Zemira

I had no recollection of being driven home, no memory of landing on my bed. The starry lights above my dressing table blinked dimmer. Even the fan rotated at a lesser speed. Since Antonio's truth took centre stage, everything seemed to have slowed.

The mirage we created for the world, of the Ford-Brenton power couple, had shattered in the light of an infidelity scandal.

The constant thump on my rib cage radiated pain in my body. It hummed of my failure, and hopelessness brimmed within me.

Drowning in despair was quite different from actual drowning. My lungs were filled with anguish, more viscous than water. It burned my chest when I tried to scream for help.

The reigns of deception slipped from my tight grip, leaving behind a lesion of pain. An avalanche of sadness rolled over, dredging up memories I had buried.

That day, two years ago when I could smell the summer and him.

Bright sunny mornings in February weren't unusual in Miami. The fiery orb in the sky pricked my skin. A sheen of sweat hugged my attire to my body.

My focus was on him as I dashed down the last of stairs and plopped into his car parked outside my house, pecking his face with kisses.

We drove, and the baked beach and salty ocean mist sang to us as we roved past by.

My hair danced in all directions as the black and red colored Mustang raced up against the wind. Hot air flooded my lungs, but the heat didn't bother me. I was happy.

"I told my father about us," I said, coiling my hand around Tag's strong arm, his own hand draped loosely over the steering wheel.

Tag, my boyfriend, had a surprise planned for me.

Since high school, ours had been a rollercoaster ride of friendship and love. Since the time we first shared a seat in the class, etching each other's initials under the table, our bond had strengthened, blossoming into love.

"And what did he say?" Tag's warm hazel eyes twinkled with hope. Sunlight touched his features, creating a halo over his appearance. A godly aura.

"He wants to meet with you again. Hopefully, he'll not be grilling you."

"I'm sure," he chuckled. "Because all the grilling has already happened when I met him the first time."

"This time it's different."

Around the corner from our favorite café, he parked the car. We went inside and sat in a booth with flaking crimson-colored leather, away from prying eyes.

We'd had our first date here. There was nothing fancy about a dilapidated café that had survived the clutches of a coffee conglomerate. But for us, it was like home.

Those chipped walls had witnessed sophomore year Tag mustering the courage to ask me on a date. The shaky tables had felt the splatter of coffee when I pulled him for a kiss.

Tag cleared the wind-wrangled hair off my face. "I promise, I'll meet him as soon as I return."

"What do you mean when you return?"

The seat under me deflated with the weight of my question. Tag's eyes turned pale, losing their silken honey shine.

With a fallen expression, he looped his hand around mine. His hooded eyes channeled strength.

"My deployment orders have arrived, Mira."

The sound of that word rattled inside my tin body, diffusing into the deepest pit of my gut. When his friends started receiving orders, we knew this day was drawing closer. It was only a matter of time for him.

"When do you have to..."

Words refused to spill. I was choked by the worst news I'd heard about our soldiers.

Please say a month. Please say a month. I prayed.

"A week," he answered, scanning the nearby empty tables. My hand slid from his.

One week was too short.

One month was too short.

One lifetime was too short for this.

Warm tears rolled down my face while I tucked my face behind my palms. "Any chance..."

"No, it can't be extended." As if Tag could read my mind. After a brief pause, he unclasped my palm shield, tipping up my chin. "Mira, look at me."

I didn't obey. Lost to the sound of my heartbreak, I sat still. Frozen.

He moved closer. Picking my nerveless body, he pulled me up to straddle his lap.

"Look at me, Mira." The weight of his words was so heavy, I couldn't look up. It drowned me. "I'll be back in no time. The war will be over soon. All of us will go there and get the job done... and then... whoosh." He spread both his hands up in the air, smiling.

"What?"

Tag chuckled. "I'll appear before you. I'll ask blessing your daddy's blessings for your hand in marriage and-"

Hope lingered upon his words.

"Then what?"

He dipped his lips over mine, engulfing me with his sweetness and need. I embraced his body harder than ever, smelling the nape of his neck.

Because some part of me told me to. That part which knew it would be a long time before I would hold him again.

"Then we'll get married at your mother's favorite bar."

I leaned my head back, giggling. "You want to marry me at Gabe's Bar?"

"Yes, woman." He pressed my head to his chest, swaddling me in the music of his heart. "I'm trying to cut costs because you drink tequila like water."

Tag's departure had been easier than I made up in my mind. After a heartbreaking apology for leaving and a promise to return soon, he left. But his void was filled by his letters, which bestowed a sense of relief.

One day, he even managed to Skype.

In a desperate attempt to see him every day, I recorded our conversation.

Tag's expressions were stoic. He talked with a laden voice. I knew he was suffering the aftermath of his duty.

For several nights, I replayed the recording to lull me back to sleep.

When Tag went on his combat missions, my days had diminished and my nights sprawled longer. I'd banned newspapers from the house and stopped listening to the news.

Ignorance was bliss.

Long sleepless nights and exhausting days passed without any phone calls or letters.

Driven by reverie, my feet floated towards the drawer underneath my table.

Nested in its safety were Tag's letters, those he had sent and those he hadn't. Cheerful ones that talked about his team and heartbreaking narrations of war, of his trauma.

