I smile when I see Marabella's mural on the whiteboard. There's a bright rainbow taking up most of the board, drawn with long sweeps of color, back and forth. And climbing up the right side of the arc is... a unicorn!?

Or, at least, I think it's a unicorn. The dimensions are off by quite a bit, but the horn atop its head is certainly unmistakable...

Unless, maybe, that's a star on the face of a hippopotamus?

I suppose I'll just have to ask Marabella to guide me through her artwork next time.

My phone rings as I'm arranging my things for the day, and I stare at it, bewildered, for a moment before picking it up. "Mumma? Sab theek hai?" [is everything okay?]

Instead of the standard 'Are you alive?' question, I get, "Papa hai." [it's Papa]

"Papa?" I repeat, confused. "Why are you calling from Mumma's phone? Where is Mumma?"

"Bahan ke saath shopping gaee hai," Papa says, his voice tired. [she's gone shopping with her sister]

At this, I laugh. "So you're calling because you got bored waiting for them?"

"No, no. She left her phone here and took my phone with her."

"I bet she won't even realize," I snort. Nothing can distract Mumma and Maasi from shopping. [aunt]

"Actually..." Papa stretches out the word. "She's already called me twice."

I blink. "Twice? Why?"

"Richard keeps calling me," he sighs. "Normally, this wouldn't be too much of a problem, but since Mumma has my phone, she's become very annoyed with having to silence his calls. Diamond, can you please remind him that I'm off work? He's been calling me all week; main thak gaya hoon." [I've gotten tired of it]

"Richard keeps calling you?" I repeat, yet again. I don't think I've ever sounded so akin to a parrot before, but this is the first time I've ever heard of something like this happening.

Papa sighs deeply, "You know how he is."

Well, that I do. Unfortunately.

"Aur...?" [and]

"There are some new things that have come up, and though they're easy to deal with, he's trying to ask me to do it. But that's just the way he is. Eventually, he'll give up and delegate the work to someone else."

My hands ball up into fists and I seeth, "That good-for-nothing-"

"Bas!" Papa interrupts me sternly. [enough] Then, in a gentler tone, he says, "It's okay, baacha. Jo hai so hai. All I'm asking you is to tell Richard that I am busy and unable to take his calls." [child] [it is what it is]

"If that's what you want, fine." I'm not happy to be docile, but I will if I must.

Papa makes the situation more bearable, though, when he jokes, "And... if you'd like, you can come up with your own excuse as to why - that man will definitely ask why. Give him your most creative excuse! Food poisoning from too many samosas, maybe? I don't know, just have fun with it."

I stare blankly at my phone, unsure of what to think.

Can someone really get food poisoning from too many samosas?

If so, how have I never gotten food poisoning from samosas?

Thankfully, Papa interrupts my thought before I can confuse myself any more. "Ek minute, Diamond, sorry. I think khaana aa gaya hai..." [one] [the food is here]

Ah.

"Jao, Papa. It's okay, I'll talk to you later." [go]

"Sorry, baacha."

And though Papa sounds apologetic, I know his mind has already moved on from me. I can't blame him, of course - I'm here and day-dreaming about the food; I'm sure it's much harder for him when it's right there in front of him.

I'm about to say bye and let Papa enjoy his dinner when he says one last thing, "I love you, baacha. I know we didn't get to catch up, but I know you're doing amazing things. I'm proud of you, mera baacha." [my child]

It's so sudden, so unexpected, and it catches me off guard - in the very best way. For a moment, everything feels perfect - if not a slight bit overwhelming. My eyes blink rapidly, trying to keep my tears at bay, and happiness stretches my smile wide. "I love you too, Papa. So, so much." And with that, I hang up the phone.

It's going to be a good day.

***

A few hours later, I'm deep into my work, accompanied only by my thoughts and the clicks of my keyboard as I type. It is peaceful. Pleasant, even.

That is, until a knock at the door breaks through the silence; the minuscule sound, jarring.

I sit up straighter, blinking away my surprise, and am about to invite whoever it is inside when the door swings open...

to reveal a beaming Richard waving a manilla folder in front of his face.

Oh no.

"Why, yes, come on in," I mutter to myself, just low enough that Richard doesn't hear it as he struts into my room.

"Diamond!" he bellows enthusiastically, as if I hadn't corrected him just earlier this week as to what I prefer to be addressed as at work. "You need to clear your schedule for a meeting at five."

I do?

