Chapter Seven: Splinters in silence

Zeema didn’t reply to Ray’s email. Not that day. Not that night. Not even the next morning, when she stared at her phone screen for ten full minutes, heart pounding at the sight of his name.

Instead, she buried herself in work.

The office felt colder than usual, the overhead lights harsher, the coffee more bitter. Danielle had barely spoken to her since their last exchange, but the silence between them was loud in its own way—sharp, calculated, simmering.

Every time Zeema walked past her office door, she felt watched. Assessed. Judged.

By the third day, she’d begun to feel it in her spine—the way Danielle’s presence pressed down on her like a weight.

“You good?” Ifeoma asked quietly as they sat across from each other in the break room, both of them nursing mugs of tea neither truly wanted.

Zeema gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Just tired.”

“You look it. Like, emotionally tired. Don’t let Danielle get in your head too deep. That woman plays chess while the rest of us are trying to figure out the rules.”

Zeema didn’t respond. She just nodded, stirred her tea, and looked down at the small crack forming in her cup.

The truth was: she didn’t know who she was supposed to be anymore.

She was still reeling from that night with Ray—still waking up in a cold sweat remembering the way he’d said her name, the way he’d looked at her like she was a secret he wanted to keep. And yet, the guilt, the fear, the uncertainty—they kept her from answering his messages. He’d sent two more since the first.

Are you okay?

I’m not trying to push, just—let me know you’re alright.

Each time, she’d hovered over the reply button. Each time, she’d backed away.

But life, as always, refused to wait for her to catch up.

On Friday, just after lunch, she was summoned again.

Danielle’s door was wide open this time, as though it had swallowed the last bit of privacy between them. Zeema stepped in cautiously.

“You called for me?”

Danielle didn’t look up. “Close the door.”

Zeema obeyed. She stood, uncertain, until Danielle gestured toward the chair across from her desk.

“You know what your problem is?” Danielle said, tone almost conversational.

Zeema blinked. “No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

Danielle finally looked up, her eyes icy. “You think you’re better than this.”

A pause. The silence stung more than any accusation.

“You walk around here like you’re some kind of exception. Like people owe you something for doing your job correctly. Newsflash: competence isn’t a personality.”

Zeema swallowed hard. “I’ve never—”

“Oh, you have. You just don’t say it out loud. But it’s there. In your posture. In your silence. In the way you look at me like you’re waiting for me to fail.”

The room tilted. Zeema’s breath caught. “What? I don't”

Danielle’s voice was calm, but her fingers tapped a dangerous rhythm on the desk.

Zeema stood abruptly. “With all due respect—”

“Careful.”

“No,” Zeema said, voice trembling. “Not this time. You don’t get to weaponize things you think you know. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Danielle’s smile was slow and cruel. “That’s where you’re mistaken. You’ve made yourself visible. And visible women are easy to break.”

Zeema didn’t say anything. Her throat burned with unshed words, but she turned and walked out before she could make things worse.

---

That night, she didn’t go home.

She walked the streets of Lekki until her feet ached, phone buzzing silently in her pocket. Messages from Ifeoma. Another from Ray.

She ended up outside a bar near Admiralty Way, blinking into the neon lights. She wasn’t dressed for it—still in her office skirt and blouse—but she walked in anyway.

The music was too loud. The air was thick with perfume and rum. She slid into a booth in the back and ordered a whiskey she didn’t drink.

She just needed noise. Something louder than her thoughts.

She was halfway through pretending to sip when someone slid into the seat across from her.

Jide.

Clean-shaven. Casual. Dangerous.

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” he said, amused.

“I could say the same.”

He tilted his head. “You running from something?”

Zeema didn’t answer.

He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Or someone?”

She sipped the whiskey this time, just to have something to do with her hands.

“I know why Danielle hates you now,” he said casually. “You remind her of who she used to be. Quiet. Hungry. Unbroken.”

Zeema met his gaze. “And what do I remind you of?”

Jide’s smile sharpened. “A mistake I wish I’d made.”

The tension between them stretched too tightly, threatening to snap.

Zeema stood. “Goodnight, Jide.”

“You should talk to him, youv know,” he called after her. “Ray. He’s not like her.”

She didn’t turn around.

---

Back in her apartment, finally, Zeema sat on the floor in her work clothes and stared at her phone. The night outside was quiet, but the inside of her chest felt like a war zone.

She opened Ray’s last message.

Let me in. Just a little. You don’t have to be okay yet. I just want to know you’re still you.

Her fingers hovered.

Then: Reply.

I'm here. I'm not okay. But I'm here.

Send.

Zeema let her head fall back against the wall. Somewhere, something had shifted. It wasn’t resolution. But it was a crack in the silence.

And maybe, just maybe, it was a start