01-10-2025, 09:30 PM
(This post was last modified: 01-10-2025, 09:31 PM by matiba2025213. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Chapter 40: Janina (Act 9)
The silence of the apartment had become a physical presence, a heavy blanket of dust motes and regret. Rahim stood amidst it, the memory of Lina’s floral scent fading from the cushions. Work at the shop was a mechanical routine, a series of transactions that did little to fill the hollow space in his chest. And every time the bell above the door chimed, his head snapped up, hoping for a glimpse of sleek dark hair and a smile that had, for one night, made him feel like a different man. But Janina never came.
He’d replayed their encounter in the bar’s bathroom, then against her car, a hundred times. The raw, unfiltered hunger. The way his body, which had felt so sluggish and inadequate with Lina, even with those damn pills, had responded with a primal urgency he’d thought was lost to his youth. Two hours. That’s all it had taken to meet her, want her, and have her. The efficiency of it haunted him.
For three nights, his own hand was a poor substitute, the fantasy of Janina’s gasp in his ear the only thing that brought him release. His phone became an instrument of torture. He’d sent carefully worded texts, messages that could be read as simple shopkeeper follow-ups if her husband ever saw them.
“Hope the groceries were satisfactory.”
“The new shipment of basmati rice you like just arrived.”
She’d replied to the first two with brief, polite acknowledgements. Then, nothing. The last message, “Just thinking about that night,” was left on ‘read’, a digital silence that screamed.
He couldn’t stand it. Casually, he’d asked Mrs. Lim, another regular, if she knew where the “nice lady who buys the imported spices” lived, mentioning a supposed mis-delivery. The address was given freely. The plan, a flimsy shield of bravado, was formed. A bag of her usual weekly shopping was prepared, his alibi.
Now, standing before her polished wooden door, the bag of groceries feeling absurdly domestic in his hand, his courage wavered. He rang the bell once. Twice. A third time, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Nothing. Stupid. This is stupid. He turned to leave, the weight of his foolishness crushing him.
The click of the lock stopped him dead.
The door swung open. Janina stood there, clad in simple grey lounge pants and a fitted black top, her hair tied in a loose knot. She was barefoot. She looked softer, more real than the siren from the bar, and somehow more beautiful. Her eyes, wide with shock, locked onto his.
“Rahim? What… how are you here? How did you find my house?”
His voice was tighter than he intended. “A customer mentioned this area. I… I was in the neighbourhood. Thought I’d drop off your usual order. You haven’t been in.” He held up the bag, a pathetic peace offering.
She stared at the bag, then back at his face, her expression unreadable. A tense silence stretched between them, filled with the unspoken memory of skin and whispers. Finally, she stepped back. “You should come in. Off the doorstep, at least.”
He crossed the threshold into a cool, tastefully furnished living room. The air smelled of lemons and clean linen.
“Can I get you some water?” she asked, her voice formal, distant.
“No. No, thank you.” He set the groceries down on a sleek console table, the sound too loud in the quiet house. He scanned the room, the question burning his tongue.
“Is… is anyone else home?”
“My husband is away on a business trip. The children are at college.” Her words were clipped, but he saw the slight tremor in her hand as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear.
A wave of relief so potent it left him dizzy washed over him. He was alone with her. The knowledge cracked the careful facade he’d built. He breathed easier, the official pretext evaporating.
The awkwardness returned, thick and suffocating. They stood a few feet apart, strangers bound by a intensely intimate secret.
“The shop is… good?” she finally asked, filling the silence with meaningless noise.
“Busy. Quiet without…” He trailed off, not wanting to say Lina’s name in this space.
“Yes.”
Another silence. This was unbearable. He had to say it. He had to know.
“Janina,” he began, his voice dropping, losing its shopkeeper’s cadence, becoming just a man’s voice, rough with need. “I couldn’t… I haven’t been able to think straight. Since that night.”
Her gaze flickered to the floor, then back to him, a wariness in her eyes. “Rahim, that was… a mistake. We were both emotional. Drunk.”
“Were we?” he pressed, taking a single step closer. The space between them charged like the air before a storm. “Because I remember everything with perfect clarity. I remember the way you tasted. The way you felt. I remember… everything.”
She swallowed, a delicate motion he watched with rapt attention. “You shouldn’t be here. You have a wife. A child on the way.”
“I know what I have!” The words burst out of him, louder than intended, laced with a frustration he’d been carrying for months.
He took a breath, reining himself in. “I know. And I feel like hell for it. But that doesn’t change what happened between us. It doesn’t erase the fact that for the first time in a long time, I felt… alive.” He ran a hand through his hair, desperate. “I just need to know. Was it just a mistake for you? Did you feel any of what I felt? Or was I just… convenient?”
He laid it all bare, his guilt, his confusion, his desperate need for validation. He watched her, his entire world narrowing to the micro-expressions on her face—the slight part of her lips, the conflict darkening her eyes, the way her chest rose and fell a little too fast.
She looked away, hugging herself. “It wasn’t… it wasn’t nothing,” she whispered, the admission seeming to cost her. “But that doesn’t make it right. You need to go.”
“Just tell me,” he pleaded, closing the distance until only a foot separated them. He could smell her perfume now, something light and floral, undercut with the warm scent of her skin. “Please. I’ve been going out of my mind. Tell me what you felt.”
