(The previous day — Lisa's side)
Lisa had called Ayanda, her closest friend, and, still in a foul mood, they decided to grab a bite at the Food Hub in the city center. The place served delicacies from around the country; everything on the menu looked tempting. Lisa wasn't hungry, but with Ayanda around, skipping a meal wasn't an option.
"There's nothing wrong with being angry," Ayanda teased, "but why the hunger strike? What did your stomach ever do to you?"
"I'm beyond angry," Lisa snapped, "and I doubt food will fix it. It was a mistake to come here. I need to vent, not eat."
"You should have said that earlier. If you don't want something heavy, get the best ice cream. Honestly, order a whole bucket and your anger will melt away, I swear."
"Seriously?"
Ayanda laughed. "I'm joking, don't give me that look. Or we could order a beer, and you can drown your sorrows."
"Do you have a death wish?" Lisa shot back coldly.
Ayanda touched her face and pouted. "I give up. I care about my life, and this pretty face isn't leaving the world anytime soon."
Lisa stayed silent. If Ayanda kept teasing, the visit would never end. Ayanda ordered a light dish she'd eaten earlier, and Lisa chose ice cream. Still, the spoonfuls did nothing to thaw her mood; she kept sighing after every bite.
"Your sighs are killing my concentration. You're ruining the taste of my food," Ayanda complained.
Lisa ignored her and kept scraping her bowl. Ayanda realized her friend needed to talk; otherwise, she would keep walking around like a ticking bomb.
"So when are you going to tell me what happened?" Ayanda pressed.
"Can I just sleep at your place tonight?" Lisa asked, trying to avoid the question.
"Sure, after you tell me exactly what happened." Ayanda drew a circle in the air with her finger. "The energy you're carrying is toxic. I don't want it in my house."
Lisa's face softened. "Sometimes I wonder if you really see me as a close friend. I came here for comfort, but you're making jokes, and it feels like you don't take me seriously. I wanted you to cheer me up, not add salt to the wound. I might leave before I explode."
Ayanda's expression shifted to guilt. "Sorry. I pull your leg too much, and I don't know when to stop. I should have read the room."
"As friends joke, but they should never forget respect," Lisa said quietly.
"Okay, talk. Let it out before it chokes you," Ayanda urged, touching Lisa's throat as if to reassure her.
Those words reached her. Lisa set the bowl down, leaned back, and finally began to talk about what had happened earlier and how she'd felt in the days leading up to it.
When she finished, Ayanda listened and then said gently, "Tasha needs time. You and Anne want her to heal fast, but healing happens on her timetable. You've done well to monitor and care for her, but pushing won't help."
Lisa snapped. "What? You mean I'm the problem?"
"Calm down," Ayanda soothed.
"Why is everyone telling me to calm down today? I should be calm for what? Should I be blamed for someone else who can't control herself? On top of that, she is ungrateful, and—"
"Let me finish, please. We're in public and people are staring. This isn't a movie. Look, Tasha has had a lot of trauma. You're trying to help because you care, but forcing her will only push her away."
Lisa huffed. "Her pace is slower than a tortoise. That means I'm stuck with her forever."
Ayanda set her fork down; the plate had gone cold. She pointed at Lisa and looked straight into her eyes. "Have you ever told her you wanted to leave?"
Lisa hesitated. "No."
"Why not?"
Silence.
"Don't answer now," Ayanda said. "I want you to do something this week. First, put yourself in Tasha's shoes. Then ask yourself again why you never thought of leaving. Call me when you get the answer."
They changed the subject and spent the rest of the day window-shopping and unwinding. Ayanda's suggestion had been puzzling, but it worked: by evening, Lisa was lighter, her face brighter. Time and distraction had softened the harsh edges of the day.
(Current day — Tasha's side)
The apology card was simple and white. On the cover, in messy capitals, it read: I MESSED UP, with a small heart beneath. Inside, on the left, I'M SORRY was printed in bold and underlined. Beneath a drawn, broken heart, an arrow pointed to a whole heart with the words: I want to turn this → into this. Below that was a printed message:
I wish I could change what happened, but I can't. I know I was wrong, and I'm sorry for the hurt I caused. Please give me another chance. I will try to be the friend you deserve.
On the right, where my sincerity had to live, I wrote by hand.
I'm not good with words, but that's not an excuse. I was blind to your goodwill. I overreacted and acted like a child. I shouldn't have put my hands on your neck or shoved you against the fridge. Please forgive me for being violent. I begged you to leave, but the truth is, I would be hurt if you did. You've been here for me since Anne left. You take care of me like a sister. I don't want to drag you down. If ever you feel it's time to move on, tell me. You have my blessing. But for now, please stay. Will you forgive me?
It wasn't perfect. Writing more would have turned into a mess; I wanted clarity, not excuses. I slid the card under Lisa's locked door, giving it to her in person felt impossible. I couldn't bear the thought of her refusing it, or retaliating in the small, vindictive ways she sometimes did.
My hands trembled as I typed a text to her.
My actions may be unforgivable, but please allow me to apologize. I can't express how sorry I am. May we talk when you get home? You may reply now if you want.
I hit send. The message showed Delivered. An hour passed. No reply. My stomach knotted. I waited. I paced. I forced myself to believe the worst and the best in alternating loops.
CHAPTER SIX LOADING…