I lean forward, propping my arms up and resting my face in my hands, taking in a deep breath to muster up the patience to deal with this invasion of my space. "What's the meeting for? And the folder?"

"Just standard procedure," he shrugs. "We're just going over your first week; all the details are in the folder."

I've never heard of this 'standard procedure', but I do know what kind of week I've had - a great one, if I do say so myself - so I'm not too worried about the outcome of this meeting.

"Wonderful. I'll be there," I mince my words, hoping that it'll make Richard leave, when suddenly, I remember that I need to tell him to stop bugging Papa. "Wait-"

But I'm too late, as Richard speaks over me loudly, almost as though he knows what I'm about to say, "I'll see you then!"

He spins, sets the folder down on a shelf beside a trio of succulents Marabella affectionately named Billy, Bob, and Joe, yesterday, and then, after jerking the door open, walks out of my room.

At least he's gone. And I guess I'll just pull him aside after this afternoon's meeting.

***

It turns out that my week could very well end at lunchtime. Only, of course, if it wasn't for Richard's mandatory meeting.

The thought sours my mood further as I work through the next four hours. My eyes are drawn to the clock every few seconds, only to find that seconds pass slower than one would anticipate.

In fact, I learn that I can say the phrases, 'stupid Richard' and 'dumb meeting', under one second each. A lot of seconds pass by saying those words.

But finally, after I organize all the documents in my countless folders, make a detailed plan of how I'm going to achieve my goals for next week, and water Eric with the remaining contents of my water bottle, five o'clock rolls around.

I grab my purse, tuck my phone into my pants pocket - pockets, the only redeeming quality of my new wardrobe of itchy pantsuits - and pick up the folder Richard left earlier today. There's a skip in my step as I make my way to the conference room.

Time to end this week - with a bang!

My cheerful attitude only makes it two feet into the conference room. I recognize it as the one I had my entry interview in just a week prior; it looks the same - except for one notable change. An unsettling change.

Richard has taken up Papa's empty position at the head of the table, and his smile is nowhere near as reassuring as Papa's. It looks sinister - as dark as his eyes. No, darker.

He - along with all the other board members, I notice - look up at me the moment I enter the room, and I suddenly feel isolated. Not because they're all sitting squished-together at the back half of the table, no. It's the way they all look at me with skepticism in their eyes - the very same look I've worked so hard to eliminate this past week, by proving I can do so much, so much more, than they think I can.

A quick headcount tells me that everyone but Liam is in attendance today; I'm not sure how to feel about that just yet. And aside from that, I see that everyone has a folder in front of them identical to the one I hold in my hands - which, if the contents are what Richard said they are, lessens my worry a smidge. So they all know what I have accomplished in such a short amount of time. Though, one more look into Richard's eyes fills me with apprehension once more. I don't know what he's told all of them, but I'm certain he's said something - and it's not good, either.

I take a seat opposite Richard and the others apprehensively, my half of the table empty aside from me.

I wish Papa was here.

But he's not. And maybe that's good. It's a reminder that he won't always be here to sway the others in my favor. It's time for me to stand up for myself.

So although I am intimidated, I take a deep breath, preparing myself to speak - it's always good to have the first word and set the stage. But luck seems not to be on my side once more, as Richard starts talking before I can. Again.

"Welcome, Diamond. You've certainly had a record-breaking first week."

And though his words are encouraging, the gleefulness in his words does not support me. It's obvious that whatever the joke is, it's at my expense. But I don't let that deter me. "Yes," I say proudly, rolling my shoulders back. "I have."

"So you do claim responsibility for your actions, then?"

"Sorry, what?"

Richard stands, raising his arms up in front of himself as though he's about to lead a prayer, a twisted smile dancing across his face. "I, of course, speak of your lack of responsibility," he says.

I don't even bother masking my confusion.

"Perhaps you need a refresher? Monday," he thunders. "You skipped work unannounced, for no reason at all. Tuesday, you can't even present yourself in a quick speech without stumbling. Wednesday, you leave early - again, unannounced and for no reason."

As he speaks, I watch as the others nod along to what he says, agreeing. I feel my throat closing up, slowly being choked by panic. But Richard's not done.

"And then yesterday, you ridiculed our entire establishment! What were you thinking, traipsing about with some child on your arm all day?!"

Some child? Some?! Child?!

That does it.

"What you say is true, Richard," I say as calmly as I can, before addressing the others in the room. "But it also doesn't matter. If you all would only take one look inside those folders you have in front of you instead of letting them sit there all pretty-looking, you'd all see that I have accomplished more in my first week here than all of you have in the past year." I am met with raised eyebrows, but I plow on. "I admit, I had my reservations about this board. But I tried to work with you. And now, I can truly say you have let me down."

