Chapter 7

But he never came back.

He was gone — and gone for good.

The words echoed in her mind like a curse written in her heartbeat. Days had turned to weeks, weeks to months, and then, somehow, to years. The silence he left behind became her new language — one she spoke with her soul every morning when she woke up alone.

Kira had waited for him at first. She had told herself that maybe, just maybe, Sajah would walk through that door again with his familiar calm, his voice as deep and steady as a vow. But time was cruel — and even memories had a way of turning into ghosts.

She finally understood that he wasn’t coming back.

And so, one quiet dawn, without telling anyone, she packed her things — a single suitcase, her clothes, a few keepsakes, and a broken heart — and left the city for good.

She didn’t look back.

The city had become a graveyard of everything she once was — her past, her pain, and her beloved Sajah. Every corner whispered his name; every street carried his shadow. She couldn’t breathe there anymore. So she left behind the girl who used to be Kira — the daughter, the lover, the dreamer — and became someone else entirely.

Two years passed.

Two long, silent years, and no one had heard from her. Not her father, not her stepmother, not even her closest friends. It was as though she had vanished from the surface of the earth. The name Kira had disappeared from conversations; her phone number no longer worked. Even her social pages had gone blank.

But she was alive — just far away.

On the other side of that silence, Kira had rewritten her life under a new name: Victoria Jouls.

She chose that name carefully, like someone writing a new destiny. Victoria — for victory, even when broken. Jouls — a name that meant nothing, which was exactly what she wanted: to be no one.

Her hair, once long and dark, she trimmed short and dyed a lighter shade that caught the sunlight differently. Her voice softened when she spoke, her laughter quieter, her eyes always carrying a careful calm that made her seem older than she was.

She erased everything that could trace her back to who she used to be. No one could know. Not her powerful father, whose influence stretched across cities; not her friends, who might have been forced to reveal her hiding place.

She had become a secret written in a quiet town’s air.

Life was not glamorous now, but it was peaceful. With her savings — the little she had left after running — she opened a small bakery on a narrow street corner. It wasn’t much, just a wooden counter, two shelves, and a warm oven that filled the room with the scent of sugar and butter. But it was hers.

Every morning before dawn, she would rise, tie her hair with a scarf, and start kneading dough as the world outside still slept. The rhythm of her hands pressing into the soft mixture, the hum of the oven, the smell of bread baking — it became her prayer.

It was quiet work, the kind that left her alone with her thoughts. Sometimes, as she shaped the bread rolls, she caught herself remembering the way Sajah’s hands used to hold hers — steady, firm, protective. Then she would blink hard, forcing herself to focus on the dough.

“Not today,” she would whisper. “No memories today.”

The bakery didn’t make much profit. Business was slow, painfully slow. Some days, only a few customers came in; some days, none at all. There were weeks she had to count coins carefully before buying new ingredients. But she didn’t complain. She thanked God for every small sale, for every child who smiled after tasting her pastries.

She lived simply. A rented room above her shop. A small bed. A window that opened to the market street. And a quiet routine that made her feel safe.

Yet, even with her struggles, she never stopped giving. Every month, she took a portion of her small income — no matter how little — and set it aside for the nearby orphanages.

It wasn’t just kindness. It was healing.

Each time she stepped into those orphanages, she felt something lift inside her. Watching those children laugh, watching them play and run with their carefree joy — it reminded her of a world untouched by heartbreak. Their eyes held innocence, and when they smiled up at her, she felt seen in a way that didn’t hurt.

Those were the moments she forgot Sajah. The only moments she could.

She loved to bring the children treats — little loaves of bread, candies, and chocolates she wrapped carefully with ribbons. She’d bake extra batches for them, staying up late into the night just to see their faces light up in the morning.

Still, even peace has cracks.

When night fell and she lay in her narrow bed, the quiet returned. It pressed down on her chest until her breathing trembled. That was when she allowed herself to cry. Quietly, softly, so no one would hear.

Tears slipped down her cheeks as she whispered into the darkness. She never said his name out loud, but in her heart, she called him again and again — Sajah.

He was gone, yes. But love doesn’t listen to reason.

Even after two years, she still reached out to the empty space beside her, hoping for warmth that never came.

Then one Sunday evening, everything changed.

The air that day felt different — soft, almost forgiving. The town was calm, bathed in the gentle gold of the setting sun. Birds gathered on the rooftops, singing in low, sweet tones as though blessing the evening.

Victoria — or Kira, as her heart still answered to — decided to visit a new orphanage that had recently opened behind her street. She had been meaning to go for weeks but always postponed it because of work. That evening, she felt the urge — the quiet pull of something she couldn’t explain.

She packed a small woven basket with care. Inside, she placed ripe apples and bananas, a few oranges she’d bought that morning from the market, and some of her old clothes she had folded neatly. On top of everything, she added chocolates and small wrapped sweets — gifts she knew the children would love.

As she dressed to leave, she caught her reflection in the mirror.

For a moment, she didn’t recognize herself. The woman staring back looked strong, composed, yet haunted. Her eyes carried secrets the world could never read. She smiled faintly, brushing her fingers against her cheek.

“Victoria Jouls,” she whispered. “That’s who you are now.”

But deep inside, she still heard another name echo — Kira.

She locked her bakery and stepped into the evening air. The sky stretched above her like a watercolor painting — streaks of pink and violet blending with fading sunlight. The streets were calm, the scent of roasted corn drifting from a nearby stall.

When she reached the orphanage, she could already hear laughter from inside — that familiar, comforting sound. It made her smile before she even stepped through the gate.

The children noticed her immediately.

“Aunty Victoria!” a little girl shouted, running up to her.

In seconds, they surrounded her — small hands tugging at her dress, wide eyes full of joy. She knelt down, setting her basket on the ground, laughing as the children hugged her legs and chattered all at once.

She handed out fruits first, making sure each child got something. Their tiny fingers reached eagerly, their voices rising with excitement. Then came the sweets — the moment that always made her heart swell.

One little boy hugged her tightly around the neck and whispered, “Thank you, Aunty.”

Kira’s heart ached softly. “You’re welcome, my love,” she said, her voice gentle.

For a while, she forgot her loneliness completely. She played with them, listened to their stories, and laughed until the ache inside her chest felt smaller.

It was peace. The kind she hadn’t felt in so long.

The sunset poured through the orphanage windows, painting her hair gold, softening the lines of her face. The sound of children’s laughter filled the air like music.

Her basket was almost empty now, and she stood up, ready to help the caretakers with the leftover fruits. She turned slightly—

And then she froze.

Her smile faded, her breath caught midair. Her body went still, as though time itself had paused around her.

Because at the far end of the orphanage yard, standing near the entrance, was someone she never thought she would see again.

Her heart stuttered painfully.

Her hands trembled.

The air felt heavy, every sound distant.

Her eyes widened slowly as disbelief and a thousand memories collided inside her chest.

Her lips parted, but no words came.

Until she saw her…