Page 12 of Unravelling: Aria & Crispin
Inside, nestled in satin, lay a breath-taking necklace. It was composed of a central cluster of luminous opals, each stone milky and iridescent, catching the dim light with subtle flashes of green, rose, and gold. Between the opals were tiny rubies, their deep crimson like sparks in a bed of moonlight. From the central piece hung two unequal drops, each ending with a pear-shaped opal that shimmered like liquid flame. Above each drop sat a single small ruby, anchoring the design with delicate contrast. The chain itself was elegant and unusual, the links delicate faded gold.
"I can't accept this," Aria breathed. "It's too much."
Ophelia's faded blue eyes shimmered with an emotion, quiet and fierce. "You can, and you will. My husband gave it to me a long time ago. It's mine to give now, and I want you to have it. Make an old woman happy and wear it on Sunday."
Aria looked down at the opals. They reminded her of seafoam and sky, of soft things she had long stopped reaching for.
"I know what happened with the Lackenbys," Ophelia added gently. "You came in that day two years ago...shattered. Eventually, the truth came out. I never forgot that look on your face. I don't want you to be made to feel like you don't belong, not again. So, here is a little note mentioning I have gifted it to you in my own handwriting, just in case there are doubts or questions. I am an old woman; I could pop my clogs at any moment."
She then handed over the envelope of her week's pay. "Four o'clock on the dot. I'll meet you here."
Aria stood, stunned speechless, the box in one hand and the envelope in the other. Her voice faltered as her eyes misted over. "Thank you," she whispered with an unsteady voice, stepping forward and wrapping her in a brief, awkward hug-the kind that lingered in the soul long after it ended.
No one had done something like this for her since she was a child.
And as she walked out into the fading evening light, the leather box clutched close, she thought,Maybe belonging didn't have to be begged for. Maybe it could be offered gently, like this.
Chapter 10
Aria
The tube ride home blurred past in a daze. Two line changes later, the rhythm of rails still hummed beneath her shoes. The velvet box was carefully tucked into her bag, the envelope of pay pressed flat against her chest under her coat.
She stopped by a corner shop, and the Pakistani couple at the counter greeted her with warm smiles. She picked up milk, bread, onions, tomatoes, lamb, and a tub of yoghurt. Tavë kosi, she decided. Lule's favourite.
Her bike was still chained behind the café where she'd left it that morning. But with the lamb, vegetables, and milk she'd picked up, there was no way she could balance everything on the ride home. She made a quick decision to collect it tomorrow on her way in. It was safer that way.
She headed towards the tube station, catching the familiar Piccadilly Line, then transferring at Oxford Circus. The journey was crowded but quiet. From her final stop, she boarded the 134 bus for the last leg, swaying gently as the city lights blinked past the fogged-up windows. She held the bag close, her fingers absently brushing the edge of the leather jewellery box through the canvas.
She remembered Lule bringing her boyfriend home to their old flat. He wore tailored clothes and handmade leather shoes, clearly from a world far removed from their own. Aria had stepped into the bedroom to grab a cardigan when she heard his voice, low and casually cruel.
"I mean, it's sweet that she tries, but this place... It's barely liveable. And she didn't even finish school, did she?"
Aria froze mid-step, breath caught. She could feel her pulse thudding in her ears as she stared at the doorframe's cracked paint.
When she returned a moment later, pretending she hadn't heard, the air in the room had changed.
Lule was sitting stiffly on the sofa, her eyes fixed on him like a hawk poised above prey. Her smile didn't reach her face, and her fingers tapped against her knee. The boy-immaculate in a slim blazer and loafers-was entirely unaware of the storm he'd wandered into. He grinned condescendingly at Aria, as if nothing had happened.
Aria said nothing. She simply walked past them and quietly, almost too quickly, began tidying the kitchen counter-casually sliding the knives back into the drawer, just in case.
Lule stood and stretched, all charm and teeth. "Wine?" she asked sweetly, like nothing had happened at all.
Aria smiled back, but something inside her dipped. She hadn't expected Lule to let it slide.
Lule hadn't said a word then, but the next day, she rang Aria.
"I dumped that ignorant wanker," she'd said cheerfully. "And don't even try to argue, sis. Anyone who treats you like that is lucky I hadn't taken a blowtorch to his arse. I saw you hide the knives. Good thing, too."
Aria had laughed, but then cried after the call.
The sun was still shining between the buildings as Aria walked home. She climbed the stairs to her third-floor flat, passing the drug dealer in the new hoodie, gold chains, and shifty eyes. Khalid had warned her about the going-ons, and she gave him a wide berth.
On the second floor, Fergus was leaning against the railing, arms crossed over his high-vis jacket, a cigarette smouldering between his fingers. He straightened the moment he saw her. "All right, lass?" he said in his thick Glaswegian accent. "Yer lookin' knackered. Waant a haun wi' they bags?"
Aria smiled politely. "I'm fine, thanks."
He flicked the cigarette over the side and took a slow step forward. "Ye sure? Don't mynd, honest. Bin sittin' 'ere waiting tae catch you."
