Chapter 10

Faye

I woke to the soft light of morning filtering through the curtains, stretching across the room like a lazy cat. I blinked a few times, disoriented, before realizing I'd fallen asleep on the couch again. My Kindle was still clutched in my hand, the page left open to Elizabeth Bishop's One Art—a poem I couldn't seem to put down.

I shifted slightly, feeling the familiar ache in my shoulders, the kind you get when you've spent too long in one position. With a soft groan, I stretched, the muscles in my back protesting.

After a few moments of adjusting to the day, I finally pushed myself up, yawning. Sunday had always been my housekeeping day, a time to clear my space—physically and mentally.

I wandered to the bathroom to freshen up, already mentally planning my grocery run. The supermarket was calling, and I couldn't put off the errands any longer. It would be another busy day, but at least it would feel productive.

Opening my closet, scanning for something comfortable yet effortless. The morning was still cool, so I opted for a simple oversized black sweater—its softness a reminder of lazy days. Paired with it, I chose black shorts that hit just above the knee, easy to move in.

I quickly ran my fingers through my hair, which was a little tousled from a restless sleep on the couch. I decided to leave it loose, letting the natural waves fall casually around my shoulders. It wasn't perfect, but it had that effortless look—just the way I liked it for a laid-back Sunday morning.

The casual look was topped off with my favorite pair of sunglasses, adding a touch of cool. For footwear, I slid into a pair of black slip-ons with quirky yellow accents, just enough detail to break up the monochrome. As I stepped out into the bustling streets. The sun was starting to climb, and I was ready for a quick, productive trip to the supermarket.

The 10-minute walk to the supermarket was the perfect way to clear my head and squeeze in some exercise. For someone like me—who could easily get lost in a book all day—it was a refreshing change of pace.

As I walked in, I grabbed a trolley, muttering to myself, "Alright, Faye, you've got this." I pulled out my phone, checked my grocery list, and set off down the aisles.

As I picked out ingredients, I began mentally mapping out the meals I planned to cook for the week. But despite my focus, a thought kept lingering at the back of my mind. What does Yoko like to eat?

I paused, momentarily distracted. The idea of inviting her over for dinner popped into my head. After all, we were practically neighbours, and it felt like a reasonable excuse and opportunity to spend more time together.

I quickly dismissed the thought, though, refocusing on the task at hand. But I couldn't help wondering—what would it be like to have her at my table, to share a meal and maybe a conversation beyond our usual exchanges?

Shaking off the lingering thoughts, I grabbed the last few items I needed before heading to the checkout counter.

With my haul in tow, I stepped back into the street, excited about what I was about to create. A Beef Wellington, no less—a dish fit for a masterclass.

It felt like the perfect way to end the weekend, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I couldn't quite shake the idea of inviting someone over to share it with.

As I turned the corner, I spotted a familiar figure standing just ahead—Yoko.

She was with someone else, a girl who appeared about the same age. Her face wasn't familiar to me, not someone I'd seen in class before, so I assumed she must be a friend of Yoko's.

I stopped in my tracks, the urge to walk over and seize the moment heavy on me, but instead, I stayed rooted where I was.

I watched them from a distance, feeling an unexpected twinge in my chest. They were talking, engaged in a conversation that I couldn't quite hear, but the way the new girl looked at Yoko told me everything I needed to know.

There was something in her gaze, something more than friendly—a kind of interest that I couldn't ignore. The way she laughed at something Yoko said, the way she seemed so drawn to her... It was hard to look away.

I shifted my focus, watching as the tone of their conversation changed, from lighthearted to something more serious. Yoko's face became unreadable, distant, and the other girl reached out, taking her hand in a way that seemed pleading, like she was asking for something. My breath caught in my throat.

Then, it happened.

The girl said something, and Yoko gave a small nod, barely noticeable. I saw her lean in, their faces coming closer and closer, until—they kissed.

My heart stopped. Something inside me shattered, the reality of the moment crashing over me like a tidal wave. The scene before me, so simple yet so devastating, unfolded across the street, leaving me powerless.

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I felt everything inside me twist and break at once.

She's in love with someone else?

All the words from the poem she'd written, everything I had imagined, every hopeful thought about us despite the complicated status... It had all been for nothing. That poem... was about her.

The world seemed to blur around me as a wave of confusion and heartbreak overwhelmed me. I pressed my hand to my chest, as if trying to stop the ache that was building inside, but it only intensified. My thoughts were spiraling, wild and uncontrollable, and I struggled to steady myself.

