The days following were blurry for Amara. Farida's confession had unraveled the threads holding her carefully constructed world together, and now she felt adrift, caught between the life she had chosen and the one she secretly longed for. It was a storm in her head, reliving every moment with Farida in such sharp detail that each word seemed to pierce more than the last.
It was a quiet Saturday evening until the knock came. Amara had just settled on the couch with a book open in her lap but had read barely a word. The sound startled her, and for a moment she thought of ignoring it. But the knocking was persistent, sharp, and purposeful.
The moment she opened the door, her breath caught. Farida stood there, face set in determination but eyes betraying her vulnerability.
"Farida," Amara whispered, her voice laced with both surprise and fear.
"We need to talk," Farida said simply.
Amara hesitated before stepping aside to let her in.
The air between them crackled with the charge of unresolved conflict. Farida perched on the edge of the couch, her fingers interlaced in anxious knots. Amara faced her from across the coffee table, which had turned into an abyss between them.
"I couldn't leave things the way they were," Farida began, her voice steady but tinged with emotion. "I've spent too many years holding back, hiding what I feel. I can't do it anymore, Amara. Not with you."
Amara's chest tightened. "Farida, you don't understand what you're asking me to do."
"I'm asking you to be true to yourself," Farida said, looking intently at him. "You deserve to be happy. Can't you see that?"
Amara shook her head, her voice started to rise. "You think it's an open and shut case? You think I don't know what I feel? I do. But feelings don't make a difference that you have a husband, a life, a life which you chose."
"And does that life make you happy?" Farida asked gently, her voice piercing the gathering storm.
Amara opened her mouth to reply but couldn't speak. Her silence was answer enough.
Farida stood up all of a sudden and paced the small living room. "You know what hurts the most? It's knowing that we could have had something beautiful if you weren't so afraid."
Amara stood up, her emotions boiling over. "Afraid? You think I'm afraid? I lost everything to do what was right! Do you know the burden of everyone's expectations? To be told your feelings are wrong, that you are wrong?"
Farida turned to face her, anger and heartbreak blended on her features. "You think you're the only one who's been scared? I spent years hiding my feelings, acting like I didn't care because it was easier than watching you walk away from me."
The room fell into silence the weight of their words hanging in the air which was observed. Amara sank back on to the couch, her head laid against her hands.
Farida sat beside her, the fury of her voice turn to a silent determination. "There's something you need to know, Amara. That night, years ago, when we..." She paused, then pressed on. "When we kissed, I wasn't just going along tradition. I loved you then. I love you now. And I've spent every moment since wondering what might have been if you had chosen me."
Amara looked up, her eyes filled with tears. "Farida…"
Farida touched Amara softly, taking her hand. "You don't have to answer me now. But you need to ask yourself if the life you're living is really yours or just the one you think you're supposed to have."
In the instant of Farida's words being taken into consideration, a crack started to form inside Amara as much as she tried to convince herself otherwise. She wanted to escape, to run away from all those emotions that seemed to grow and swallow her. However, before she could speak the sound of the key turning in the lock stopped them both.
The door swung open and Daniel walked in, Daniel's face instantly breaking into a smile at the sight of her.
"Farida! What a nice surprise," he said, putting his briefcase down. "What brings you here?"
Farida recovered quickly, her demeanor shifting into polite familiarity. "I was just nearby and thought I'd come over. It's been a while."
Amara forced a smile, her heart racing at the moment Daniel kissed her cheek. He had left the imprint of his lips on her skin. Farida's gaze was unrelenting, and their earlier chat still hung in the air like a dense fog.
"Lovely," was what Daniel said as if there was no tension at all. "Let me grab a drink. You two catch up for a moment."
As Daniel slipped into the kitchen, Farida looked at Amara with an unreadable expression. "I should be going," she said quietly, standing up.
Amara wanted to put a halt on what she was doing, say something that could possibly reduce the pain in her chest but the words just couldn't come.
By later that night, after Daniel had gone to bed, Amara was left alone in the living room dimly lit. She mulled over and over the words of Farida in her mind, let them be silent. This is what she learned as she sat there, it was impossible for her to go on living this way torn between two lives and two truths.
Her phone buzzed with a message from Farida.
Farida: My words were sincere. So, whenever you need me, I will always be there.
Amara read the message slowly, and her heart felt that way. For the first time, she was brave to let her thoughts wander into a future with Farida, a future where she did not have to pretend and could feel free finally.
But the dream was short-lived, giving way to the stark reality of all she stood to lose.
The following days Amara withdrew from Daniel. She could not bear to look at him without a painful twinge of guilt, of betrayal, not for what she had done but for what she longed to do.
One evening, Daniel confronted her with a worried tone. "Amara, what's the matter? You seem so distant these days."
Amara hesitated, her chest tightening. "I'm just tired, that's all."
Daniel studied her for a moment and then nodded. His expression was still troubled, though.
That night, lying in bed next to him while Amara tossed and turned, she realized that she couldn't keep running from the truth. Farida had awakened something in her that she couldn't ignore anymore.
She reached for her phone, trembling fingers typed out a message.
Amara: We need to talk. Tomorrow. Same café.
She sent it before she could second-guess herself. She wouldn't run this time. She would face the truth this time, no matter where it led.