The following morning, Amara woke up feeling like she had run a marathon all night. The dream was hauntingly vivid, lingering just on the edges of her consciousness as though it had been more than just a figment of her imagination. Farida's kiss still made her heart flutter, but the morning sunlight pouring into her room brought reality home.
"It was just a dream," whispered she to herself, her voice breaking slightly.
But the feelings were too real to deny. She could still feel Farida's hands on her waist, the gentle warm press of her lips, the unspoken tenderness in her eyes. It had all been more real than any moment she had shared with her husband during their time together. The thought closed off her throat.
She shook her head and crawled out of the bed to make herself presentable for the day. Amara had never been one to brood, but this was a case on its own. This was not just an impolite dream but rather its reflection – it was a touch to the emotions which she had concealed throughout those years and now they forced their way out.
Later that morning, she sat at her dining table with a steaming mug of coffee. The apartment was stiflingly quiet, and for all the previous weeks, she had missed even the distant sounds of Kelechi's presence, however cold and indifferent they were often in their nature.
Her mind spiraled from the dream to Farida. What would she say if she knew? Would she feel the same? Amara nodded firmly, as if shaking away ideas that had no business in her meticulously crafted reality.
Her phone buzzed, trying to interrupt her thoughts. She reached for it instinctively and gasped at the sight of Farida's name on the screen.
"Good morning, Amara. I hope you're well. Can we have lunch today? There's so much I want to discuss".
Amara stared at the text message, her heart racing. She typed and erased several responses before settling on a short, neutral reply:
"Good morning. Lunch is great. Just tell me the time and place".
Farida replied almost instantly, suggesting a cute little café a short walk from Amara's apartment. Amara agreed but then hit send and doubts and anxiety crept in immediately.
The cafe had a warm ambience, with walls filled to the brim with bookshelves and framed pieces of artwork. Amara had come in early and picked a table in one of the corners that would keep her back against the wall. She ordered tea and sipped it slowly, shaking slightly.
With the arrival of Farida, the energy was there again. She had worn a red dress that seemed to embrace her in all the right places, and her hair was styled with soft waves. Her smile lighting up the room did not go unnoticed by Amara.
"Amara," Farida said warmly as she slid into the seat opposite her. "Thank you for meeting me."
Amara smiled, though her anxiety was just about overcoming her. "Of course. Good to see you."
Farida ordered a latte, and then they two got into an easy conversation. They talked about work, art, and the memories each one shared from years gone by. It was natural, even effortless, but on the surface, Amara's feelings were churning.
As soon as their plates were removed, and the conversation began to drop Farida slightly leaned forward, her facial expression now grave.
"Amara," she started softly, "so much thinking has been going on about us."
Amara's stomach tightened. "Us?"
Farida nodded, her gaze unwavering. "I mean... what we were, what we had. And what we could have, if things were different."
The words hung in the air, heavy with electricity. Amara's chest tightened at the response and she looked away, unable to meet her sister's gaze. "Farida, I.... I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do," Farida said softly. "You know precisely what I'm talking about."
Her hands gripped the edge of the table. "I'm married," she said in a whisper, as if she were telling herself.
"And are you happy?" Farida had spoken softly, but her words pierced straight to the heart of the matter.
Amara opened her mouth to reply but found herself unable to do so. The fact was, she did not know the answer. Was she happy? She had spent so much time convincing herself that she was good doing what society expected of her, that she never stopped to think if it was what she wanted.
Farida reached across the table and placed her hand over Amara's. It was a light but grounding touch, and Amara's breath caught. "Amara, I don't want to make your life complicated. But I can't act like I don't care about you. That I don't…" She halted, looking for the appropriate words. "That I still love you."
The confession hit Amara like a freight train; for a moment, she could not breathe. She withdrew her hand as from something venomous, her heart thumping in her chest. "Farida, you can't say something like that."
"Why not? It's the truth."
Amara shook her head, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "It's not that simple."
"Maybe it is," Farida said softly. "Maybe we're the ones making it complicated."
Amara was on her feet with such suddenness that the chair scraped the floor. "I have to go," she said, her voice now shaking.
Farida looked up at her, and her expression was a hurt but understanding. "Amara…"
But Amara couldn't remain. She turned and exited the café, feeling her emotions take over.
Back at her apartment, Amara paced the living room. Her thoughts were racing. Farida's words echoed in her head, pushing against the barriers she had not built around herself.
She could not deny the truth anymore: her marriage was a farce, a disguise she wore to satisfy everyone except herself. And Farida…Farida was everything she ever wanted but was too scared to own.
Amara sank down onto the couch, her face buried in her hands. As if she felt that the whole world of hers was falling apart and she didn't know how to stop it.
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table, making her raise her hand to pick it up. She stole a glance at it before deciding that it was a message from Farida.
I apologize if I made you feel bad, that was not what I meant. But despite the mad belief, indeed, I did mean it.
Amara gazed at the message, her heart in her eyes. She wanted to answer, to tell Farida that she too felt the same way but the words could not just come.
However, she did not answer the call, rather she put down her phone and leaned back on the couch to look at the ceiling. She had no idea what tomorrow held but one thing was certain; she couldn't go on living such a life.
Farida had opened a door she thought was forever locked. Now, Amara had to decide if she was brave enough to walk through it.