Annette stood silently in the dining room, her eyes resting on the untouched tray Sophie had left behind. The warm aroma of bacon still lingered in the air, mingling with the faint scent of milk and cinnamon. She exhaled slowly, then walked over and quietly pushed the tray aside. Her appetite had long vanished-replaced by a hollow ache she couldn't name, or perhaps refused to.
She pulled open the refrigerator and reached for a half-drunk bottle of red wine, it's label peeling slightly from condensation. She retrieved a glass from the cupboard, filled it halfway, and walked off, her boots tapping softly against the wooden floor as she climbed the stairs to her room.
Inside, she shut the door behind her with a soft click and twisted the key in the lock, sealing herself away from the world. The silence wrapped around her like a shroud.
In the corner sat her old, dust-speckled portable CD player-a relic from another life. The kind that had a small circular disk tray with a dangling string you tugged to eject or play. She wiped it gently with her sleeve, placed a scratched disc inside, and waited.
A familiar tune crackled to life through the aging speaker. It was "Un-Break My Heart" by Toni Braxton-haunting and raw. The lyrics poured into the room like a bittersweet memory:
"Un-break my heart, say you'll love me again... Undo this hurt you caused when you walked out the door..."
The melody struck something deep. Annette sat on the edge of her bed, removed her boots one by one, then undressed slowly, as though every piece of clothing peeled off a layer of her defenses. She stepped into the bathroom, the cool tiles beneath her feet grounding her back into the present.
She twisted the tap, A rush of hot water splashed into the basin, steam curling like ghosts around her. Her skin prickled from the heat, but she didn't flinch. With a soft clink, she set the wine glass on the side of the tub and stepped into the water, letting it run over her shoulders like a cleansing ritual.
With every sip of wine, the ache in her chest throbbed less-but the loneliness grew louder. Her mind wandered, not to Laura's angry voice, not to Sophie's concerned eyes, but to the silence she carried within. A silence she had mastered...but never quite healed from.
As the warm water trickled down back and steam curled around her like a protective veil, Annette leaned against the tiled wall of the shower. Her eyes fluttered closed, the glass of wine untouched on the ledge. The haunting notes of Toni Braxton still drifted faintly from the old CD player in the bedroom.
And then-like a whisper carried on the water-her mind drifted. Back.
Back to that sunlit chapel hall during their first year of high school.
It was a regular Friday mass. Wooden pews polished smooth by years of quiet reverence, the scent of burning incense mingling with the distant flutter of pages as students thumbed through their hymn books. The second reading had just been called, and a girl rose from the pew-graceful, poised, as though she belonged to that moment alone.
She was wearing the school choir's white and navy robe, the fabric swaying gently with each step. Laura.
Annette remembered the name before she even truly knew her. She was brown-skinned, radiant under the colored light streaming through the stained-glass windows. Her dreadlocks were tucked neatly beneath her choir veil, but a few rebellious strands framed her delicate face. She walked up to the pulpit with quiet confidence-no hesitation, no fear. Just presence.
And when she opened her mouth to sing the Responsorial Psalm- The chapel fell still.
Her voice was clear and deep, laced with a melodic calm that sank into the skin like warm honey. She didn't just sing-she spoke to the soul. Her eyes, soft yet unwavering, scanned the congregation, and for a fleeting moment-just one-they rested on Annette.
It was only a glance. But for Annette, it felt like something shifted inside her-a gentle quake of recognition. Like she had just been seen for the very first time. Her heart skipped, then thundered, as if it had been summoned.
That entire mass, she remembered nothing else.
She couldn't recall the homily, nor the Communion song , nor even final blessing. All she remembered was that brown choir girl, her voice rising like smoke in sacred air-And how, for the first time in her young life, Annette knew.
She knew what that feeling was. Undeniably. Unmistakably. Irrevocably. She had fallen for Laura.
But with that truth came a thousand fears. How could she ever approach her? Even the thought felt dangerous -like treading on sacred ground barefoot. .The risk wasn't just rejection. It was far worse. Disgust. Hatred. Shame. The very possibility of being seen for what she was-what she felt-terrified her.
Laura wasn't just any student. She was the dining hall prefect. A choir soloist. A debate moderator. A paragon of grace and responsibility. Untouchable. Immaculate. Not someone you dared to draw near with a heart full of trembling affection.
So, she did what cowards and poets do-she built her affection in silence. But even then, her longing refused to be passive.
Annette started staying back after class, waiting until the long lines for lunch thinned out. She became "the last to eat" on purpose-just to catch a fewer words from Laura as she tidied the food counter or managed the remaining trays. She never said much. Just smiled. Just asked small questions. Just existed in Laura's line of sight, hoping it was enough.
Then came more deliberate moves.
She quietly joined the debate club, not as a speaker but as an observer. It gave her an observer. It gave her an excuse to watch Laura articulate her points with effortless elegance, her voice always composed, her posture commanding yet never harsh. She pretended to be interested in every topic-tax policies, climate change, the constitution-just to see her raise her hand and speak.
