Jasmine’s POV
Lying sprawled across my bed, I absentmindedly scroll through social media, but nothing catches my attention. Each swipe feels empty. I don’t have much to do today, and days like these—empty, quiet, too much space to think—are supposed to be a relief, yet I can’t relax. I consider staying put, setting the phone aside on the sheets; however, my mind refuses to settle, and the house feels too still, too heavy. Having had enough, I finally push myself upright, deciding to check on Mom. Maybe checking on her would feel…normal, or at least familiar, and this nagging feeling would leave.
I lightly knock on her bedroom door. “Yes, come in,” she calls, her voice clipped and distant. Poking my head inside, it takes a second to find her before I step inside. I freeze for a moment, drinking in the scenery. She is sitting in her brown leather armchair, her posture rigid but familiar. Glasses delicately resting on her nose as she reads through the book. Seeming absorbed, but somewhat not. Despite almost everything having changed within the house after my Dad’s death, this is one of the few things that remain untouched.
“What do you want?”
My shoulders lock like stone, every movement stiff. I continue walking toward her; every movement feels heavy and calculated. Slowly, taking one last step forward, I stop a few feet away. “I came to inform you that I’ll be heading to the gym in a few minutes for some hours,” I say, careful to keep my tone neutral. She raises her head up, meeting my eyes for a split second—a flicker of recognition in her eyes—before resuming with her book. I glance down, slightly leaning forward to get a closer look at the title: ‘Perceiving Through Your Eyes,’ bold black letters standing out against the ocean-blue background. Not that I was interested much, but why was my chest tightening a bit? I guess it was the thought that even something as simple as a book served as a reminder that some parts of her world remained inaccessible to me. Another piece of the wall she keeps between us.
Watching her fingers gracefully turn the pages, I realise how much of Mom was always a performance—controlled, deliberate, untouchable. And maybe, for now, all I could do was observe from the edges, careful not to disturb it. Something we all learnt to do.
My family has always been the type to read books. My late dad, my elder sister and I usually had similar tastes, well, from what I had been told, since I was too young to remember much of him. While my mother and elder brother had the exact same interests. I remember it being one of their main ways of bonding.
“Is that all?” My mother’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, bringing my attention back to her, only to find her observing me.
“Yeah,” I reply, fighting the urge to twist my fingers together.
“Okay then.” Taking her blunt response as my cue to leave, I steadily walk out of the room, ignoring how my jaw keeps clenching and unclenching, like it was grinding words I dared not say. My steps slow as the corridor leading to my room stretches before me, darker and heavier than it should have been. The sight of my door was too much; my chest and throat tightened, and going in would only shatter me. I back away, turning away to the kitchen instead, clinging to the excuse of needing water.
Her behaviour is not new, so it shouldn’t be getting such a reaction from me—but I couldn’t help it. And it’s only fair, right? It’s only fair that I get to react in such a way. After all, I am her child, not a robot. Despite trying to convince myself otherwise, I can’t stop the overwhelming feelings of disappointment and guilt. Was it because of the argument that took place earlier this week? Can I even call it an argument when I hardly even got the chance to express myself?
Opening the fridge, I swiftly grab a bottled water, the chill of the bottle bites into my palm. After a brief struggle, the cap twists free. I let the water calm me down, hoping to pull my thoughts together. I find myself at the counter, placing down the half-empty bottle, as I lay my hands on the edge, my head slightly dropping. The hum of the fridge fills the silence, louder than it should be.
Jesus, I’m trying.
Faith was supposed to feel like peace—but right now, the silence was deafening. Maybe God was listening, even if all I managed was a whispered thought between clenched teeth. Did my prayer count? At the moment, it was all I had to give.
