Zara tried to concentrate on her algebra homework, but her mind kept drifting to the journal tucked under her bed. The scribbled words of her mother felt like a living entity, whispering secrets that she wasn't ready to hear. She twirled her pencil, staring blankly at the equation in front of her. The last line she read haunted her: "Trust is a currency I no longer afford." What had Clara meant? Was it about her dad, or something darker?
"Earth to Zara!" Mia's voice snapped her back to the present. Her best friend waved a hand in front of her face, her perfectly polished nails gleaming under the fluorescent lights of the library.
"Sorry," Zara mumbled, closing her textbook with a sigh. "Just... thinking."
Mia raised an eyebrow. "Thinking? About Jake, maybe?" she teased, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.
"What? No!" Zara's cheeks flamed as she glanced around, praying no one had overheard. "I'm just… distracted, okay?"
Mia's grin faded, replaced by concern. "You've been acting weird for weeks now. Spacing out, avoiding people. You even bailed on movie night. What's going on?"
Zara hesitated. How could she explain the creeping paranoia, the feeling that her entire world was built on lies? Instead, she forced a smile. "It's nothing, Mia. Just school stress."
Mia didn't look convinced, but before she could press further, the librarian shushed them, and Zara used the excuse to bury herself in her notes.
Flashback: Clara, 20 Years Ago
Clara's heart pounded as she clutched the envelope tighter. The abandoned warehouse loomed before her, its broken windows and rusted exterior a testament to years of neglect. She took a deep breath, steeling herself before stepping inside.
Greg was already there, leaning casually against a crate, his expression unreadable.
"You're late," he said, his voice cold.
"Traffic," Clara shot back, not bothering to hide her irritation.
Greg's lips quirked into a humorless smile. "Do you have it?"
She held up the envelope. "This is the last time, Greg. I'm done after this."
"You've said that before," he replied, his tone cutting. "But somehow, you always come back."
Clara didn't respond. She handed him the envelope, her fingers lingering for a moment before letting go. As she turned to leave, Greg's voice stopped her.
"You know this isn't going to end well for you."
Clara froze but didn't look back. "It never does," she whispered, before walking out into the night.
Present Day
By lunchtime, Zara was regretting her decision to come to school. Her paranoia from the journal had seeped into her daily life, and every whisper or sidelong glance felt like a conspiracy. She slid into her usual spot in the cafeteria, grateful for the familiar chatter of Mia and their friends.
"Hey, Zara," Jake's voice cut through her thoughts, making her jump. She looked up to see him standing there, his tray in hand and an easy smile on his face.
"Oh, hey," she said, her voice higher than usual.
Jake gestured to the empty seat beside her. "This taken?"
Mia smirked but said nothing as Zara shook her head. As Jake sat down, Zara couldn't help but notice how the cafeteria seemed to buzz a little louder. She could feel Mia's eyes on her, and she knew there would be endless teasing later.
"So, are you going to the fall dance?" Jake asked, his tone casual but his eyes hopeful.
"Uh, I'm not sure yet," Zara replied, avoiding his gaze. Her heart raced as she added, "Are you?"
"Maybe," he said with a grin. "Depends if I have a reason to go."
Mia's barely stifled giggle was the only thing that kept Zara from melting into her seat.
As Zara trudged home after a grueling day at school, a heavy silence replaced the once-familiar comfort of her father's presence. The shop's shutters were half-closed, and the warm scent of spices no longer wafted into the street. Her father had always been the heart of this place—a constant reminder of stability. Now, it was just a hollow shell of what it once was.
She stepped inside the dimly lit house, her shoulders slumping with the weight of unspoken grief. "Mom?" she called out, her voice tinged with hesitation.
In the kitchen, Clara stood with someone Zara didn't expect to see—a man with a familiar face. Too familiar. He was wiping his hands on a dish towel, laughing softly at something Clara had said.
Zara froze, her heart tightening. The image of him flashed in her mind: Greg. The same man she'd seen at that eerie meeting weeks ago. The one she'd overheard talking in hushed tones with someone in the shadows.
"Zara, you're back," Clara said, her tone light but betraying a hint of unease. "This is Greg. He... he's been helping out around the house."
Helping out? Zara's jaw clenched. Memories of the man's voice—calm, calculated—played in her head. She couldn't reconcile the person before her with the version she'd conjured in her nightmares.
"You know him?" Zara's words came out sharper than she'd intended.
Greg's eyes widened slightly, but he quickly masked his surprise. "We've... crossed paths before, I believe," he said carefully, glancing at Clara.
"Crossed paths?" Zara repeated, her voice rising. She turned to her mother. "Mom, do you even know who he is? What he's been up to?"
Clara frowned, a mixture of confusion and irritation crossing her face. "Zara, that's enough. Greg has been a great help, and I don't appreciate your tone."
Zara scoffed, stepping back. "Great help? Or a great liar?"
"Zara!" Clara's voice carried a warning, but Zara was already retreating.
The door to her room slammed shut behind her, rattling the quiet house. Zara sank onto her bed, her breath hitching. She felt betrayed—by her mother, by the world, and now, by the twisted turn her life was taking.
Her mind raced. How could Greg of all people end up here? Was this just a sick coincidence, or was it something far worse?
Outside, she could hear Clara and Greg speaking in hushed tones. Words like "give her time" and "she's still adjusting" drifted through the thin walls.
Adjusting? Zara gritted her teeth. This wasn't something she could adjust to. It wasn't just about her father—it was about everything she thought she could hold onto, slipping away piece by piece.
Her gaze shifted to her desk, where the fragments of her father's old letters lay scattered. She traced a finger over the edges of a photograph tucked into the pile. Her father had secrets, and she hadn't unraveled all of them yet.
If her mom wanted to move on, fine. But Zara wasn't done uncovering the truth. And Greg? She was certain he wasn't just some ordinary man.
If he thought he could infiltrate their lives unnoticed, he'd soon realize Zara wasn't one to let things slide