"Good day, miss. I believe these belong to you," he said, handing me my locket and diary.
My heart dropped. Dang it. Why would my clumsy head fail to check this before leaving school? Of all the things to forget, it had to be that. My diary. The one place I spilled every embarrassing thought and every unfiltered truth I would never dare say out loud. The idea that he might have read even a single page made my stomach twist.
I snatched them from his hand quickly and flicked my fingers through the binds of the book, pretending to check for damage, but in truth I was just trying to calm the panic knocking out my ribs. What had he seen? What did he now know? Had I written his name recently?
"I didn't read it," he said quietly, adjusting his tie. His eyes and aura were calm. Still, I felt intimidated beside him, dwarfed by his six feet manly physique.
I stood frozen in a way you would think my shoe were glued to the concrete floor, caught between inviting him in or running far away from the most humiliating moment of my life. My thoughts tangled together, refusing to sort themselves out.
"This is where I live. Come in and have some coffee with me," I managed to let the words escape my lips
"You should never be careless with that," he said, turning to leave.
"Wait!" I shouted, my hand shooting up in a futile attempt to halt his departure.
He paused for a second without looking back, and for a few moments, I believed he might turn around. But he continued on toward his car. Before I could even run after him, he had already driven off.
I dragged my feet toward the bench in the park, feeling breathless. My eyes fell upon my bag as I double-checked it, only to discover a gaping hole that had been hiding in plain sight.
This tear did not look like something that could have happened by accident. It was not the type of rip caused by a careless tug or a scrape against a sharp edge. I could not remember being chased by a dog or a wild cat or anything else that might explain it. No, this looked deliberate, like it had been cut clean through by scissors or maybe even a blade. And the only name that floated to the top of my mind was Mione Davis. That annoying brat. If I thought back to the only person who had managed to get close enough to me today and had a reason to do something petty like this, it would be her.
"I'm such an idiot for not noticing this sooner!" I lamented softly.
I lowered my gaze to the locket, caressing the outline of my mother's image inside. It would cause me internal pain if I had lost this. I pressed my lips to the cool metal, smiling in comfort of the memories it held.
The locket was my most treasured possession, the only memory I had of my mom's loving presence since she left this world behind.
I inserted them into my jeans pocket and went inside to heal my skin away from the scorching sun. I was lazy to take a refreshing bath and chose to sink on my too soft bed. My dog jumped on me, wagging his tail and barking a pup bark with excitement. I remembered I had failed to get the biscuit bone I had promised him, then lazily came down from the bed and prepared his food. I smiled when I watched him rush at it.
I pulled out my diary from my pocket and sat on the brown wooden chair behind me.
"Dear diary," I wrote.
****
The sudden knock on the door jolted me awake, and I was harshly welcomed by the ray of sunlight that flashed my eyes like some sort of paparazzi, whooshing through the window.
"It finally Saturday!" I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, squinting to see the clock on my table.
"It just 6:09 in the morning," I mumbled, dragging my feet across the floor, still trying to rub off the slumber. I still want to stay wrapped up in my soft two layers bedsheets, tucked away from the world.
I held the door knob and slowly opened it, then yelped in joy as I came face to face with my Granny's bright smile.
I hastily relieved her of her bag and escorted her to the living room.
"How are you doing? Did you get a chance to eat last night? Are you hungry now? What can I get for you?" I asked, my words coming out in an excited rush.
"One question at a time, silly girl!" she teasingly scolded, squeezing my cheeks. I chuckled and tightened my arms around her.
She was a fifty four old lady who dressed like she was in are late twenties, look young with tender skin and only few strands of sliver hair that gave away her age .
As we sat down to breakfast, our eyes met. Granny gaze was looking at me in a very suspicious way, It was that suspicious look she always gave me when I used to sneak grilled meat from the pot and stuff them into my schoolbag like some petty food thief, the one that made me feel like I had just committed a taboo crime and tried to hide the evidence in plain sight.
I tried to focus on my food, but my fingers tightened slightly around my spoon.
What exactly was she seeing in me right now?
"How's school going?" she asked, breaking the silence.
I hesitated, my eyes darting away from hers. I was glad I had no physical scratch on my face. Or maybe the marks just didn't show. I wasn't sure if it was luck or something else. If she knew how everything had actually played out, I was certain she would have smacked me with the back of her hand and scolded me for not landing an uppercut or yanking out a chunk of hair as proof that I had won. That was just like her. She was so much like my mum, or maybe it was the other way around, Mum had learned all of that fire from her Mother. Neither of them could stand the idea of weakness, especially not in me. They wanted me to fight back, to come out swinging, even if I bled. To them, trying was better than walking away injured.
.
"It's fine," I replied, with a soft voice.
"You smell like a man's perfume," Granny broke the silence, and I was left speechless.
That came out of nowhere and the least of what I expected her to say.
I froze as I was about to deep food in my mouth, mouth slightly open, trying to form a response.
I slowly lowered my hands and sniffed my clothes, nah I don't smell like a man's perfume, or it could be Christopher Face towel.
"What do you mean man's perfume? I don't get it," I said, trying to play dumb, hoping she would drop it.
How did she even pick up the scent of his face towel? The perfume was barely noticeable on the towel. I could hardly smell anything on it now unless I held it right up to my nose and intentionally sniffed it. Even then, it was faint and a little too distracting.