She became a regular at non-compulsory mass, volunteering for roles no one wanted: candle bearer, scripture stand attendant, pew cleaner. Anything to sit closer to the altar, to the choir stand-to her.
Every glimpse of Laura's laughter, every note she sang, every time she brushed past with a polite nod-it stitched itself into Annette's memory like embroidery on fabric. She didn't need a conversation. She only needed to feel close.
Yet beneath all of that admiration, a truth simmered painfully.
she wanted more.
It had been an overwhelming morning-three assignments due, a surprise quiz, and now a looming physics problem that refused to be solved. Her stomach had grumbled more than once, but Annette had stubbornly ignored it, choosing to remain behind in the classroom dashed off for lunch.
Head buried in formulas and frictional forces, she didn't notice the soft footsteps approaching... Not until a gentle shadow fell across her locker.
She looked up.
There-standing in the doorway with a shy smile-was Laura. In her hands :a lunch box and a bottle of water.
"Hey," Laura said softly, a faint curl playing on her lips. "I figured I'd bring you lunch since you decided to disappear today."
Annette blinked, stunned-not just by the gesture but by the way Laura looked at her. Her voice was light, teasing, but her eyes held something more. The warmth in them made Annette's breath catch for a moment.
And as she stared, trying to form a response, she noticed it-Laura's cheeks turning a delicate shade of pink.
Was she blushing?
Annette's own face heated instinctively, and for a second, they both seemed to float in a bubble of shy silence-two girls pretending this was casual, though it felt like anything but.
Laura quickly cleared her throat and added," I mean...not that I care or anything. I just didn't want your parents' money going to waste. They pay for your meals, right?"
Her voice was a little too quick, a little too high-pitched-like someone trying to sound indifferent while clearly not being indifferent at all.
Annette managed a smile, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest.
"Thanks," she said, her voice softer than usual. "That's...really thoughtful of you."
Laura shrugged, but her eyes stayed on Annette a little longer than necessary before she gently placed the lunch box on the desk and turned to leave.
That moment- simple, brief, but impossibly tender-stitched itself into Annette's memory forever.
The following week marked the much-dreaded CATS-the continuous assessment tests that plunged the entire schools into a frenzy of revision and late-night cramming. The atmosphere was thick with anxiety, textbooks exchanged like currency, and corridors echoed with murmurs of formulas and facts.
Annette, as always, was in her element when it came to physics. She had long found comfort in numbers and natural laws-they were predictable, unlike people.
One drizzly Tuesday afternoon, as she sat beneath the acacia tree near the library, her notebook sprawled with neatly written notes on Newton's Laws of Motion, she heard the last voice she expected to interrupt her.
"Annette," came a soft but deliberate tone. She looked up.
Laura.
The same girl who had brought her lunch. The same girl whose smile lingered longer than it should. Today, she held a physics textbook and a pleading expression.
"Hey...I-I was wondering if you could help me with this questions on projectile motion. I heard from your class rep that you're a genius at this stuff."
Annette blinked. "Projectile motion?"
Laura nodded, flipping to the page, her fingers slightly trembling. "Yeah...the one where the object is thrown at an angle and you have to calculate the time of flight and range. I've tried, but the numbers keep dancing."
Annette swallowed back the lump rising in her throat. "Sure," she said, sliding over to make room. "Let's go through it."
She began to explain-the way velocity split into components, the magic of sine and cosine in determining that trajectory- but halfway through, she noticed something unusual.
Laura wasn't looking at the book. She was looking at her.
Her eyes flicked between Annette's lips and her eyes, her fingers absently tracing circles on the corner of the page. It wasn't distraction-it was attention of another kind.
Annette paused, her voice faltering. "Are you...following?"
Laura blinked, caught. "Oh! Uh-yeah. I mean...sort of. You explain really well."
There was a fragile silence-too intimate for a physic lesson. Laura's eyes lingered again, softer this time, hesitant. And before Annette could even form a thought, Laura leaned in slightly-her breath warm, unsure-and their lips met.
Just a gentle brush at first, like a question. Then a pause, as if the universe itself held its breath.
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Now in the present, the warm water from the shower had already begun to cool. Annette stepped out of the basin, droplets glistening on her shoulders as she reached for the towel. She dried off in silence, her thoughts louder than ever, then slipped into her pajama's-soft cotton, her safe cocoon.
She didn't want to think more. Not about Laura's voice, not about her gaze, and certainly not about what her heart still dared to hope.
She took the wineglass, now only half full, and sat on the edge of her bed. The soft hum of the old CD continued to echo the ache in her chest.
"Nilikupenda sana kwa moyo wangu wote, Lakini ulimwaga kama maji.... Sauti yako imenibaki..."
(I loved you with all my heart, But you poured it out like water... Only your voice remains with me...)
Annette exhaled slowly, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes.