~ SEVENTY-FOUR ~

~ SEVENTY-FOUR ~
The walk back to Kaima’s apartment felt heavier than any walk they had ever taken.

No one said much.
The silence between them wasn’t awkward — it was thick, almost sacred, wrapping around them like a shield against the world outside.
Kaima walked in the middle, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if trying to hold her body together, her head bowed low.

Chelsea, Mandy, and Zahra flanked her like silent protectors, never letting her drift too far from them.
It was instinctive — as if somehow their presence could patch the invisible cracks Obinna’s words had left in her heart.

When they reached her door, Chelsea unlocked it for her without asking, leading her inside with a soft touch on her back.
The familiar scent of Kaima’s space — warm vanilla, fresh laundry — hit them immediately, but tonight, it felt different.

Hollow.
Too quiet.

Kaima sank onto the nearest couch without a word, her body slumping forward, her hair falling like a curtain over her face.
The girls exchanged glances, unspoken conversations passing between them.
None of them had ever seen Kaima like this — so still, so broken, as if the light that usually danced in her eyes had been snuffed out all at once.

Chelsea moved first, kneeling by her side, her hand resting gently over Kaima’s clenched fists.

“Kaima...” she whispered, voice breaking with emotion she didn’t bother to hide.

No response.
Only the soft, shaky rhythm of Kaima’s breathing, like she was trying to hold herself together in pieces too fragile to touch.

Mandy sat down beside her, close enough that their knees brushed. She didn’t say anything either — just reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Kaima’s ear with a tenderness that made Zahra’s throat tighten.

Zahra, usually the most composed, stood stiffly by the door for a long moment before slowly sinking onto the rug at Kaima’s feet.
She looked up at her — this girl who had loved so deeply, so selflessly — and felt a fierce ache pulse through her chest.

Finally, Kaima lifted her head.

Her eyes were swollen, red-rimmed, but she was trying — desperately — to smile.
And it broke all their hearts a little more.

"I feel so stupid," Kaima whispered, her voice barely audible.

Chelsea shook her head immediately. "No, you’re not. You're not stupid, Kaima."

"I should have seen it," she said, a bitter laugh escaping her. "I should have known I wasn’t... enough."

Zahra surged forward then, grabbing Kaima’s hands tightly in hers.

"Don’t you ever say that again," she said, voice sharp and trembling. "Don’t you dare."

Kaima blinked, startled.

"You are enough," Zahra continued, fiercely. "You are more than enough. His inability to see that doesn’t mean anything about your worth."

Tears spilled freely down Kaima’s cheeks now, and Mandy caught her hand, squeezing it tightly.

"You loved him," Mandy said, her voice soft but unshakable. "You gave him your heart. And that’s not something to be ashamed of. It’s something to be proud of."

Kaima let out a small, broken sound — something between a laugh and a sob — and Chelsea immediately pulled her into a tight hug.

"You are amazing, Kaima," Chelsea murmured into her hair. "And someday, someone is going to see that and never let you go. But until then, you have us. Okay? Always."

Kaima buried her face in Chelsea’s shoulder, clinging to her, feeling all the pain, the betrayal, the humiliation pour out of her in waves.
The girls held her through it, absorbing the storm of her heartbreak without letting go, without flinching.

They stayed like that for a long time — tangled together on the couch, sharing silence and tears and strength.
A quiet army of broken and breaking girls who refused to let the world take one of them down alone.

Hours passed.
The night deepened outside, the stars blinking in a sky Kaima couldn’t bring herself to care about.

Inside, though — inside the small, dimly lit apartment — healing began, piece by tiny piece.

It wasn't loud.
It wasn’t dramatic.

It was in the way Chelsea played soft songs on her phone, even though none of them could sing along without their voices cracking.
It was in the way Mandy made them all hot chocolate and forced Kaima to sip from the mug, even when she barely had the strength to lift it.
It was in the way Zahra braided Kaima’s hair slowly, carefully, as if weaving broken pieces back together with every twist of her fingers.

They didn’t need grand gestures.
They didn’t need fancy words.

They just stayed.

And somehow, Kaima knew — through the rawness and the ache and the betrayal clawing at her chest — that she was going to survive this.

Because love hadn’t left her.

It was sitting right here, on her couch, braiding her hair, handing her tissues, pressing mugs of cocoa into her trembling hands.

It had just changed its form.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

For now.

\----

The apartment was too quiet after Hadiza finally left.

