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Zyanya lights the tobacco stick between her fingers and she takes a long, heavy drag, huffing out a dense fog of smoke into the evening sky.
The light winds cascade across her face, drawing her hair back into messy strands as she stares across the park, where parents take a stroll with their kids.
Far away, but close enough, a husband plays tag with his daughter, the small child letting out strings of giggles as the man jogs behind, arms out in an attempt to close the gap between. The wife sits near, smiling fondly at the sight unraveling in front of her; a small but happy family.
She can’t help but wonder if she ever had a chance at a life like that—quietly happy with the woman she loved, maybe even a daughter, if her former lover had ever let herself imagine one.
The past still leaves an aching impression. She once had it all in her palms— everything she could ever love and want, and she saw it slip through the cracks of her fingers when he’d entered the picture.
He wasn’t a bad man, not by any stretch. In fact, he was the epitome of a gentleman: respectful, kind, honest. Zyanya even believed she could hold her own against him, if the playing field were level. But she’d forgotten the one thing he had that she never would.
Vincent was a man. He was safe. He could love out loud, and no one would look twice. Zyanya couldn’t— shouldn’t, because it’s forbidden. A woman deserves a loving husband, just as a man deserves a loving wife; no more, no less.
But she tried anyway. Zyanya loved with all her heart, giving everything she had to offer— all the good, the bad, the ugly. She loved the girl raw, wearing her heart on her sleeve.
And everyone knew. They knew that Zyanya loved a girl, even if it was wrong. Even if a man, who could love as little as he wanted, could still out-love her with ease.
That was the harsh truth that she daren’t face in her teen years. She yearned to remain naive— to stay in her fantasy of building a life with the woman she loves.
It’s ridiculous, really, the way she hasn’t moved on even after fifteen years. In fifteen years, she’s seen other people and tried to force her heart to yearn for another, yet no one could come close to the girl with emerald eyes.
She takes another drag from the cigarette, this time slower, letting the toxic fumes settle nicely in her lungs, its warmth spreading thoroughly before she breathes out a breath, releasing a haze in front of her.
As she continues to eye the sea of family across the park, she feels a light tug against her slacks and she instinctively looks down.
Her stomach twists with unease when she notices the child’s eyes: a muted moss green.
What luck she has.
“Pretty lady!” The kid chimes, a wide grin plastered across her plump, rosy cheeks.
Zyanya pulls her hand back, shielding the girl from the cigarette as she waves its suffocating fumes away.
“Hi there, princess.” Zyanya smiles, kneeling to match the girl’s height.
“I wike your eyes. They’re pwurple! Wike my mama’s favourite colour.”
Her heart sinks. The child staring back at her had the same eyes as the girl she couldn’t forget— the girl who once said purple was her favourite color.
“That’s nice. What’s your name, sweetheart?”
The girl’s eyes twinkle under the streetlights that routinely turns on at 6:40PM. “Zayana!”
She feels her throat go dry, her chest tightening as her heart thumps painfully against her ribs.
“We’ve got similar names, kid.”
The child tilted her head, curious and unblinking, like a puppy trying to make sense of something new.
She senses the kid’s curiosity. “I’m Zyanya.”
“I wike your name!” The girl squeals in delight, her body rumbling with a belly-deep giggle.
“I like yours too, Zayana.”
Zyanya felt the pull to ask the child where her mother was. She had to know— what if this little girl was a trace of the life she’d once dared to imagine, a glimpse at what could’ve been?
But she didn’t have to ask, because as if fate had answered her, the child’s mother came jogging over. Her face, tight with worry, softened into relief the moment she saw the girl, nearly stumbling in her rush to reach her.
She felt physically ill. The woman’s raven hair blew across her face, hiding her intricate features, but it was all too familiar to Zyanya.
Zyanya could recognise that face anywhere— it appeared one too many times in her dreams. The same face she’d spent fifteen years feeling absolutely miserable over. The same face she loved openly.
There she was in all her glory; beautiful as ever, glowing even after motherhood. Her eyes were the same vibrant, emerald ones that haunt her every second— conscious or not. The same thin, pink lips that she’d once spent every night kissing.
Sabine Callas was stood in front of her with her long, black coat draped past her knees. The woman doesn’t notice her just yet, her attention strung on the kid who was presumably hers.
“Zayana! Where on earth did you go? What did i say about wandering off?” Her frown was prominent: brows furrowed with a crease engraved between.
It was the same frown she used to give when Zyanya flunked an exam; stern at first, then melting into a gentle kiss, before settling into hours of patient, stubborn tutoring. She was never really angry, just determined, and impossibly kind.
“Mama! I saw pwetty lady!” The girl grinned, ignoring the scolding she’d received.
When Sabine finally looked up, she froze mid-step. Everything came to a pause as their eyes met, the world growing quiet around them.
Zyanya doesn’t know what to do— smile, frown, walk away? She does none of them. Her face stays still, unreadable, while her lips dry under the weight of everything unsaid.
“Mama!” Their bubble of peace was disrupted when the child calls for Sabine, hands grabbing at the woman’s calf.
The taller woman looks down and slips her hands beneath the girl’s arms, lifting her up with relative ease and balancing the child on her hip.
It all looked so normal— like she’d done it thousands of times.
Zyanya felt her heart drop at this revelation. What might have been her future was unraveling before her eyes, each moment a quiet mockery of the fragile hope she’d once held.
She holds her silence as Sabine rocked the child in her arms, slender fingers smoothing through her silk-like locks.