Perhaps I should go and apologise to her. But for what? What would I even be apologising for—existing the wrong way again? Apologies always seemed easier than honesty, even if they cost me small pieces of myself. Shutting out the internal struggle, I chug down the rest of the water, each gulp felt jagged, like even the water couldn’t smooth the knot in my throat. Throwing the bottle into the trash. I jog up the stairs, easily jumping a few stairs, aiming to change, pack my gym bag and get out of here as soon as possible.
─ ✦ ❘ ✧ ❘ ✦ ─
The air outside is sharp, cool against my skin, as if the world itself wanted to jolt me awake. Each step away from the house loosens something tight in my chest, though it never fully leaves. I turn the corner onto the gym’s street. It smelled faintly of car oil and damp concrete—unremarkable, yet more comforting. Thankfully, I don’t live too far from it, considering it usually takes about six to fifteen minutes, tops, to get there. Although when my body is extremely sore from the workout, it can feel like it takes an eternity to get home. This reminds me to check with the mechanic how long till my car will be repaired. I swear there’s a new story each time I call; hopefully, this time he keeps his promise.
I push open the glass door, scanning the place, which is oddly empty today. Must be my lucky day.
“Hi Jim,” I greet, one of the personal trainers who is heading my way, his jet black hair slightly tousled. He’s distracted by some sheets he’s holding. Seeing him like this makes me smile—he’s always been the type to be organised, even when the gym is abuzz with activity.
Catching him off guard, his dark brown eyes shoot up to me, carrying a hint of surprise. He adjusts the clipboard with quick, precise movements. “Jas? What a surprise, at this time?” He lifts his wrist to have a quick look at the time. “3 p.m. Your worst hours to attend the gym.”
I chuckle, “Seems like the gym knew I would be showing up, decided not to be packed.” I say, readjusting my violet duffle bag onto my shoulder.
He responds with a laugh of his own, “I think so too; however, you know how it can be around here. In an hour or two, it will be busier.”
“UGH! Don’t remind me, don’t want to be regretting going out of routine for a change.” I exaggerate.
His head rolls back as he laughs, “Anyway, how are you? You know you just missed Justin.”
“I’m great, can’t complain. How about you?
Oh, sheesh. He would have been surprised to see me here.” I jokingly say.
“I’m good, good. It’s been a busy week; luckily, I’m knocking off early today, so will get some much-needed rest.
Yeah, and as usual, he didn’t come alone. This time, he brought two,” he says, his voice holding a tinge of pride.
“Your most dedicated member is at it again,” I say, bringing my hands up in celebration.
If The Set, short for Neuroset Gym, had to name their most dedicated clients, there’s no doubt Justin would be on it.
“Yep!” He chuckles, “I’ll need to get going, have some things I need to finish up,” he says, lifting the clipboard, stacked with a couple of sheets. “Hopefully, I’ll see you around before I leave. If not, until we meet again. Next week. Good seeing you.”
“Good seeing you, too, Jim.”
I hold onto the strap of my duffel bag as I weave past the cardio machines and weight racks. A quick nod at some familiar faces here and there—just enough to acknowledge them. I’m not the type to go around making friends. But as a long-time member of this gym, along the way, I’ve gotten familiar with a few faces. The dim lights reflect off the polished floor, throwing faint glares against the mirrors. Posters of athletes line the walls, their silent ambition staring back at me. I set my bag down in my usual corner, taking a brief pause to scan the spot I’ll be using for stretches and warm-ups. The smell of rubber mats and the subtle odour of disinfectant hit me. Oddly enough, it brings a small sense of calm and motivation.
I roll out my mat and take out my water bottle—and start with some dynamic stretches: shoulder rolls, torso twists, leg swings, and gentle lunges. A tug in my hips, a crackle in my shoulders—each movement awakens my muscles and loosens my tight joints. I let my thoughts quiet down. ‘Breathe in, stretch out. Breathe out.’ I mumble, focusing on my breathing, allowing the heavy tension from the day to slip away with each stretch. By the time I’m done, my body feels relaxed and prepared for a more intense workout.
