It had been two months of peace.
Two months where Fatima let herself believe Darren had changed. Two months where the weight of lies, betrayal, and heartbreak had finally eased, just enough for her to breathe.
They were on the couch that Sunday night, wrapped in a blanket, watching a movie on lazy autopilot. The semester holidays were about to start, and Darren would be heading back to Limpopo the next morning. It was the last night of comfort before weeks of distance stretched ahead.
For once, everything felt simple.
Then the phone rang.
Darren tensed immediately, his hand hovering over the device. His body stiffened in a way Fatima had learned to notice over the months—the subtle shift that said something's wrong.
"Who is it?" she asked casually.
He shook his head, avoiding the screen. "Probably my friends," he lied. "I don't know… the number isn't saved."
Fatima nodded. It was peaceful. She didn't press it. Not tonight. Not when they were finally quiet, finally content.
After the movie ended, Darren yawned and stumbled to bed. He was heavy with the lingering effects of weed, and sleep claimed him almost immediately.
Fatima stayed awake a little longer, scrolling quietly on her phone, savoring the calm.
Then the call came again.
Darren didn't stir. By now, the ringing faded into background noise. Fatima reached over, picked up the phone, and her fingers froze as she read the name on the screen.
It was Tanica.
Her heart stopped.
Fatima didn't answer immediately. Her mind raced. The same girl. The girl Darren had promised he had ended things with. The girl she had believed no longer existed in his life.
"Hello?" Fatima said cautiously, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Baby! I've been trying to call you! Where have you been?" Tanica's voice was sharp, demanding, and dripping with familiarity.
Fatima stayed silent.
"Baby, answer! You! Tanica! Can't you hear it's me? Stop playing games!"
That's how Fatima knew.
She didn't need further confirmation. The voice. The tone. The words. The way she spoke to Darren like she had every right to, like she belonged in his world.
Shock rooted Fatima to the spot. Her hand trembled as the phone slipped slightly in her grasp. The calm, fragile peace of the last two months shattered in an instant.
She wanted to throw the phone. She wanted to scream. She wanted to wake Darren and demand answers.
But the only thing she could do was stand there, frozen, staring at the name on the screen.
And in that moment, the truth came back to her like a tide she hadn't expected—he had not changed.