My eyes are burning, tears welling in them fast - both from anger and embarrassment. I'm not lying; I do feel let down. But I have one last thing to say, "Now if you will all excuse me, I have better things to do than stay here and argue with men who act as though they have stuffed cotton into their ears."

I stand up and gather my things as the murmurs start, too low for me to hear what they are saying. I only turn back once I'm at the door, my resentment forcing the bitter words past my lips, "Oh, and Richard? If you want something done, please learn how to do it yourself. Quit calling my father; you aren't a child - no matter how much you may act like one."

Then I leave.

And safe in the hallway, away from all the judging eyes, do I finally let my tears fall. I look down for a moment as I walk forward, to quickly wipe them away when I suddenly run into someone.

Two large hands reach out and steady me. "Sorry I'm late," a familiar voice says, and when I look up, it's Liam.

He smiles at me - a dazzling bright one, it is - and I notice that he's out of breath. Red flushes up from behind his collar, and in his hand, I see a folder.

The very same folder I have in my hands now.

Then it clicks. Why he wasn't in the room to begin with, why he's out of breath, why he's flushed - all of it.

And somehow, it hurts more than it should.

"Like father, like son," I spit at him. Then I yank my arms out of his hold and I shove past him even as new tears swell in my eyes.

***

The mix of emotions brewing inside me fills me with enough heat to battle the frigid air outside, and I'm about to march back to the hotel on foot when my phone rings, causing me to pause a moment right by the office.

"Hello?"

"Diamond! Kaise ho? Mona aunty hai." [how are you][it's Mona aunty]

"I'm..." I trail off, unsure as to how to answer the question. So instead, I counter with, "How are you? Everything okay?"

"Haan, haan. Sab theek. Just wanted to let you know that we've just finished clearing your house according to what you told us. And I have the things you asked us to keep with me. Abhee aa sakte hai yahaan?" [yes, yes][all good][can you come here now]

My arm moves of its own accord, and without even thinking, I flag down a cab. "Yes, of course. I'll be there in less than half an hour," I say as I sit down. "See you soon, Mona aunty."

One moment, I'm giving the driver my address, and the next, we've started driving.

It's only after I sit back and let the faint sound of pop music wash over me - all the cab driver's work - does it hit me: I'm going back.

On my own.

For the first time since...

No. I can't let my mind go there. Not now.

Not now, when I already feel so fragile.

So I curl up in the backseat of the cab as much as I can and stare blankly out of the window, desperately pushing away all the things I don't want to think about.

But from the deepest recesses of my heart, one thought slips through the barrier I've put up in my mind: I wish Papa was here.

***

All the panic I try to push aside resurfaces all at once.

As the cabbie takes a left into the neighborhood, to be exact.

The tension only builds in my gut as I sway inside the car as it makes the familiar turns that lead home.

Home? Or house?

I don't know.

It's hard to focus on the details when all I can think about is Tom; when all I can see before my eyes is Tom.

Tom. Oh, Tom. I loved you, Tom.

It's only getting harder to think, harder to breathe. The pain reaches a crescendo when the cabbie parks right beside my abandoned car, in front of the...

House.

It's a house.

Not my home.

I barely register paying the cabbie and watching the cab back out of the driveway, lost somewhere between my memories of this afternoon and those of a week ago.

I'm pulled back into reality when I'm wrapped up in a pair of warm arms.

"Diamond! How long it's been! You look shorter - how did you get shorter?"

"I- huh?" and then I realize it's Mona aunty who's hugging me."New shoes," I mumble, before pulling away. "Hi, Mona aunty. It's nice to see you."

Without my typical everyday heels, I'm about the same height as her, I note, looking at her from a new angle. I can understand how she thinks I'm shorter.

Mona aunty is dressed in a lehenga whose skirt pools around her feet so much that it makes me think walking must be a chore for her - but then I remember lehengas are probably akin to sweatpants for this regally dressed woman.

She studies me with sharp eyes for a long moment and then comments, "Mahi is right to worry about you. Have you been eating? You look skinnier too!"

"You've been talking to Mumma!" I exclaim with a grimace on my face. "About what I eat?"