A yellowish paper peeked through the banded lot. I picked it up with a heavy heart.

The folds were like well-oiled hinges, falling open spinelessly with the number of openings it underwent.

Dearest Mira,

I had a dream last night. Not the usual night terrors. Those seem to subside every time I write to you. This one was different.

I saw you, Mira. I saw us. We had a golden retriever and a house. In the lush grassy lawn bordered by a white picket fence, I felt content, holding a mug of coffee in my hand with you beside me.

We named the dog, Tugboat, which surely would have screwed up his mating life.

You had gained weight which, no offense, wasn't the beer calories. It brought an ethereal glow to your face. One which told me you carried our future.

I was dreaming of us being a family, Mira. Of you and me together.

Surviving these last few days was a herculean effort. I was almost...

There I went spoiling another good letter with details.

Our platoon leader wrote letters too, but he never posted them.

But with you waiting for my letters, I can't bring myself to hold them in till I return.

I wanted you to read them all. I wanted my words to keep you happy till I came back.

I hope to see you soon. I wish to return this very moment. But in the meantime, I love you wholeheartedly.

You're the greatest gift I could have received from the universe.

With all my love,

Tugboat's father

~

Tag's last letter trembled in my hand.

In serving his country, Tag had abandoned me. He had left me wailing over his unfulfilled promises. The love I had for him remained suppressed in a corner of my heart.

I rearranged the letters in their original position, back in the corner of the drawer that contained everything he had gifted.

Along with them nested the intangibles – shards of dreams we had and rinds of my lifeless soul. They waited for Tag to return what he stole. My peace, my hope.

A soft tap on the door pulled me out of my miserable state.

Dad walked in, looking around the room before sliding open the curtains. The room lit up with sunlight, highlighting his salt-peppered hair and the fine lines on his warm ivory-toned face.

Grant Ford may have aged but he had aged with grace. Though a widower, he was still very much in love with my mother.

His blue eyes, the same tinge as mine, never lost their sheen even during tough times. He braved on. Always.

Sometimes I wondered if I was indeed his daughter.

Dad sat beside me on the carpeted floor, intertwining our hands. I could see the tendrils of purplish veins that traced all over his hand, his skin thinner than paper. He looked up at my open drawer, sighing.

"Tag was a good boy, kiddo."

"He sure was..."

He patted the crown of my head, his lowered voice drifting into my ears.

"We're still doing better than most companies, kiddo. We don't need the theatrics. Maybe today's disaster is the universe asking you to be done with these schemes. "

"How cruel is the universe to hurt the already wounded, Dad? How sadistic is fate to have knocked me down in front of the whole world?"

My father was a staunch believer in destiny and timing, of connections that brought people together. After all, his love story was the epitome of fate.

Arranged to be married, he had nonetheless found the rarest of love with Mom. Even though her demise took a toll on him, his love had never ceased.

"I don't know how to explain it to you, kiddo, but-"

Before Dad could finish, I waved his words away, unwilling to hear fate and love bullshit anymore.

"It worked for you, Dad. For me, they're just fancy words. You know what love did to me."

Dad's face fell in defeat, chin dropping to his chest. He nodded, straightening off the floor, when his phone vibrated inside his pocket.

With bridged eyebrows, he answered, walking around my bed and releasing 'hmms' as a reply.

Turning, he rounded the bed to my side, holding his phone. "It's for you."

I took the device, glaring at the unknown number. "Who is this?"

"Zemira," Leo's voice emerged, as ragged as if he had just run a marathon. "Can you please come to meet us?"

"What for?" I protested. "Let me stay where I am till it all dies down."

He answered with a sigh.

"It won't die down till you do something about it." Frustrating peeked through his voice. "Until we do something about it."

I fell into the mountain of pillows on my bed, snapping my eyes shut.

"I don't want to do anything anymore, Leo. Please just...let me be... Okay?"

I could hear him swallow. Long measured breaths hit the speaker, something plastic like crumpled in his background. Then his voice emerged, raspy.

"You are the greatest gift the Brentons could have ever wished for. Please, Zem, please understand that you shouldn't be hiding from anything or anyone."

He said more, heavier words to convince me but I slid off my bed midway through it, no longer listening.

I riffed through the letters and pulled out Tag's last note, my eyes searched for Leo's words in Tag's hand.

'Greatest gift.'

Was it a sign? A hint to retain hope?

I had slashed out at my Dad for hoping. I had belittled him for trusting the universe and now I was succumbing to the same foolish faith.

The haze over my thoughts lifted, clearing my vision too. I stood at a fork in the road. A life altering decision had to be made.

Paved with cobblestones of assurance, the first path was thoroughly used by anyone who had suffered a media fallout – the route for waiting and hiding while the world shifted its focus to something new.

The other, a darker and scarier path had Leo, holding out his hand and asking me to walk over.

Confidence sparked in his eyes, and hope danced at his fingertips. He would always be there, his smile assured. He would help me face the world.

Both paths were alluring. They both called out to me. But I could only choose one.

With a breath, I stepped on the one my heart yearned to follow. One, that I knew was full of troubles but hopeful too.

"What do you think I should do?"

~

Ever faced a fork in the road?

Let me know in the comments. If you like this chapter, then you know what to do.

Comments and votes fill my heart with joy :)