When my husband came to pick me up from the hospital, my best friend was already in the passenger seat. Her smile was still bright and generous, but she made no move to get out.
"It's been so long since I’ve seen you. You’ve been sitting in that passenger seat for ages—can’t you let me have it now that I’m back in the country, Mrs. Frans?"
Frans Charles, hands on the wheel, said nothing. He just changed the subject.
"How were the test results?"
I held the report in my hand—the one confirming my pregnancy—opened the back door and replied slowly, “Just indigestion.”
I hadn’t expected Zaney Qameela to show up at today’s gathering. I thought she’d been abroad for the past three years, doing well. If I had known she’d be there, I never would have gone.
“Little Orange,” she said with that same teasing tone, using the nickname from our school days, “you’re still as dramatic as ever. I didn’t realize indigestion could land someone in the hospital.”
“What a waste of medical resources.”
She acted as if nothing had changed between us, as if we were still close. She casually flicked the small charm I’d hung in the car.
"And you, Frans—this car cost a few million and you made it all girly? Are you even a man?"
Frans just kept his eyes on the road, smiling faintly. “She likes it.”
“Ugh, I don’t. Such a handsome car, dressed like... well, it’s almost incestuous.”
“I’ll buy you one if you want,” he said calmly.
“Tch. Don’t pretend to be a big shot in front of me. Who do you think you’re fooling?”
The curve of his lips deepened. I hadn’t seen him smile like that in a long time. The cold air in the car was on full blast and it felt like icy water was pouring straight into my heart.
——
I reached for the thin blanket beside me and wrapped it around my shoulders.
“Cold?” Frans glanced at me through the rearview mirror, frowning and reached to adjust the temperature.
Zaney quickly pressed his hand. “Hey! I’m burning up. If she’s cold, why not open the window and let the hot air blow in? We’re almost there anyway—she can tough it out.”
Their hands were naturally intertwined, fingers laced, until Frans saw me nod. Only then did he pull away and focus on driving.
“One of you’s afraid of cold, the other of heat. I wonder how you ever managed to live in the same dorm.”
This time, Zaney didn’t respond.
I smiled. “Have you forgotten? She barely stayed in the dorm. She was always out with you.”
Neither of them said a word. Zaney lowered her head and fiddled with her phone. The silence hung thick in the air, heavy with something like heartbreak. Zaney and I had known each other since childhood. Her father died young and her mother worked as a maid in our household.
We shared a bed growing up, dressed up old rag dolls together, split packs of sanitary napkins and whispered about boys in the dark. Later, I realized we had also fallen in love with the same man—Frans.
In the beginning, I’d invite her to join us on dates sometimes. Frans didn’t mind. But gradually, in those outings for three, I became the one sent to buy drinks. Eventually, they went to parties together without me.
I didn’t like internet cafés, couldn’t shoot birds in the hills and was too timid to join their biker stunts. But Zaney was curious about it all—even if she wasn’t good, she tried. Back then, I never thought they crossed a line. I just felt happy.
My best friend and my boyfriend were like brothers. We felt like a family. Until one day, she made a bet with me: would Frans choose her or me? She lost. But I didn’t win either.