The faint scent of her perfume — something floral and cloying — still lingered in the air, clashing horribly with the heavy tension that had settled in the living room.
Obinna slumped into his couch, scrubbing his face with his hands, feeling the weight of the night crash down on him all at once.

Across from him, Aiden paced like a caged animal, his fists clenching and unclenching by his sides.
Chuma sat stiffly on the arm of a chair, his jaw locked so tight it looked like it hurt.
Aaron, meanwhile, stood by the window, his back turned to them all, arms folded across his chest in a way that made his shoulders seem impossibly broad, rigid, immovable.

The silence stretched and snapped —
It was Aiden who finally broke it.

"What the hell was that, Obi?" His voice cracked, half-shout, half-choke.
"Seriously, what the actual hell was that?"

Obinna didn’t answer immediately.
He leaned back, staring up at the ceiling as if it held the answers he didn’t have.

"I told you," he muttered after a long beat.
"I don’t feel that way about Kaima."

Chuma shot to his feet, his movement sharp and sudden.
"You don’t feel that way?!" he repeated, voice vibrating with disbelief. "After everything? After how you two acted around each other? How you looked at her like she was your whole damn world?"

Obinna shrugged, a hollow, tired motion.
"It wasn’t real," he said. "I was just… lonely. I needed a distraction. I needed—"

"A distraction?!" Aiden exploded, taking a step closer. His face was flushed with rage, eyes wide, almost wild.
"You used her as a fucking distraction?"

Obinna flinched but didn’t back down.
"Yeah," he said, harsher now, as if he could build walls with his words, push them all away before they could push him.
"Hadiza's back. She’s what I want. Always have. Kaima was… just there. She meant nothing."

The words hung there —
Rotten, poisonous.

And somehow, the silence after them was even worse.

Chuma’s hands were trembling now, barely controlled rage simmering beneath his skin.
"You’re a piece of shit, Obi," he said, voice low and vibrating. "You’re a selfish, cowardly, heartless piece of shit."

Obinna’s mouth twisted into something almost like a sneer.
"Yeah? Maybe. But it’s the truth."

Aiden let out a bitter laugh, raking a hand through his hair.
"You have no fucking idea what you’ve done, do you?"
Obinna looked away, jaw tight.

"You broke her," Aiden said, stepping forward until he was standing right in front of him.
"You shattered her, Obi. She loved you. She trusted you. And you... you treated her like she was nothing. Like trash you could just throw away the second something 'better' came along."

Obinna didn’t respond.
Couldn’t.

Across the room, Aaron still hadn’t moved.
Still hadn’t spoken.
But the air around him felt charged, like a storm about to break.

Chuma shook his head, disgusted.
"We were rooting for you, man. We believed in you two. I thought... I thought you were different."

Obinna laughed, sharp and joyless.
"Different? I’m not some hero. I’m not who you all thought I was. I’m just... me."

"And who you are," Aiden snapped, "is a fucking coward."

For the first time, Obinna’s mask cracked — just a flicker, barely there.
Guilt, regret, something human flashing across his face before he buried it again.

"You’re gonna regret this," Chuma said, backing toward the door.
"One day, when you realize you threw away the only real thing you had... you'll fucking regret it."

Aiden followed him without another word, slamming the door so hard behind him that the entire frame shook.

Obinna stayed where he was, staring at the empty space they left behind.
He told himself it didn’t matter.
That they didn’t understand.

But when he finally glanced toward the window, where Aaron still stood silent and immovable —
A different kind of fear gripped him.

Because Aaron wasn’t shouting.
Wasn’t throwing punches or throwing words.

He was just there.

Still.

Cold.

Detached.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Aaron spoke.
His voice was so low, Obinna almost missed it.

"You’re pathetic," he said.
Simple.
Final.

Obinna opened his mouth to argue, to defend himself — but nothing came out.

Aaron turned then, looking him dead in the eye for the first time all night.
And in his gaze, Obinna didn’t find anger or disappointment.

He found nothing.

"You don't deserve her," Aaron said, voice hollow. "You never did."

He walked to the door, grabbing his keys from the table without another glance back.

"Don’t ever call me again," he said, just before stepping out into the night, letting the door fall shut behind him with a soft, definitive click.

And just like that, Obinna was alone.

Truly, utterly alone.

The weight of everything —
Kaima’s tear-streaked face, the betrayal in his friends’ eyes, the emptiness gnawing at his gut —
It crashed down on him all at once.

He slumped back against the couch, covering his face with his hands as the room spun around him.
The silence was deafening now.
Suffocating.

And for the first time in a long, long while, Obinna realized something terrifying.

He had no one left to blame but himself.