"Your face is red, sweetheart. Are you sure you don't want to tell me anything?" she asked.
I swallowed hard.
Why was she always so good at picking up things no one else saw? Was it written all over me?
"With the look on your face, one could actually tell what's on your mind," she smiled.
And that made me worry a little.
What did she mean by that? Because even I am eager to know what exactly is on my mind, and it is definitely not what I think she thinks it is. My mind feels like a malfunctioning radio.
"Hmmm, go on, tell me all about it, I'm listening," she muttered, tilting her head.
"I seriously don't know what you're talking about. Can you please elaborate?" I furrowed my brows in an attempt to seem confused, even though the truth was written all over my face. I could already feel the embarrassment crawling up my neck like a rash. I was the only one here looking like a complete fool, and for someone who reads a lot of fiction, I was surprisingly bad at pretending.
She cleared her throat and knitted her brow, wearing that expression that silently screamed, You can't fool Granny, sweetie.
"Oh, you mean this?" I said, as I pulled out the folded towel from my pocket. I was glad the bloodstained path was cleverly hidden, because that would have raised a whole different category of questions I was not ready to answer.
"So what's that got to do with it? You've been seeing a man and keeping all the tea to yourself?" she raised a brow like she had just cracked open a scandal.
"No! I've not been seeing anyone. This… this was given to me by someone who helped me," I stammered, mentally kicking myself for sounding guilty even when I was technically telling the truth.
Then I explained every single thing that had happened, making sure to leave out the part about stumbling because of Mione, because that would have opened another door to another room I did not want to clean up.
"Then he gave me the locket and left without saying a word," I concluded.
"You haven't had a real conversation with him yet?" she asked, squinting at me like she was trying to read my thoughts off my forehead.
"Yes," I nodded quickly.
I wondered what could possibly be going on in her mind at that point. Maybe she was trying to piece together the clues, or maybe she was trying to remember if she had seen him in town before, or maybe she was silently judging me. I could not tell, and that made the awkwardness in the room multiply by ten.
"Why did he give you the face towel? Were you injured or something?"
"Sweat!" I interrupted too fast. Way too fast. Even I winced internally.
"Oh, interesting," she said slowly, dragging out each syllable like she was savoring the flavor of my lie. "So, you were sweating… in this wonderful cold weather? How kind of him."
At that point, I knew she had probably caught me. I sounded ridiculous, and the more I tried to lie, the more I felt like a two-dollar actress in a cheap soap opera. If there had been a mirror in front of me, I would have pointed at my own reflection and said, Congratulations. You played yourself.
"For him to drive all the way from school to our place just to return something precious to you, it is a sign he likes you too," she said as she slowly dragged her glasses to the edge of her nose, giving me that look that always came right before a matchmaking suggestion.
I rolled my eyes because I already knew where this conversation was heading, and honestly, I was too emotionally drained to play along. "I'm betrothed to Fanid Marco," I uttered, mostly to remind her, but also to shut down whatever fairytale she was trying to build in her head. But deep down I want to hear her usual reassurance that we were no longer following that outdated betrothal nonsense.
Her eyes softened with sadness, and she immediately dropped her spoon onto her plate without saying a word.
"I know you're not happy with whatever marriage you and Fanid are going on about," she said quietly, her voice laced with the kind of pain that made my chest ache. "I'm not in support of this either, but in our tradition, you must marry your betrothal."
I faked a smile and just nodded, even though everything in me wanted to scream. Ever since I first heard about being betrothed when I was thirteen, I had felt trapped in a circle I never asked to be part of, a circle made of rules, expectations, and invisible strings pulling me in directions I did not want to go. It pushed me into a heat of depression I never really escaped. I had spent years wondering what kind of life could exist for someone like me when my future was already decided by a deal made long before I understood what love or freedom meant.
Granny cleared her throat and dipped her spoon slowly into her bowl, stirring the contents like the silence between us was too heavy to break quickly. "But I didn't say the law should be enforced on you," she said gently. "Choose who you want, when the right time comes, okay?"
I was very, very much impressed with what she said. Honestly, it felt like a small door had finally opened inside me, just a crack, enough for air to slip through. But even with those soft, comforting words, I knew deep inside that there would be chaos the moment I refuse to marry Fanid Marco. Not the kind of chaos that fades with time, but the kind that changes relationships and shakes foundations.
I don't know what kind of punishment would be enforced on me if I went through with it, if I truly refused. But I had read somewhere in our history that girls who broke the betrothal pact were brutally punished. That part stuck with me. That part haunted me. And that fear wrapped itself around my mind like cold hands gripping the back of my neck.
But then again, we are not in the village anymore. We are far from the small houses and narrow eyes and thick traditions that once ruled every decision. We are in the city now, in a place where people walk around freely, where the laws are written by the government, not announced by ancestors around a fire. The city is kinder in that way, more forgiving. The traditions cannot hold me the way they once did.
"One more thing," she said with a more serious tone. "Stop hiding behind those spectacles and hat, I need my Liana Davisutah again, gain back your respect, don't hide because of what people were going to say or because they would start asking shit about your parents, I hope you hear me this time."
She was right, I feel like a girl wrapped in a tree bark, and showing who I'm is like carrying my parents pride and name on my forehead, they would not seem that happy to see me this way .