Sana's P.O.V

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"Make sure that Alizeh is-"

"In bed by 9, yes, you already said that." My husband cuts me off, and I can almost imagine the obnoxious eye roll that must have gone with his words.

"It's because I want to make sure." I answer back.

As the car begins to near my destination, I repeat entire routine once again, much to my husband's dismay and cut off the line with an barely audible I love you. Along with empathy, being romantic or lovey-dovey isn't one of my speciality, Lord knows it took me a long time to simply say 'I like you' to him.

I slip out of the black cab, handing the driver a few quids, making sure to give him plenty of tips. As his mouth moves to protest, I wave in dismissal.

"Keep it." I say.

"Thank you." he says, eyes wide.

As the cab pulls away, I swing my Gucci bag on my shoulder, careful not to pull my hijab, and walked towards the pathway of the Chow family home.

The gravel of it still covered in stones, but the gate's paint faded due to the years.

The familiarity of it all is so strange and at the same time usual to me.

Looking away at the chewed away brick reminded of all those passed away moments of euphoria, shared over bottles of Coca Cola and pizza.

My fingers glaze over the doorbell, that I'd rung a hundred times before during my teenage years, before pressing it. The shrill could still be heard lightly outside.

"Hello?" a voice spoke through the intercom.

It didn't sound familiar. In the early days it was Mrs Chow that answered, her voice heavily coated in a Bengali accent, just like my own mother. But this new voice sounded neither like her nor her daughter.

"I'm Sana, here to see Nazia." I spoke.

"Oh, yes, come in." The canopy door gives a click, and I push it open with my hand.

To my surprise, there's no one to greet me behind the door, right at the bottom of the carpet fitted stairs. The image of her all those years ago is stuck within my mind, making me forget that it's not the same anymore.

Or is it? I think to myself as I climb the familiar stairs, leading upstairs.

What would be the purpose of Nazia Chow calling after all these years, if it weren't to at least try to savour a broken friendship? She'd spent years condemning herself to the pain of our mistakes, that we had to either end join her or break apart. But that was the thing, whilst she thought of one factor, we thought of many and eventually, leaving it in the past became the better option.

From time to time, I'd reached out to her. After moving away for university, I'd call her once in a while, a list of topics ready to stop the conversation from getting awkward.

But she shut me out.

Slowly, my efforts became much more scarce, with a good morning text, until it any connection between us was extinct. At least it lasted longer than what I had with Nelly and Leo, who fizzled out of my life within weeks.

I reached the end of the corridor, my feet exhausted from walking up two long flights of stairs.

Across the hall, stood a woman, her back facing me.

For a moment, I thought it was her. But as my eyes analysed the wild curly black hair and cut off cream dress, my theory was proven wrong, and my eyes creased in a frown.

As the woman turned her figure around, I quickly fixed my face into a soft smile and met eyes with the stranger.

"Hello." she greeted, in a rather high pitched voice.

"Hello." I responded, keeping my tone polite.

"You are Miss Sana Yan, I believe." She notes. "I'm Annabelle Shake."

I never changed my maiden name, I didn't believe it was necessary and it was said in Islam that a woman should to take pride in the name deprived from their father.

"Pleasure to meet you. I don't mean to be rude, but may I know why I'm seeing you instead of Nazia?" I asked, my vision fleeting over the old wooden furniture, yet not finding a trace of my friend or her thick black mane.

"I'll explain everything, but before we that, maybe you should come in." Annabelle answers, her professional smile not dropping.

I follow her into Chow family's main room, it's fine table and glassware still polished to it's core. The cream couch in the centre had Nani* Chow's quilt thrown over it diagnonally, colours blooming from the fine patters.

I set my bag to my side and took a seat on the couch, Annabelle grabbed the tea pot from the centre table and began to pour hot water in a cup. I noted that she treats the place with such easiness, almost as if it were her house.

"Sugar?" she raised an eyebrow.

Maybe Nazia got a servant, I think in my head.

"Yes, please. One spoon."

Or maybe she's a lesbian.

A shrill vibrates through the walls of the house, meaning that there is someone at the door.

"That must be Miss Babushka or Mr Woody. Let me get it, could you take your own sugar?" Annabelle barely gives me the chance to answer before flashing out.

The spoon laying on the side is picked up my fingers and dipped into the cup to stir the darkening water, transforming into tea. Shuffling of feet and voices could be heard from downstairs.

Within moments, the noise could be heard much more clearly.

I recognised what was Leo's inquisitive voice, spewing questions at Annabelle at the speed of light. Some things never change.

Much to my surprise, it was three people that walked through the door, instead of two. There stood a man with brown hair and piercing green eyes, skin as white and smooth as porcelain, along with a woman with short blonde hair and animated jaw.

As we made eye contact after almost a decade, I wondered if they had arrived together. Perhaps their romance had been rekindled.

"Hello, Sana." Nelly spoke first, her Lithuanian accent had almost vanished.

Leo simply nodded in my direction.

"Now that you are all here, I can explain everything." Annabelle announced.

"Yes, that would be great, because I've no idea what's going." Leo chirped, now sitting on the other hand of the couch, next to Nelly.

"Well, telling you everything would be easy for me, but it would confuse you a lot. Your friend, Nazia has left a letter that may help." Annabelle chirped.

She stood and walked over to a drawer, opened it and pulled an envelope. She then held it out towards us.

Since I was closest, I took it.

I opened the seal, my fingers trembling, and slipped out the paper inside it. Once it unfolded, I read out loud.

Dear Sana, Nelly and Leo,

I'm sorry for calling after all these years and yet not coming out to meet you.
But your visit has a purpose behind it.

Annabelle is my therapist of 3 years, over time she figured why I've been struggling with depression so much, but I never managed to tell her the full story.

This is why I brought you here, because I need you tell Annabelle what happened to Rachel Sparklight.

It may the only way she can help me from drowning in guilt.

With love,
Nazia.

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