With all the courage and self-respect she had left, Ahmi pushed the door open. Her palms were slick with sweat. She scanned the room, her heart pounding as her eyes searched for two familiar faces—
The ones who once meant everything to her.
The ones who betrayed her.
Her chest clenched. Her feet felt glued to the floor. She couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
The people around them weren't strangers. She saw them at school, at events, at weekend hangouts.
And now they saw her.
That was the problem.
Right now, being seen by them didn't make things better—it made them worse.
"Shit," she muttered under her breath, hands trembling at her sides. "Get it together, Ahmi. You've come this far."
Her heart pounded against her ribcage like it was trying to break free. The walls suddenly felt tighter, the music louder, and the air thicker as she held tight on the door's handle, her mind in a swirl of decisions and regrets she'd tried several times to place at the back of her mind.
"These people don't get to ruin you twice," she told no one but herself, breathing once to calm her heart, but to no avail.
Her throat tightened, and she closed her eyes just for a moment.
She couldn't back out now—the door had already shut behind her, and she had no way out. If she decided to turn around, it would mean she'd succumbed to her fear. There was only courage left, and Ahmi knew that she'd have to choose it over and over again for the coming days.
She let go of the door's handle.
There's only forward.
There's only walking to where she's meant to be.
Her breath slowed, and finally, her legs moved.
If Moses parted the sea, she must've mirrored him, because people cleared a path for her without a word.
Ahmi turned toward the left corner of the room, where tables were lined up and laughter filled the air. Drinks flowed, arms draped over shoulders, and people leaned in, celebrating nothing but their own joy.
And there they were.
Bell and Jay.
Her best friend and her ex-boyfriend.
Sitting too close, smiling like nothing had ever happened.
A wave of nausea crashed over her. Her heart clenched so tightly it hurt. She had to fight the scream clawing its way out of her throat.
Don't cry.
They don't deserve your tears.
She clutched her chest like she could hold herself together. Then she turned away, desperate for a familiar face—anyone who could anchor her in this moment.
But there was no one.
She was alone.
Alone, and exactly where she needed to be.
This was her plan. She'd rehearsed the moment in her head; how she'd stay calm, tell them what she needed to say, then walk away.
But now, her thoughts spun.
What was the truth, really? That she'd known for weeks? That she found out on her own, before anyone could shove it in her face?
Forward.
She had to remind herself again.
There was only forward.
She took a deep breath and marched toward them, ignoring the stares and whispers.
Let them watch.
She wasn't here for them.
She was here for closure.
"Bell," she found herself saying, her voice steady—cold.
Both Bell and Jay looked up. Bell froze, her face draining of color, eyes widening like she'd just seen a ghost. Ahmi stood motionless in front of their table, expression unreadable—too calm, too quiet. The kind of calm that comes before something breaks.
Jay's jaw locked, a flicker of guilt flashing in his eyes before he looked away, as if her presence alone burned.
"You said you had something to tell me," Ahmi said, voice sharp as ice.
It wasn't a question. It was a reminder.
Bell opened her mouth, then shut it again.
Good. Whatever excuse or apology she had lined up, Ahmi didn't want to hear it.
"Can we talk somewhere else?" Bell stood quickly, grabbing the bottle beside her, and downing the rest.
"No," Ahmi answered fast. She already knew what she had to hear. She only needed confirmation. "I want to talk here." She looked around, voice rising. "I want everyone to know what you two have been doing behind my back."
Bell flinched. Jay's teeth ground together, his jaw ticking with restrained frustration. As Ahmi drew in a slow, shaky breath, steadying her nerves, she could see it in their eyes—they'd known this day would come. They just never thought it would be today. Not here. Not with a crowd watching, ready to whisper every detail like wildfire. It was the perfect setting for a public unraveling.
Let them watch, Ahmi thought bitterly. Let them see exactly how my best friend became the side chick to the guy who once swore he'd never hurt me.
"Ahmi, please…" Bell's voice cracked, tears forming.
But Ahmi felt nothing. She'd already cried for three months straight.
She was empty now.
Numb.
"How long?" she demanded.
"We never—" Jay cut in, already defensive. "We were broken up, Ahmi. Whoever I go out with now? That's none of your business."
Ahmi let out a humorless laugh. "Is that so? So, I meant nothing to you, huh? You just needed to screw someone else because I wouldn't 'give it up' to you?"
Jay froze.
And the worst part of it all?
Ahmi didn't need him to say a word—his silence screamed the truth.
It hit her like a slap to the face. This wasn't just betrayal. It wasn't some drunken mistake or a moment of weakness. It was calculated. Chosen.
Bell had always been there—lurking in the background, clinging to what wasn't hers. Waiting.
And Jay?
He let her.
He gave in, knowing exactly what it would cost.
Ahmi's stomach twisted. They hadn't just broken her trust. They had shattered it—together.
The sex must've been good enough to make him forget every reason he was with Ahmi in the first place.
"What? Why am I not hearing any of your answers?" Ahmi's voice rose, a slight laugh coming out from her dry throat. "Isn't that what happened?"
The music pounded through the club, but her voice cut through it. Her ears rang. Her chest ached. Her body trembled—everything apparently hurt.
"Did you ever care about me, Jay? Did you mean anything you've ever said to me?"
This time, her voice broke—and she hated it. Hated how weak she sounded. But it was the truth, and it needed to be said.
Jay stood up. "We're done talking."
And Bell—Bell had the nerve to smirk.
They were happy now.
And there was nothing Ahmi could do to ruin that.
Not anymore.
Jay turned his back, and Bell followed. She looked back once, her face painted in pity, but her eyes were smug.
"I'm sorry," she mouthed.
Then she turned away—like Ahmi had never existed.
Ahmi's lips trembled. Her vision blurred.
She tilted her head up to hold the tears back, and then—
She saw it.
A flickering light.
Small. Bright. Hovering above her like a ghost.
She blinked.
What the hell?
Before she could move, the club shook violently.
People screamed. The floor rumbled beneath her. The ceiling cracked, and debris fell like rain.
Everyone ran—Bell and Jay included—shoving others to get out. Everyone was desperate to save themselves from the doom that was about to befall this place.
Ahmi stood frozen. The throbbing in her head was so violent, she couldn't tell if it was the club shaking—or just her.
A strange, primal drumming pounded inside her skull, loud and erratic, like war drums calling from somewhere deep within. Her vision blurred. Her knees gave way, buckling under the weight of it all—fear, pain, betrayal.
The world around her spun, collapsing into noise and chaos. Her vision dimmed. The light she saw earlier was gone.
The drumming grew louder, like an invisible storm was crashing in her ears.
And then—
She heard a scream. Her own.
The club exploded into flames.
And chaos swallowed everything.