When History Repeats Itself

Everything, All At Once.

We were back.

Back to the city. To honking cars and dusty sidewalks and the ever-present hum of people minding everyone else's business.

Back to living in different parts of town- where Dom lived with his cousin, and I lived with my dad's family in the room where Sumaya and I used to stay up late, trading secrets and giggling about everything and nothing until aunt Jamila yelled at us to go to sleep.

Back to schedules and titles and unspoken rules. He was still technically my boss, and I was still the executive assistant to his uncle, who was also my boss.

The lines between us hadn't changed, even if everything else had.

The beach already felt like a faraway place, a mirage we had managed to slip into for a moment too brief. Out there, we had been just two people falling for each other. Here, we were a complication waiting to happen.

All these thoughts swirled like smoke in my mind as Dom drove me home.

He'd offered to drop off Paba and me after the work trip. She lived closer to him, but he dropped her off first.

I watched her bounce out of the car, waving dramatically as she disappeared into her apartment building. And then, it was just the two of us, alone again—but not in the same way we had been over the weekend.

Still, I couldn't shake the creeping dread. The closer we got to home, the more the silence felt heavy.

Dom reached across the console, lacing our fingers together. He strummed my hand absently, like muscle memory. A soft rhythm. A reminder. Maybe even a promise.

I stared out the window, the silence between us full of all the things we hadn't said yet.

He parked in the driveway, engine idling, and I didn't move. My eyes stayed fixed on the familiar two-storey building, lights glowing from the front porch like a welcome I didn't want to accept. I couldn't bring myself to open the door.

The moment I stepped out of the car, the dream would be over. The sun-drenched version of us—the one that laughed in swimsuits and whispered under duvets—would dissolve into memory. And what would be left? HR policies. Family interventions. Public scrutiny. Reality.

Dom's voice was soft. "We're here."

I turned to look at him fully, blinking like I had just woken up from a dream I didn't want to end.

"I don't want it to end," I said, eyes drifting back to the house.

He didn't hesitate. "It won't. We'll figure it out. I'm seeing HR on Monday. When we're ready, we'll make it public."

His voice was calm. Reassuring. Like a man who had already run through the fire and decided we were worth it. And I wanted to believe him. I really did. But the words settled over me like wet clothes. Heavy. Clinging.

Make it public.

It should've comforted me—but instead, it cracked something open. I imagined the headlines in group chats. The raised eyebrows in the office. The whispers in the boardroom.

The Chase List. Whispered like a warning.

Kerry Effah, the next woman on rotation. Not a partner. Not a future. Just the intermission between heartbreaks. A rebound. A placeholder. A downgrade.

The ghost of Aoki lingered in every corner of Dom's life. And I—this no-name girl with a messy past and no pedigree—I wouldn't just be compared. I'd be dissected.

My father's disappointment would be quieter, but no less sharp. A different kind of shame. A kind that didn't need to be said out loud to settle in your bones.