CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Saturday Tradition.”
By Wednesday, Zara had convinced herself the strange black SUV meant nothing.
New York was full of people watching other people.
Business meetings.
Private drivers.
Security teams.
She wasn't important enough for anyone to be following.
At least, that's what she kept telling herself.
Life at Bellamy & Co. had become a rhythm she was beginning to enjoy.
Morning meetings.
Vendor calls.
Venue visits.
Late lunches.
Long evenings.
She was learning the city one borough at a time.
She was learning herself, too.
She no longer hesitated before speaking in meetings.
She trusted her instincts.
She laughed more.
Naomi noticed.
"So," Naomi said one afternoon as they packed gift bags for an upcoming gala.
"When are you admitting you like him?"
Zara didn't even look up.
"I don't."
Naomi dropped a ribbon onto the table dramatically.
"You are exhausting."
"I've known him a month."
"So?"
"So normal people don't fall in love after a month."
"I didn't say love."
Zara paused.
Naomi smiled triumphantly.
"I said like."
Zara sighed.
"I think he's..."
She searched for the word.
"...different."
Naomi nodded.
"Now we're getting somewhere."
That Friday evening, Zara's phone buzzed while she was leaving work.
Malik: You busy tomorrow morning?
She frowned before replying.
Zara: Depends why.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Malik: Every Saturday I help coach basketball at the community centre.
Another message followed.
Malik: The kids have been asking if the lady with the orange juice is coming back.
Zara laughed out loud.
A few people walking past turned to look at her.
She ignored them.
Zara: You're never letting that go, are you?
Malik: Absolutely not.
She stared at the screen for a moment.
Then typed:
Zara: What time?
Saturday arrived bright and unusually warm.
When Zara walked into the community centre just before ten, the sound hit her first.
Basketballs bouncing.
Children shouting.
Music playing from a portable speaker.
Laughter.
It felt alive.
Before she could even take off her jacket, a little girl with colourful beads in her hair ran towards her.
"Orange juice lady!"
Zara burst into laughter.
"Oh no."
The little girl grabbed her hand.
"Coach Malik said you might come."
"He did?"
She nodded enthusiastically.
"You coming to watch us play?"
"I think so."
The girl smiled proudly.
"I'm Destiny."
"I'm Zara."
"I know."
Before Zara could ask how, Destiny had already pulled her towards the basketball court.
Malik stood at centre court blowing a whistle.
"Alright!"
His voice echoed through the gym.
"If you're talking..."
"...you're running."
Groans filled the room.
One teenage boy laughed.
"Coach, that's not fair."
Malik folded his arms.
"Life isn't fair either."
The boys exchanged exaggerated sighs before jogging another lap around the court.
Zara leaned against the wall watching.
He was completely different here.
Confident.
Patient.
Encouraging.
Firm when he needed to be.
Every child listened when he spoke.
Every child smiled when he praised them.
"You came."
She looked up.
Malik had walked over without her noticing.
"You invited me."
"I wasn't sure you'd say yes."
"I'm surprising myself lately."
He smiled.
"I noticed."
Practice lasted nearly two hours.
By the end, Zara had helped hand out drinks, tied shoelaces, settled one argument about travelling, and somehow become referee for a free-throw competition.
She'd never had so much fun doing so little.
As the children left with their parents, Destiny ran back over.
"Coach!"
Malik crouched to her height.
"What's up?"
She looked between him and Zara.
"You two should get married."
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Destiny looked confused.
"What?"
Malik rubbed a hand across his beard to hide a smile.
"I think we've skipped a few steps."
"What steps?"
"Being friends."
Destiny frowned.
"I thought you already were."
"So did I," Zara muttered.
Destiny shrugged dramatically.
"Grown-ups make everything difficult."
She waved goodbye before running towards her mother.
The moment she disappeared, Zara covered her face.
"I am never coming back."
Malik laughed so hard he had to lean against the wall.
"You've got to admit..."
"I absolutely do not."
"...that was funny."
"It was traumatic."
"It'll make a great story one day."
She shook her head.
"You're enjoying this far too much."
"I really am."
After everyone had gone home, Malik locked the gym doors.
"You hungry?"
Zara looked at him suspiciously.
"This isn't another date, is it?"
"I thought we'd established the last one wasn't a date."
She smiled despite herself.
"You still haven't admitted it was."
"I'll keep trying."
They walked a few blocks to a small Caribbean café.
Unlike the expensive restaurants he'd taken her to before, this place was simple.
Plastic menus.
Bright yellow walls.
Music playing softly in the background.
The owner smiled the moment Malik walked in.
"My favourite customer."
"You say that to everyone."
"No," the owner replied.
"Only the ones who pay."
Zara laughed.
They ordered jerk chicken, rice and peas, fried plantain and homemade ginger beer.
Halfway through lunch, Zara asked quietly,
"Can I ask you something?"
"You usually do."
"Why do you spend every Saturday there?"
Malik became thoughtful.
"When I was fifteen..."
He looked down at his hands.
"...there was a coach who refused to give up on me."
Zara listened without interrupting.
"I stopped going after a while."
"Why?"
"I thought the streets offered more."
His jaw tightened.
"I was wrong."
Silence settled between them.
"I can't change what happened to fifteen-year-old Malik."
He met her eyes.
"But maybe I can make sure another kid gets a different ending."
Zara felt her chest tighten.
No rehearsed speech.
No attempt to impress her.
Just honesty.
Again.
She realised something then.
The rumours she'd heard about Malik had all been about who he'd once been.
Every conversation she'd had with him had been about who he was choosing to become.
There was a difference.
A very important one.
After lunch, they wandered slowly through Prospect Park.
Children rode bicycles along the paths.
Couples picnicked beneath old oak trees.
A violinist played near the lake.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Eventually Malik broke the silence.
"You've stopped looking over your shoulder."
"What?"
"When I first met you..."
"...you looked like you were waiting for bad news."
He smiled gently.
"You don't do that as much anymore."
Zara hadn't even realised.
Maybe he was right.
Maybe New York was changing her.
Or maybe...
Someone in New York was.
She looked at Malik walking beside her.
He wasn't trying to impress her.
He wasn't trying to fix her.
He was simply... there.
Steady.
Present.
Safe.
For the first time, Zara allowed herself to imagine what it might feel like to let someone into the life she'd worked so hard to rebuild.
The thought scared her.
But it didn't scare her enough to walk away.
As they reached the park exit, Malik held the gate open for her.
"So..."
She looked at him.
He smiled.
"Would it be too optimistic to ask whether next Saturday you'll come back?"
Zara pretended to think about it.
"I suppose the kids might miss the orange juice lady."
"They definitely would."
She laughed.
"I'll be here."
Malik nodded once.
"I was hoping you'd say that."
Neither of them noticed the dark sedan parked across the street.
Or the man inside, watching quietly as they walked in opposite directions.
He made a phone call.
"They're getting closer," he said.
A pause.
Then he added,
"Just like you said they would."
The call ended.
The sedan pulled away without either Zara or Malik ever seeing it.
Some ghosts didn't announce themselves.
They simply waited for the right moment.