I stumbled back, retreating to the corner where I had just walked from, trying to steady my breath. My heart was racing, the weight of the moment suffocating me. I needed to clear my head. I needed to breathe.

Minutes passed, though it felt like hours. When I finally dared to peek back across the street, they were gone. There was no sign of either of them. A wave of relief washed over me, but it didn't last long. I stood there for a while longer, unsure of what to do or how to feel.

As I continued walking back home, the excitement of cooking dinner, of making my Beef Wellington, seemed like a distant memory. I didn't care anymore. The thought of eating, of anything, didn't matter. Not even the ice cream I had bought to comfort myself. It felt pointless now.

The possibility of our love was like the ice cream I had just bought—melting away before I could even enjoy it. The excitement, the thrill, the fleeting moments we shared—intimate, unspoken, full of hope—slipped through my fingers, fading before it could ever fully bloom.

Returning home, I dropped my groceries half-heartedly, collapsing onto the couch. I found myself re-reading the poem Yoko wrote—the one about the ivory tower and the princess—and suddenly, everything became painfully clear.

It was never about me.

How had I missed it? The first few times I read it, I had been so wrapped up in myself, convinced the poem was for me. My negative thoughts rushed in like tidal waves, pulling me deeper, further into an ocean of doubt until I was suffocating.

I'd let myself hope, foolishly believing that if I fought for it, maybe—just maybe—fate would grant me the one thing I truly wanted: her love reciprocated.

But like Aldous Huxley wrote in Brave New World, happiness is never grand. And as Thomas Hardy so masterfully illustrates in Tess of the d'Urbervilles, some fates are simply doomed to tragedy.

If I was Tess, then perhaps I was destined to suffer too—denied the happiness I longed for, trapped in a love I couldn't seem to reach, stuck in the web of this complicated relationship with Yoko.

Upset and drowning in my thoughts, my fingers hovered over Engfa's contact. I hesitated, wondering if I should call her. But I had no one else to turn to, and I knew I needed to sort through these feelings before the new week of school began. She was the only one who could anchor me right now.

I hit call, and after two rings, Engfa's cheerful voice filled the line—its brightness a stark contrast to the storm swirling inside me.

"Engfa..." I whispered, clutching a cushion to my chest, trying to hold in the sadness.

"What's wrong, Faye?" Her voice softened, concern replacing her usual cheer as she recognised my distress. I didn't often sound like this.

"I'm... I'm really upset," I admitted, the words coming out raw and vulnerable, far more exposed than I'd ever intended.

"I'm coming over now. Wait for me," she said quickly, her voice firm with resolve before she ended the call.

In that moment, I knew—my only close friend, the one I considered my family, was coming to save me from this ocean of emotions.

"What happened?" Engfa asked, her concern deepening as she stepped into my house. I didn't answer, only walked back to the couch in silence, wrapping a shawl around my shoulders as if it could shield me from everything I was feeling.

She sat beside me, crossing her legs, her eyes scanning my face as I stared blankly ahead, unable to gather the right words. Engfa didn't rush or press me—she simply waited, giving me the space I needed to open up.

Finally, I whispered, "She... kissed another girl."

My words, barely audible, took Engfa by surprise. "What do you mean? The student... the one you like?"

She knew from the last time we hung out that I had feelings for Yoko, but, ever the kind friend, she hadn't brought it up again. I nodded slowly, turning to face her, my red-rimmed eyes betraying the tears I'd been holding back. A sniffle escaped me before I could stop it.

"Oh, Faye... what happened?" she asked gently, her voice full of worry.

I told her everything I'd seen, recounting each detail as if confessing to a prosecutor, leaving nothing out.

"Don't you want to know the truth?" Engfa asked once I finished. "Maybe there's been a misunderstanding."

I shook my head, my mind resolute. "No. What I saw was clear."

"Then... are you just going to push her away?" she asked, her voice soft but probing, seeking the next step in my turmoil.

I shrugged, the weight of my emotions pressing heavily on me. "I don't know... I just feel so jealous, so heartbroken." I met her gaze. "I'm really a hopeless romantic, aren't I?"

"If only... it was me," I muttered, my voice almost breaking.

Engfa's warm hand found mine, offering comfort and a steadying force. "Hey, don't say that. It could just be a fling, you know? Something that's common for their age."

"Maybe," I conceded, my heart wavering slightly at her words, her reassurance easing the tension.

"Don't overthink it," she urged. "It might just be a fling. Don't push her away."

Her words were soft but firm, creating a small opening in my heart. But the logic in me soon took over, shutting it down.