When the man she’d once competed against appeared next to the woman she loved, her knees almost gave out. Turmoil brews within as she watches the man press a kiss against Sabine’s temple.
Zyanya feels the urge to run. She could try and move on from this horrible part of her life— she just had to turn on her feet and ignore whatever she’d seen.
But she doesn’t. She stays through the torture and watches as Vincent leans down, puckering his lips out as he greets his child’s forehead with a soft kiss.
“Papa! Wook, i found a pwetty lady!” The girl fiddles in Sabine’s hold, stretching her arms behind her as she points a finger in her direction.
Vincent knows of the lingering tension between them, for they once fought over the same woman who is now his wife.
While Vincent was a proud man, father and husband, he knew that he never could’ve stood a shot against Zyanya if there weren’t restrictions to what love could be.
He loves Sabine, that was a certainty. But he could never love her the way Zyanya did.
“Zyanya.” Vincent greets softly, his eyes softening when he notices her cowered stance.
Zyanya folded into herself, shoulders hunched and back curved forward, a quiet timidity creeping in beneath their gaze.
“Vincent,” she responds, offering a curt nod.
She then turns to the woman she could only see in her dreams. “Sabine.”
The taller woman holds her stare, the corners of her lips curling up ever so slightly. “Zyanya.”
Vincent offers to carry their daughter, taking her for a stroll through the park. He knew the women needed to resolve their lingering feelings, no matter how much of a risk it may be for him.
When Zyanya knows the child is far away enough, she pulls her cigarette out again, taking a long drag from it.
Sabine doesn’t miss the way the latter’s hand trembled.
“Never knew you smoke.” She mutters out, daring a step closer.
“Yeah. Stuff happens.” Zyanya shrugs, tapping the tip of the cigarette against a ledge, scattering the growing ash with a careless flick.
“...How are you?” Sabine says after a bated breath.
“M’ okay. I work at a law firm now.”
Sabine perks up at this. She can still hear Zyanya rambling about the law firm in high school, full of restless hope and talk of becoming a renowned lawyer someday.
“The one you’ve dreamed of since high school?”
Zyanya only offers a short nod, seemingly uninterested in the conversation. But it was far from, because she wanted nothing more than to talk to the girl she still loves— she just didn’t know how.
“You have a daughter now?” She mutters through her teeth.
Sabine presses her lips in a thin line. She doesn’t miss the way Zyanya sounds so defeated. Like she’s lost everything.
“Mhm,” she mumbles. “We discussed about having kids.”
“That’s nice.” Zyanya offers a gentle smile, one that truly meets the eye. Despite her loss, she’s truly happy that Sabine has found love.
“She has your eyes, Sabine.” She chuckles, putting the cigarette out as she crushes the amber against the concrete.
Sabine feels her chest tighten. Her skin grows warm, rubbing her palm against the back of her neck.
“I’d hope so.” She chuckles, attempting to retain the light atmosphere.
Zyanya sighs. She licks her dry lips, eyes softening when she meets the latter’s gaze.
“You named her Zayana.”
“I did. I, uh— I named her after you.”
Zyanya tucks a strand of stray hair behind her ear as the wind picks up.
“Hm. It’s a nice name.”
Sabine agrees with a hum as she studies the woman stood in front of her— previous confidence that she held with pride melted into a puddle of meek resignation.
“Zya… Promise me you’re really okay.”
The shorter woman grins, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “I work at my dream law firm, and i’m making a name for myself now. I couldn’t ask for anything better than this.”
Except she could. There’s nothing she’s wanted more than Sabine Callas herself. And now? Now, she could fight for it, for Sabine to give her a chance— just a tiny glimpse at what she could offer.
But if there was one thing to admire about Zyanya, it was that she wasn’t selfish. She refused to let Sabine give up the life she’d dreamed of; a loving husband, a growing daughter, and a perfect family.
Sabine sighs a disgruntled huff.
“Why won’t you fight for me? Just say something— anything.”
Zyanya takes a step forward for the first time that evening, gently grasping pale hands in hers.
“Believe me, i would—”
“Then do it!” Sabine grunts, but there was no true anger behind her words.
“I can’t.” Zyanya emphasises. “Sabine, you’ve got a good life. You’ve a loving daughter and a husband who kisses the ground you walk on. I won’t let you walk away from that.”
She draws the woman into her arms, holding her close—firm, but without desperation. Zyanya knows it’s the last time, and somehow, that’s enough.
“What you’ve got is beautiful, ‘Beans. I’ve spent years dreaming of a life like this. You have the world in your hands, cariño. Don’t let it slip.”
“Don’t let me go. Please.” Sabine whimpers softly, fingers gripping onto the fabric of Zyanya’s dress shirt.
“If i’m being honest, Sabine… I thought that if we ever met again, it’d turn out a lot differently. But you’re happy, aren’t you?” She smiles, forcefully pulling herself out of Sabine’s hold.
“I should’ve chosen you.” The pale woman admits.
Sabine knows it’s wrong of her to say that. She has everything in front of her— even if it wasn’t with the person she dreamed of having everything with.
Zyanya shakes her head, wrapping her pinky around the latter’s. “Vincent’s a great man. I couldn’t wish for a better guy than him to be your husband, Sabine.”
She lets go and brushes her slacks of any lasting cigarette ash. The time was now 7PM, and she had to get back to the office.
“Tell Vincent and Zayana i said goodbye. I’ll see you around, Sabine. Take care.”