Jordan

I was leaning against the sink, towel in hand, watching as Emily swirled her expensive lotion over her arms. The faint scent of something floral filled the bathroom, but it didn’t feel comforting. It felt... forced, just like this whole situation.

“Jordan, are you even listening to me?” she snapped, her tone as sharp as the click of her nail against the counter.

I blinked, snapping out of my thoughts. “Yeah, I heard you.”

“Good. Go clean up. I’m not walking around with you looking like you just rolled out of bed,” she said, rolling her eyes as she tossed the lotion back into her designer bag.

I sighed, setting the towel down. She’d already decided we were going shopping didn’t even ask if I had plans. I didn’t bother arguing. It wouldn’t change anything.

By the time we were in the car, Emily was in the driver’s seat, her hands gripping the wheel like it was her lifeline. She hadn’t even asked. She just slid in and told me to hand over the keys.

“Don’t act like it’s a big deal, Jordan,” she said when she caught me looking. “It’s not like I’m going to wreck it.”

I leaned back in the seat, my jaw tight as she sped through the streets, weaving between cars like she owned them too.

At the mall, Emily wasted no time. She darted from store to store, pulling clothes off racks, flipping price tags, and piling expensive items onto counters without so much as a glance in my direction.

“Hold these,” she said, thrusting a few bags into my hands as she browsed another rack.

I followed silently, my mind wandering. There were moments like this moments when I wondered what had happened to the Emily I used to know. We’d been friends once, good ones. But now?

“You remember when we used to sneak out of those boring galas just to get pizza?” Emily said suddenly, her voice softer than I’d heard it in weeks.

I nodded, almost smiling at the memory. “Yeah, I remember. You always ordered pineapple, and I hated it.”

She laughed, but there was something hollow about it. “You were so dramatic back then.”

Her laugh faded, and before I could say anything else, her sharp tone returned. “Anyway, those were simpler times. You’ve changed so much, Jordan.”

Me? I thought, glancing at her as she shoved another dress into the saleswoman’s hands. She wasn’t the same either, but I bit back the words. No point in starting something here.

After hours of shopping, she finally decided we should visit Aunt Layla. I hesitated but didn’t argue. The moment we walked in, Aunt Layla’s face lit up with fake warmth.

“Jordan, Emily! It’s been too long,” she said, pulling us into awkward hugs.

We settled in the living room, and Emily immediately started flipping through her phone. Aunt Layla sat across from me, a sly look in her eyes.

“You know, Mya just disappeared,” she said, shaking her head dramatically. “Didn’t even say goodbye. Left us all behind like we were nothing.”

I felt a pang of guilt twist in my stomach. They didn’t know. They didn’t know how much I loved her, how much she still meant to me.

Emily didn’t seem to care. “Well, good riddance,” she muttered, scrolling through her phone. “She was always too full of herself.”

I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay quiet.

Aunt Layla didn’t even bother offering us food. Emily eventually ordered takeout, barking at the delivery guy when he didn’t have change. We ate in tense silence, the sound of forks scraping plates the only noise in the room.

Two hours later, we left. The ride home was quiet too quiet. Emily stared out the window, her arms crossed, while I gripped the wheel. The tension between us was thick, almost suffocating.

When we got back, Emily muttered something about being tired and disappeared into the bedroom. I stayed in the living room, sinking onto the couch.

My eyes drifted to her stomach, still flat beneath her designer top. My brows furrowed. Shouldn’t there be... something by now? I shook the thought away, leaning my head back.

My mind wandered to the weekend. Just a few more days, and I’d see Mya again. I couldn’t wait to hear her voice, to feel her warmth, to remind myself why all of this was worth enduring.

The exhaustion finally caught up to me, and before I knew it, I was dozing off, the image of Mya’s smile carrying me into sleep.

The morning starts with Emily shaking me awake, her voice sharp enough to slice through the haze of sleep.

“Jordan, I’m leaving for my cousin’s event,” she announces, already dressed in some designer outfit that probably costs more than most people’s rent. “I’ll be back on Monday.”

It’s Thursday. That’s four days of peace. “Alright,” I mumble, trying not to sound too relieved.

Without so much as a goodbye, she grabs her bag and heads out the door. The sound of her heels clicking fades, leaving silence in their wake.

I sit up, running a hand over my face. There’s a heaviness in my chest, but it lightens when I remember what tomorrow holds. I’m seeing Mya.

The thought gives me energy. I get up, clean the apartment, brush my teeth, and take a long, hot shower. Afterward, I throw on a black short-sleeve Nike t-shirt, black baggy pants, and my black Jordan sneakers. Simple, comfortable, and just how I like it.

The rest of the day is a blur of preparation.

At the gym, I check in with my manager, making sure everything is running smoothly. The place is buzzing with people, the clanking of weights and rhythmic thuds of treadmills filling the air. Satisfied, I head to my restaurant next, gathering my team to let them know I’ll be gone for the weekend. They nod, assuring me they’ll handle everything in my absence.

By the time I leave, it’s mid-afternoon, and my stomach is growling. I swing by the mall to grab a few outfits for the trip, then stop at a health food café. My meal is simple but satisfying: a grilled chicken breast, a generous portion of quinoa, and a side of steamed broccoli. A smoothie packed with spinach, mango, and protein powder rounds it out.

As I eat, I find myself scrolling through Mya’s social media. Her feed is a mix of her work, candid moments, and older photos. Then I see it a picture of her as a child. Her big, curious eyes and shy smile stir something deep in me. She was beautiful even then.

An idea strikes me, and before I know it, I’m at a print shop, holding two tiny photos: one of Mya’s younger self and one of mine. I head to a jewelry store next, finding a pair of heart-shaped lockets that open to reveal the photos. One will hold Mya’s picture, and the other mine.

I put on the necklace with Mya’s photo inside, the cool metal resting against my chest. It feels right like a piece of her is with me.

By the time I return to the apartment, it feels eerily quiet. I clean up, though it doesn’t really need it, and my steps carry me to the wardrobe. Opening it, I find our clothes still hanging together, my shirts brushing against hers. Her scent lingers soft, floral, undeniably Mya.

I can’t help but smile, the memories flooding back. The nights we spent here, laughing, talking, just being us.

After packing my suitcase, I sit on the couch and turn on the TV. It doesn’t take long before I’m on Spotify, scrolling through the playlists. Her account is still logged in. I hit play, and the songs that fill the room bring her back to me in waves. Drake, SZA, Rihanna all her favorites.

The nostalgia overwhelms me, and before I know it, I’m dialing her number.

“Jordan!” she answers, her voice lighting up with excitement.

I grin, leaning back against the couch. “Hey, I wanted to let you know I’ll be there tomorrow. My flight lands at 10 a.m.”

“I’ll be at the airport,” she promises, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

We talk for hours, about everything and nothing. Her favorite songs come up, and we argue playfully over who has the better taste. “You’ve got to admit, 2Pac’s Keep Ya Head Up is a masterpiece,” she says, laughing.

“I’ll give you that,” I reply, smirking. “But you need to give Passionfruit by Drake another chance.”

By the time we hang up, it’s late, but I feel lighter. Her voice, her laugh, her energy it’s everything I’ve been missing.

I crawl into bed, the necklace still around my neck, and fall asleep dreaming of her. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

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