"There's no future for us," I said, steadying my breath, preparing to state the reasons I'd clung to for the past week. Each reason held me back, a reminder that I could never overstep my boundaries as her teacher. "She's a student. I'm her teacher. It's wrong... complicated."

But Engfa tugged my hand gently, bringing me back to the moment, her eyes intense and unwavering as she spoke.

"You always say, if you ever wanted love, you wanted it to be like your favourite novel, Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronté. You're not an angel; you're a human being with an independent will," she said, her voice firm, like the pull of an anchor.

Her words hit me like a tidal wave, grounding me. "You want to love freely, proudly, like a free human being, don't you? Even if you're in love with her, you'll love all of her—even her sadness—just like in Doctor Zhivago by Boris Pasternak, right?"

Her words, heavy with the weight of my favourite books, felt like the turning pages of my own story. It was true. I wanted that. If I could even begin to fulfil that dream, maybe there was a chance for me to love openly, without fear, without boundaries.

"Then let go, Faye—let go of all the logical reasons that keep you trapped in overthinking. This old habit needs to die once and for all. Get it off your chest, tell her the truth that's been buried deep inside you." Her words were like a final shot, striking at my heart, weakening it, making it waver.

If my logical reasons had been a shield forged from titanium, Engfa's words were bullets made of tungsten—powerful enough to pierce through and shatter it entirely.

I shook my head, repeating what I'd said before, as if saying it again would somehow make it true. "It's complicated..."

Engfa's final piece of advice came, calm but firm. "It's not as complicated as you think. Ask, and you'll be given the answer. Seek the truth, and it will guide you to the next step. Whatever the outcome, I'll always be here to catch you if you fall, my hopeless romantic friend."

She stayed with me for the rest of the afternoon, trying to engage me in all sorts of topics to lift my spirits. Though there was no sudden miracle that made me feel like myself again, those hours at least gave me a reprieve from thinking about Yoko or recalling what had happened earlier that morning.

Her presence helped me regain some composure, slowly pulling me out of the deep sea of overthinking. Little by little, my thoughts began to settle, and I felt more grounded.

"I'll be in town next week. I'll drop by to visit you, alright?" she said, standing by the doorway.

I nodded, offering her a soft smile, silently reassuring her that I'd be okay.

"Thank you... for coming. You've been the only anchor I have in my life, Engfa," I whispered, my voice filled with gratitude.

She froze, as if I'd shocked her, and then pretended to stagger, making me laugh. "That's so cringey, Faye. Please, never say that to me again."

"Fine, I won't," I replied, my voice returning to its usual tone. "Go on now. Be safe on the road."

"I will. See you! And remember—text me anytime," she said, as she headed for her Uber, which sped off into the distance.

I turned back toward the empty house, feeling a little lighter. I wandered into the kitchen, picked out a few ingredients, and started preparing a simple dinner for myself.

The evening passed in a blur. I lost myself in grading and preparing lessons for the week ahead. By the time I glanced at the clock, it was already nearly 11 pm. I quickly finished my work and retreated to my room, ready to prepare for bed.

Slipping under the covers, the warmth enveloped me as I searched for a comfortable position to sleep. I checked my phone for missed notifications—one from Engfa, letting me know she'd made it home safely, and another from Yoko.

I hesitated, my finger hovering over the message, unsure whether I should open it. But in the end, my heart gave in.

Yoko

Faye! I have finished the poem! Want to read it? 🤩

Yoko

I hope I'm not interrupting your personal time, but I couldn't wait til Friday – I just had to share it with you now!

My heart sank slightly, a quiet ache settling in as I wondered if that poem was never really meant for me. The excitement I felt yesterday felt distant now, replaced by a creeping doubt.

I quickly typed a cold, detached reply, one that lacked any of the enthusiasm I once had.

Faye

Sure.

Within minutes, her message arrived, a cascade of words broken into beautiful stanzas—it was still about the princess and the ivory tower.

I lingered on the final sentence, reading it over and over, whispering the words aloud.

"She, imprisoned in her own palace—And I, the willing prisoner of this love.Of her."

As I finished repeating the last line for the third time, another message came in.

Yoko

What'd you think? Do you like it?

I knew it all too well—just a trick, a way to draw my professional feedback so she could improve it, perhaps with the hope it might one day be shared with someone else.

Guarding my heart, I shook my head and chose to ignore her message. I turned my phone face down and shifted to the other side, letting sleep take over as I hoped the coming week would pass quietly, without incident.