The silence of the apartment had become a physical presence, a heavy blanket of dust motes and regret. Rahim stood amidst it, the memory of Lina’s floral scent fading from the cushions. Work at the shop was a mechanical routine, a series of transactions that did little to fill the hollow space in his chest. And every time the bell above the door chimed, his head snapped up, hoping for a glimpse of sleek dark hair and a smile that had, for one night, made him feel like a different man. But Janina never came.
He’d replayed their encounter in the bar’s bathroom, then against her car, a hundred times. The raw, unfiltered hunger. The way his body, which had felt so sluggish and inadequate with Lina, even with those damn pills, had responded with a primal urgency he’d thought was lost to his youth. Two hours. That’s all it had taken to meet her, want her, and have her. The efficiency of it haunted him.
For three nights, his own hand was a poor substitute, the fantasy of Janina’s gasp in his ear the only thing that brought him release. His phone became an instrument of torture. He’d sent carefully worded texts, messages that could be read as simple shopkeeper follow-ups if her husband ever saw them.
“Hope the groceries were satisfactory.”
“The new shipment of basmati rice you like just arrived.”
She’d replied to the first two with brief, polite acknowledgements. Then, nothing. The last message, “Just thinking about that night,” was left on ‘read’, a digital silence that screamed.
He couldn’t stand it. Casually, he’d asked Mrs. Lim, another regular, if she knew where the “nice lady who buys the imported spices” lived, mentioning a supposed mis-delivery. The address was given freely. The plan, a flimsy shield of bravado, was formed. A bag of her usual weekly shopping was prepared, his alibi.
Now, standing before her polished wooden door, the bag of groceries feeling absurdly domestic in his hand, his courage wavered. He rang the bell once. Twice. A third time, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Nothing. Stupid. This is stupid. He turned to leave, the weight of his foolishness crushing him.
The click of the lock stopped him dead.
The door swung open. Janina stood there, clad in simple grey lounge pants and a fitted black top, her hair tied in a loose knot. She was barefoot. She looked softer, more real than the siren from the bar, and somehow more beautiful. Her eyes, wide with shock, locked onto his.
“Rahim? What… how are you here? How did you find my house?”
His voice was tighter than he intended. “A customer mentioned this area. I… I was in the neighbourhood. Thought I’d drop off your usual order. You haven’t been in.” He held up the bag, a pathetic peace offering.
She stared at the bag, then back at his face, her expression unreadable. A tense silence stretched between them, filled with the unspoken memory of skin and whispers. Finally, she stepped back. “You should come in. Off the doorstep, at least.”
He crossed the threshold into a cool, tastefully furnished living room. The air smelled of lemons and clean linen.
“Can I get you some water?” she asked, her voice formal, distant.
“No. No, thank you.” He set the groceries down on a sleek console table, the sound too loud in the quiet house. He scanned the room, the question burning his tongue.
“Is… is anyone else home?”
“My husband is away on a business trip. The children are at college.” Her words were clipped, but he saw the slight tremor in her hand as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear.
A wave of relief so potent it left him dizzy washed over him. He was alone with her. The knowledge cracked the careful facade he’d built. He breathed easier, the official pretext evaporating.
The awkwardness returned, thick and suffocating. They stood a few feet apart, strangers bound by a intensely intimate secret.
“The shop is… good?” she finally asked, filling the silence with meaningless noise.
“Busy. Quiet without…” He trailed off, not wanting to say Lina’s name in this space.
“Yes.”
Another silence. This was unbearable. He had to say it. He had to know.
“Janina,” he began, his voice dropping, losing its shopkeeper’s cadence, becoming just a man’s voice, rough with need. “I couldn’t… I haven’t been able to think straight. Since that night.”
Her gaze flickered to the floor, then back to him, a wariness in her eyes. “Rahim, that was… a mistake. We were both emotional. Drunk.”
“Were we?” he pressed, taking a single step closer. The space between them charged like the air before a storm. “Because I remember everything with perfect clarity. I remember the way you tasted. The way you felt. I remember… everything.”
She swallowed, a delicate motion he watched with rapt attention. “You shouldn’t be here. You have a wife. A child on the way.”
“I know what I have!” The words burst out of him, louder than intended, laced with a frustration he’d been carrying for months.
He took a breath, reining himself in. “I know. And I feel like hell for it. But that doesn’t change what happened between us. It doesn’t erase the fact that for the first time in a long time, I felt… alive.” He ran a hand through his hair, desperate. “I just need to know. Was it just a mistake for you? Did you feel any of what I felt? Or was I just… convenient?”
He laid it all bare, his guilt, his confusion, his desperate need for validation. He watched her, his entire world narrowing to the micro-expressions on her face—the slight part of her lips, the conflict darkening her eyes, the way her chest rose and fell a little too fast.
She looked away, hugging herself. “It wasn’t… it wasn’t nothing,” she whispered, the admission seeming to cost her. “But that doesn’t make it right. You need to go.”
“Just tell me,” he pleaded, closing the distance until only a foot separated them. He could smell her perfume now, something light and floral, undercut with the warm scent of her skin. “Please. I’ve been going out of my mind. Tell me what you felt.”
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)