind. She’s smart, way smarter than I expected.
“People forget how much you can learn from a room without saying a word,” she says casually, flipping through a rack ofjackets. “Posture, gait, eye contact, how close they walk to others. Your body never lies.”
I glance at her sidelong. “That's how you work, right? You read them?”
“People are like books, their story bleeds outside them, the suffering, the happiness,everything. It’s easier to understand them that way than waiting for them to talk.” She smiles. “I can read you too, Azra.”
I laugh, shaking my head, holding a dress up against me. “If you like horror books, please do.”
Her hand finds my shoulder before she says softly, “I feel comfortable in your presence, Azra. That says a lot about what I can read from you.”
And it does something to me, because then, just like that, she walks to another rack and calls me over.
Like she never wanted to make me feel weird.
And I smiled.
After an hour of hunting, we finally settled on a dress. I fell in love with it instantly, and Zanae just said, “We're taking this.”
After a few moments, Zanae insists on buying coffee. “No arguing.”
The coffee shop is warm and golden inside, soft music, not a lot of people. We pick the table at the same time, because of its position near the wall and the windows.
Always watching the entrances, always thinking, never resting.
We sit, drinks in hand. I’m still half-wired, half-exhausted from everything, still watching the door without meaning to.
Then I noticed her. A little girl with bright sneakers and messy hair, clutching a bouquet of flowers almost bigger than she is. Her mom trails after her, laughing, letting the kid pick whatever she wants.
It shouldn’t hurt, but it does, hard and stupid, right in the chest.
It hurts as much as when she hurt me.
I look away, swallow it, push it down.
When I glance at Zanae, she’s looking too. Smiling, but not the happy kind. The kind that saysI know. The kind that saysI’ve been there.
She doesn't say anything right away, doesn’t force it, doesn’t pity me. She simply sips her coffee like we have all the time in the world. Then, soft, casual, like she’s talking about the weather her voice comes out.