"Mumma's just looking out for you," Mona aunty says, rubbing her hands up and down my arms in a way she must think is comforting. It's only causing my sleeves to bunch up inside my blazer - a most uncomfortable situation. "Chalo, I actually have to get going - I was just waiting for you to get here; don't want these things to be taken!" [let's go - but used as 'okay' here]

"Ah, yes. Thank you so much again for taking care of this for me," I say, truly thankful. "Anything I can do in return?"

"Nahi, baacha. It's all good. Just..." she looks helplessly at the three small boxes placed by the foot of my car. "You didn't want to keep anything more than this?" [no]

I look at the boxes too, already knowing what's inside them - a few pictures of Papa, Mumma, and I; my favorite pan to make pakoras in; a few of my dresses; and almost all the shoes from my closet and all around the house. "Yes," I tell her. "Anything more and it'd hurt."

She looks at me again, observing with the keen eye of an Indian aunty who sees all. "Whatever makes you happy, baacha."

Then with one last hug, Mona aunty hands me my keys and walks away toward her own car.

I wave as she drives by then carefully load the boxes into the trunk of my car.

When that's done, I sit inside my car, toying with my keys instead of driving away. It seems that the same force that makes me wary of the place simultaneously pulls me toward it too.

So with a sigh, I get out of my car.

There's nothing there. Nothing.

But still, I have to go; I have to see. Because there's still a part of me that's been pretending that nothing's happened, that everything's okay.

It takes me three tries to fit the key into the lock - that's how badly my hands are shaking.

It's cold inside. That's what I notice first. Which makes sense, since there's no reason for the heating to be on.

It still feels wrong, though.

So does the empty entryway.

Paintings, books, silly knick-knacks collected over the years - all gone.

My feet carry me forward, past the stairs - I'll never muster the courage to go there again - and into the kitchen. The walls have been repainted - as per my request - and the chemic stench invades my nose.

But all I can smell is chocolate cake.

It's consoling and crushing at the same time.

Suddenly, the front door creaks open behind me. I barely hear it.

But then, there's a gasp, and, "Diamond?" someone calls from behind me. So familiar. I have his voice memorized, after all.

And I have to hold a hand over my heart because it's beating so fast I'm afraid it'll jump right out of my chest just to escape-

"Tom," I whimper.

My knees give away and I crumble to the floor, gasping. It seems that I lose my breath when I am most surrounded by air. Trembling hands rise to cover my mouth. I must not make a sound; he must not hear my pitiful cries.

My nose burns and my eyes fill with tears. My lips contort into a miserable grimace. Must not cry. Must not cry. Must not-

A tear falls out of my eye and traces a path down my face. It's followed by another, and then another after that. I struggle to open my eyes, and when I do, my vision is blurry.

Tom. Oh, Tom. I loved you, Tom.

Why, Tom?

"Why?" a strangled noise leaves my lips.

I feel hands close around my arms and I shudder. "No, no, no," I'm not making sense to myself. "Why? Why, Tom? Why here? Why now?"

And then, through my blurry vision, I see a figure kneeling in front of me. I see his shaggy, black hair that still looks so silky soft, with that little bump at the back that he always forgets to comb down. I see his bright, green eyes that look just a little bit dimmer than I remember them.

"Diamond," he says again, in that voice, that voice that I loved so much. So gentle. So careful. So dangerous. "Hey," he says. "Shhhh... Don't cry, my gem, my jewel, my crown."

At last, I melt toward him, my body unconsciously comforted by the familiarity - Tom always joked that if he were a king, I'd be the crown on his head, his jewels, his riches. For a moment, I feel valuable. I feel loved.

But then I recoil, his words twisting around inside me, turning sour all of a sudden, as it dawns on me, "Was that all I was to you? A thing?" I spit out the words in disgust - both with him and myself - but don't give him a chance to reply. I hear my mind scream at me, beg me not to ask, but I need to know. "How long?"

A defeated expression overcomes his face. There's a pause. Then, "A while."

His face remains steady. My heart breaks all over again. He isn't lying.

"I'm sorry," he says, his face scrunched up in... what, regret? "I should have told you."

"Was it me?" I choke out. "Because if it was, you should know I'm changing. I'm different. I'm trying to be enough for you."

Soft, familiar lips press against my forehead. "No, not you. Never you. I'm sorry."

His words carry a double meaning, but I'm not sure which applies now.

Was I never what he wanted?

My heart is wailing, forming new cracks between the existing ones. It feels as though it has become sand that keeps slipping through my fingers the tighter I try to hold on.

And through the ache in my chest, I begin to understand where this is going. "And now the house is empty, and we're both leaving..."

