Chapter four

Amaya kicked off her sneakers at the front door, her entire body aching from the weight of the day. College had drained her, mentally and emotionally. Her phone sat heavy in her pocket, not from its physical weight but from the silence she couldn’t escape. Still no reply. No message. Not even a damn “seen.” He just disappeared.

She sighed deeply and pushed open the door to the kitchen. The scent of garlic and butter clung to the air like a warm blanket.

“Amaya?” her mum’s voice called. “You’re back?”

“Yeah, just got in,” she muttered, dragging her feet toward the stairs.

“I made pasta, your favorite,” her mum added from the kitchen.

Amaya paused, her stomach reminding her she hadn’t eaten all day. She turned, trudged up the stairs to her room, and peeled off her jeans and hoodie, replacing them with a tank top and shorts. Her fingers hovered over her phone before she stuffed it into her back pocket and headed back downstairs.

The pasta was still hot. Creamy, cheesy, and probably made with more love than she felt she deserved right now.

Her mum watched her from the kitchen counter, arms crossed, a knowing look in her eyes. “You’ve been checking that phone every five seconds since you walked in.”

Amaya froze with a fork halfway to her mouth. “It’s nothing,” she lied quickly. “Group chat. Zara’s being annoying.”

Her mum raised a brow. “Mm-hmm.”

Amaya forced a small laugh and stuffed a forkful of pasta into her mouth to end the conversation.

But of course, her mum wasn’t done.

“So… I wanted to tell you something important,” she said gently, wiping her hands on a towel.

Amaya glanced up with little interest. “Okay?”

“I’m getting married again.”

The words didn’t register for a second. Amaya blinked. “Wait. What?”

Her mum smiled, a soft, almost shy smile. “Yeah. I’ve been seeing someone for a while now. We’re getting married next month.”

“Seriously?” Amaya put her fork down, barely able to process the bombshell.

Her mum laughed softly. “What, you think I’m too old to get married?”

“No, it’s not that,” Amaya said quickly. “I just… didn’t know you were even seeing anyone.”

“I wanted to be sure it was serious before telling you,” her mum said. “He’s a good man. His name’s Richard. Works in real estate.”

Amaya stared blankly, not quite knowing what to say. Marriage? After all these years of it being just the two of them?

“Oh, and he has a son too,” her mum added.

Amaya groaned. “A son?”

“Yes, so you’ll have a stepbrother.”

“I never asked for a sibling,” she muttered, stabbing at her pasta. “I was fine being an only child.”

Her mum chuckled and ruffled her hair gently. “You’ll get used to it. He’s a few years older than you. A university student too. I’m sure you’ll get along.”

“I doubt that.”

Her mum rolled her eyes but said nothing else. Amaya picked at the rest of her food, her appetite now a distant memory. She hated how her heart still clung to her phone. How she kept flicking her screen on, hoping, wishing—

Still nothing.

Later that night, she lay on her bed, the silence in the room mocking her. The soft glow of her phone illuminated her face. Her fingers trembled as she opened her messages—not the new ones, the old ones. The conversations that made her feel alive, seen, wanted.

Him: If I had you right now, I’d make you forget your name.

Her cheeks flushed as she read his words again, biting her lip. There were voice notes, teasing ones, sultry ones. And there were hers too—little moans, breathy messages she had recorded when no one was home. Every word was intimacy wrapped in secrecy.

She scrolled up to their first flirtation. How innocent it started. Then came the nicknames. The fantasies. The slow descent into obsession.

She closed her eyes, letting the tension swirl low in her belly. One hand holding the phone, the other slowly sliding down the front of her shorts.

“I miss you,” she whispered into the darkness.

Her body responded to the memories. Her thighs pressed together. Her breath hitched. She imagined him whispering into her ear again. Telling her what he’d do to her if they weren’t separated by screens.

She moved slowly, eyes half-lidded, her body starved for the comfort only he had been giving her these past months.

But her phone remained painfully silent. And that silence burned louder than her desire.