Page 33 of In Another Time

In my lap was my phone, open to Instagram. The message Omir and I had sent each other was still there, unanswered.

ODaGoat:Hey, how are you?

We’d sent the same words at the same time, as if the universe had pressed “send” for us both.

I hadn’t responded. I wasn’t even sure why I’d sent it in the first place. Maybe it was the loneliness. Maybe it was the grief. Or maybe it was just him—Omir—pulling at my mind the way he always seemed to. But what could I even say to him now? “I’m broken”? “I think I miss you”?

I sighed, closing my eyes as I leaned back into the couch. My father’s voice echoed in my mind, always encouraging, always steady. He’d tell me to face what I was feeling, to stop running from it.

“Lenny?” My mother’s voice broke through my thoughts. I opened my eyes to find her standing in the doorway, her face weary but gentle. “Sherelle is in the kitchen waiting for you.”

I nodded, placing my phone face-down on the cushion beside me before getting up and heading to the kitchen. Sherelle was standing at the counter, sipping a glass of water. Her face softened when she saw me.

“Hey, girl.”

“Hey,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

She pulled me into a hug, her warmth breaking through the numbness I’d been wrapped in. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m. . . managing,” I said, though the weight of the word felt like a lie.

Sherelle guided me to sit at the small kitchen table, her hands still holding mine. “I’m so sorry, Lennox. Your dad was such a good man. This is so unfair.”

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “It still doesn’t feel real. One minute he was fine, and the next. . .” My voice cracked, and I looked away, blinking back tears.

Sherelle gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s fine. I just. . . I don’t know how I’m supposed to get through this.”

“You will,” she said firmly. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. And you’ve got your family. And me.” I managed a small, grateful smile. Sherelle leaned back slightly, studying me. “So. . . did you talk to Omir yet?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t play dumb. Has he reached out, or have you?”

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. “I only asked him how he was, and surprisingly, he asked me the same. At the same exact time.

“Soulmates.”

“Relle, please,” I said, exasperated. “It’s complicated. And with everything going on with my dad, I just?—”

“You’re scared,” she said, her tone soft but pointed. I opened my mouth to argue but closed it again. She wasn’t wrong. “Look,” Sherelle said, leaning forward. “I’m not saying you need to spill your heart out to him. Just give your condolences and catch up. What’s the harm?”

The house had quieted down. My siblings and their families had left, and my mom had finally gone to bed, exhausted but trying her best to keep it together. I was alone on the couch again, the dim glow of a single lamp casting long shadows across the room. The silence felt heavier now, pressing down on me, amplifying every stray thought and emotion.

My phone sat on the coffee table, face-up, taunting me with its stillness. I’d been avoiding it all evening, knowing exactly what I’d see if I picked it up—the unread message from Omir waiting in my Instagram DMs.

I reached for the glass of wine I’d poured hours ago, now warm and forgotten. As I took a sip, my gaze flicked to the phone again.

“Just do it, Lennox,” I muttered to myself.

I set the glass down, took a deep breath, and grabbed the phone. My heart pounded as I opened the app and navigated to the messages. His words stared back at me:

ODaGoat:Hey, how are you?

Simple, yet loaded.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, my mind racing. What could I even say? I wasn’t okay. My father was gone. I felt like a stranger in my own life, surrounded by success but utterly alone. And then there was him. Omir. The one person who had a way of stirring emotions in me that I couldn’t seem to control.

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