Chapter 13
Tshabina
Past
“Don’t you ever get bored listening to that?” Zioh asked me.
I looked up from the sheets he had been explaining, staring at him in disbelief.
He was seated across from me, eyes fixed, waiting for my reply.
Bored? At One Direction?! Please don’t tell me Zeraiah’s cloned himself.
“Is there even such a thing as a boring One Direction song?” I shot back, scowling.
Zioh smiled, ruffling my hair, mischief glowing in his face, ugh. “If Zeraiah hears you play this again, we’re in for another episode.” He brushed his fingers against my cheek.
We were in the Danudara family room at Zioh and Zeraiah’s home. The plan was to study, hopefully, before Zeraiah turned this place into an amusement park again. He and Tsabinu had gone out for snacks thirty minutes ago, and God knows what spontaneous scheme had delayed them.
Huffing, I turned back to my homework. “Tsk. Why is it so hard to make Zeraiah into a Directioner?” This was our endless war. Wherever and whenever we fought over whose playlist would win: my full One Direction album or his endless rock bands.
Zioh gave me a quiet laugh, leaning over my sheets. “That star boy loves his rock, Sophie, let him be,” he murmured, as if reminding me.
Oh, I knew. Everyone knew.
But this was about pride. Defence.
“Tsk.” I rolled my eyes. “Zeraiah is boring,” I muttered, chewing the steak Zioh had made for me earlier.
Grinning, Zioh leaned closer. “Don’t let him hear you say that,” he whispered, his eyes mischievous.
Right. Because if Zeraiah did, it would be a war.
Chewing slowly, I caught Zioh watching me again. “If you don’t like it, don’t force it.” He gestured toward the table. “Aunt Enda made dim sum.”
“I like it. Really. I’ve started liking all things UK, you know?” I mumbled through a full mouth. I didn’t hate it, but I wasn’t a fan either. Years ago, I’d seen Zioh eat still bloody-red steak, which made me curious. I tried. And yes, I vomited.
Since then, he had always made mine perfectly cooked. Even Tsabinu was baffled, since I had never ordered steak in restaurants. But when Zioh cooked it, well, it wasn’t bad. Still, without chillies, it felt incomplete.
I looked at him again. “Besides, I have to practise.” I shrugged, warmth slowly rising to my cheeks. “Hm… if one day I ever went to the UK with you, I wouldn’t be homesick for Mum’s cooking. I mean, if the chance ever—”
“Hey.” He cut me off, his gaze locking with mine, voice soft.
“Not if, but certain. Because I’ll take you there, and we’ll do whatever you want.
” He smiled, warmth softening his eyes. “Start making a list, write everything you want to do in the UK, and we will do it together.” His words were calm, but resolute. My cheeks burned, and I nodded.
A tender smile touched his lips, and I cleared my throat to hide my nerves. “Can we… eat steak with chillies, then?” I asked.
I really asked, though.
He stared for a moment, searching my eyes. When he realised I meant it, his mouth fell open. “Baby… seriously?”
Baby…
My heart thumped hard. He sometimes called me that, but what did it mean?
I stabbed another bite, chewing. “I like spicy,” I shrugged, feigning indifference.
Zioh laughed, fond and calm. “You’re still a baby, Sophie,” he teased, stroking my cheek. Come on, I was fourteen. He continued, “Babies aren’t allowed spicy food, baby.” His mischievous laugh followed.
Babies? Ah. So that was the meaning.
Still, I pouted. “I’m fourteen—”
Both of us turned toward the entryway. A racket split into the room. Zeraiah and Tsabinu were back, and Tsabinu’s arms sagged beneath bags of snacks, shaking his head at me in weary defeat.
But Zeraiah bounded in, brimming with energy and lugging a giant board. He dumped all my books and papers from the table and replaced them with a brand-new Monopoly set. Zioh and I both frowned. “Zer—”
“Okay, nerds. Let’s have a real life here, yes?”
Zioh retrieved a fallen book, snarling. “Zeraiah.”
His brother ignored him, staring at Tsabinu, who dropped the snack bags, then at me. Zeraiah spread the board wide. “The winner buys ice cream at the park for a week. And…” He smirked, eyes narrowing at me. “If I win, the playlist in the car and at home is mine. For two full weeks.”
“Hey—”
My protest died as he grabbed the remote and switched my One Direction to blaring “Old Time Rock the same slutty—”
The line cut. Andi had ended the call.
Tears streamed down my cheeks, soaking my clothes. Those words, the one thing I tried so hard to erase.
I knew this would happen. The moment the rumors and scandal latched onto me, I knew my mom would get dragged down to—maybe because I’d always carried her with me. I’m sorry, Mom…
My mom, her name dragged through filth, even in death.
“A Courtesan.”
“Whore.”
“Slut.”
I remembered the first time I heard someone call her those.
But it was my mom who taught me to be patient and not to respond to others’ baseless words.
For some reason, ever since she died, my hatred for those words had grown, knowing the fact that my mom died still carrying that label, not as the talented traditional dancer she was.
I cried and sobbed. I didn’t even know if anyone else could see how pathetic I looked, because I knew I looked so pitiful. Bad things always happened to me, as if the universe hated me.
As if it hated me so much, it often brought all my fears and the things that hurt me most into reality.
As if I were living in karma.
I wished for heavy rain right now so the loud noise outside could drown out my sobs.
But a moment later, a loud melody broke through my crying, masking my sobs.
My pathetic wails were instantly drowned out as a song from my old favorite band, “Strong” by One Direction, filled the room and blended with my sobs.