TWENTY-NINE
Aliya
TWO YEARS AGO
Lio stands in the line at Five Guys, his hands in his pockets. Every few minutes, he glances over his shoulder at me, an apologetic smile on his face.
I fiddle with the buckle of my bracelet, my idle fingers seeking relief in the familiar design.
After what feels like an eternity, he appears, balancing the tray with our burgers on his arms. He sets it on the table and sits across from me.
“Thanks.” I reach for my juicy cheeseburger, its enticing aroma filling my nose. As I take a bite, the flavors explode in my mouth, and my growling stomach settles.
He’s dipping his fries into the mayonnaise. “So? How’s school? Everything good?”
I pause before letting my burger drop back onto the tray. “Better.”
I’ve been attending the Stoneview High for a while now.
A prestigious elite high school with a good reputation, immense academic pressure and a social dynamic I can’t quite handle. But at least I’m not being bullied or insulted as a teacher-hitting slut there.
I grab a fry, dip it in the mayonnaise as well, and toss it into my mouth.
One thing Lio and I have in common: we both don’t like ketchup.
“Glad to hear it, little one.”
Lio’s black sweatshirt hugs his muscular body, accentuating his broad shoulders. The contrast of the dark fabric against his tanned skin makes him look even more attractive. His short, messy hair falls over his forehead, just like every time he’s worn his helmet before.
He looks at me and raises an eyebrow as he notices my piercing gaze. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I answer with a casual shrug, trying to hide my embarrassment. “I was just a little spaced out.”
He grins knowingly. “Stop lying. You were checking me out.”
My cheeks flush pink and I cough, nearly choking. “No, I wasn’t!”
“You’re so obvious, kiddo. I can practically hear your inner monologue right now. ‘Oh my God, how does he look so hot in that sweatshirt ?”
“No. I prefer to swoon over younger guys. You could be my grandfather.”
He looks at me in shock and I turn to my burger, chuckling.
It’s been over a year since we met. Despite our age difference and the complexity of our friendship, we both know that our relationship is purely platonic. In my opinion, we share a bond that goes beyond mere friendship. He’s still the one person I love spending time with the most and the one I trust blindly. And he’s also the only one who makes me forget.
Suddenly my phone starts ringing on the table.
Mother.
My appetite disappears, replaced by a feeling of dread in my stomach. Reflexively, I grab my phone and turn it off before setting it aside.
I know why she’s calling me, but I don’t want to think about it.
Not now.
Lio’s intense gaze pierces through me. His sharp eyes notice the change in my behavior. He knows something’s off.
“Who was that?”
I shrug casually. “Just my mother.”
But his eyes continue to bore into me until a soft sigh escapes his lips. “Do you get along … better with her now?”
As if on cue, I tense up. Sometimes I forget that when he saved my life, I told him that I ran away from home because of a fight with my mother.
“Yeah. We’re getting along better.” Lie. “She probably just called me to ask when I’m coming home.”
Lio leans forward, resting on his elbows. “Good to hear. Family conflicts can be tough to deal with.” His expression seems distant. “But mothers always find a way to get under your skin and make your life hell, don’t they?”
And I know he’s not talking about my mother while he speaks about motherly relationships. Because on that night last year, he hinted at something similar, but quickly composed himself.
Mothers really do have a unique way of making their presence known. They demand our attention, whether we want it or not. It’s like they’re programmed to know exactly which buttons to push. At least that’s how my mother is.
Lio clears his throat before reaching for his burger again, as if he wants to end our conversation about mothers as quickly as possible.
But I can’t help but ponder his words.
Maybe our dislike of ketchup isn’t the only thing we have in common.