"...But not together," he finishes for me, his voice now a whisper too.

His hands touch me again, but this time, I don't flinch. I let him hold my face and fall into him again, for one last time, pressing our foreheads together.

Who knew it'd all come to this?

"I'm sorry," he breathes against my lips.

Then, as fast as he comes, he goes. I close my eyes as he stands up, unable to watch him walk away, unable to say goodbye.

I jolt when he opens the door, and the sound of his footsteps leaving echoes in my empty heart.

He left the door open for me.

I must leave now too.

As I start wiping away my tears, I realize that Tom's footsteps have stopped. I stand, hearing someone else by the door.

"Hey, you," the rough voice says. "Are you Tom?"

I don't hear Tom's voice reply, but a moment later, I hear a loud crack and a groan. I run to the door.

What I see has me shocked.

Tom is hunched over, both his hands over his face. I catch sight of a trickle of blood running down from his nose.

And standing above him...

Liam spits at Tom. "You're a sorry excuse of a man," he growls.

I sag against the doorway. "Liam?"

He turns to face me, his right hand still forming a fist. My eyes drop to his knuckles which are tainted the same color red as his neck.

"I came to explain," Liam's fingers uncurl and he steps forward. "I had no idea what he was going to do, I swear. I was going to ask you what the meeting was for because I'd been updated last minute.

"It's only when I went inside that stupid conference room and they told me what happened that I realized why you ran off.

"So I came after you. And boy, was that a whole mess... Diamond, I had to leave my car at work!" Liam cries, his voice full of pain. "But that's not the point. The point is that I came here to find you and explain.

"But then, when I got here, I saw him - which, I'm not sorry about, by the way." Liam scowls at Tom, who gets startled into falling back down into the grass.

I take in the scene: Liam glaring at Tom, his hands formed back into fists, and Tom now tilting his head backward, splotches of blood on his shirt and smeared all over his hands.

Then I turn away.

I go back inside and find, by some stroke of luck, a roll of kitchen towels. I grab that along with my keys from the kitchen island. My eyes trace over the barren walls one last time.

I've heard that your whole life flashes before your eyes just moments before you die, but no one told me that it'd happen now.

Memories of Tom and I flit through my mind, one after the next, too fast for me to focus on any individual one; but remnants of our laughter, our love, pour out of the now-blank walls in front of me.

Am I dying?

I'm honestly not certain I'm not. But if this is what dying is, I suppose it's not all that bad. A part of it is warm, actually.

I'm tired.

Liam's still standing over Tom as I lock the front door. "Goodbye," I whisper to it all - the door, the house, the memories, and Tom.

Tired of it all.

A bird whistles as my fingers fall from the door; its melody cuts through the quiet. It reminds me of the morning this all started.

So tired.

I hand the roll of paper towels to Tom as I wrap an arm around Liam's bicep and give it a tug. "Come on, Liam," I say, my voice weak, my legs wobbling.

Liam takes a step around me to stomp in front of Tom, menacingly. Tom scuttles backward like a crab. I tug harder. "Come on." I pull him toward my car. "Let's get falafel."

That gets his attention. Liam looks me up and down, his eyes narrowing, before wrapping an arm around my waist and walking me over to the passenger seat.

As he's walking back to the driver's side, I watch Tom finally get up and cautiously walk away. I look a little further and see his car parked at the end of the street.

My eyes don't leave Tom.

Tom doesn't look back at me once.

"Goodbye," I whisper.

Then not a second later, Liam swings the door open. "Fried pokey balls, here we come!" he exclaims.

I close my eyes again, exhausted, as Liam pulls out of what was once my driveway.

I forget I am Diamond, and trust a friend - again.

***

i love how i had like a bazillion things to say here, but now that i'm finally writing this, nearly 90% of all my thoughts seem to have ✨evaporated✨

anywhooo.... happy new year everyone!

how are you feeling after that tumultuous chapter?

also, fun news -  this story is now more than 40,000 words, which, if you're reading this right now - that's as much of an achievement for you as it is for me :)

in other important news: as much as Tom deserved that punch in the face, i do not intend for anything like that ever happening again. even though Liam may have a short temper, violence is never okay. i love Liam but i. won't. romanticize. violence. and. aggression.

*he may be strong, but those muscles have other uses ;)*

okie dokie i have school soon so i must go now... chapter 11 is in the air atm because i haven't got a clue what's gonna happen *eek!* but hopefully i'll be able to get that done soon

so until i see you all again,

all my love, and then some more

JustAnotherDarling