I reach for my ears, realising I’ve forgotten my headphones. After fumbling through my bag for a moment, I finally find them. Hopping onto the treadmill, the belt hums under me as I ease into a brisk walk. Just as the beat kicks in, it cuts off—a jarring silence replaced by a ringtone. My tights’ back pocket buzzes; I lazily pull out my phone—my sister’s saved name glows on the screen.
I sigh, slowing the pace a tiny bit to answer.
“Hello?” I keep walking, waiting for a response. The network crackles—her voice only half-cutting through. The network must be acting up again.
Gradually increasing the pace into a light jog, my heart rate rises and my muscles warm. The rhythm of my footsteps and the hum of the treadmill help me settle into a mental zone. This is the part that burns, but the kind of burn that’s worth it.
“Hellooo?” I call out, in case she didn’t hear me the first time.
“Sorry, network. Hello to you, too. Whoa, heavy breathing much? Why does it sound like you are being chased? You okay over there?”
“Well, I am at the gym right now. But we can talk.” Of course, she would call right now—mid-workout. Timing isn’t her strength. But I couldn’t blame her—the huge time difference makes it tricky to have our long conversations.
“Oh, okay, great!” I can pretty much hear her cheesing through the phone, “So… how have you been? You know it’s been about a week since you said you were going to call back? I’m starting to think you don’t want to talk to me anymore? Gee whiz, has the distance finally given you the opportunity to get rid of me forever? Ahhh, my heart!” I fight the urge to roll my eyes, but a grin breaks through before I can stop it. Knowing she most likely had her hand clenched on her heart, as she said that. Angèle has always been one to be dramatic, despite being the oldest of the siblings.
“It’s alright, not new,” I comment, referring to the bad network. “I’ve been okay, I would say. And you? Forgive me, I was planning on calling, but got caught up with work. I should have messaged when I realised things weren’t going according to plan.”
“You’re forgiven! I totally understand where you’re coming from. I’ve been fine, Jasy, although work has been fighting for my life. Not complaining, but still… Imagine, I’ve been surviving on four to five hours of sleep every day for the past week and a half. But I chose this career path so…”
I rub my face against my shoulder. “So…, you still need the minimum required sleep. Angèle, I hope you brought it up to your manager? You can’t be working under such conditions, I get, being an actress asks a lot of you, but you still need to take care of yourself and be taken care of. And don’t try to justify, this isn’t the first, nor second, nor third time this has happened.” I struggle to hide the strictness in my tone.
Once the cardio ends, I step off the treadmill and move to my workout corner. I settle onto my mat, taking a break before starting with body weight exercises.
“I hear you,” the little fall in her voice worries me a bit, but not wanting to pry too much, I decide against pressing on this topic. “Thank you, sis,” she whispers, and I can’t shake the nudging feeling she wanted this call, those words, more than she let on.
An incoming call alerts, disrupting my thoughts, ‘Sherlock is calling.’
Me: Hey bro, hope you’re good? On a call with sis, should I add you or ?
I type before answering.
Sherlock: Hey, sure.
“Aroni is calling. Can I add him to the call?” I check, already expecting her answer.
“Aroni? Yeah, I don’t mind.”
“Hey, ladies, you’re all having a family meeting without me or what? I’m grieved.” My big brother’s voice comes through, the noise of him shuffling in the background audible over the call.
“I should be the one with questions here. So you mean to tell me, you guys randomly decided to call me around the same time?”
“Lol, you think we planned this?” Angèle states more than questions.
My silence speaks for itself. Low-key, I become suspicious of them. Because what are the odds that what I’m thinking of is true, it’s not like it would have been the first time they played such a trick on me.
“Wow, Jasmine Lockheart, look at you trying to play detective. You know what, yes, it was planned, but with good reasons,” he proudly exclaims, ready to justify himself.
“Wow Aroni! You couldn’t even last a few minutes. For a renowned lawyer as a profession, you don’t seem to act the part,” my sister fires at him.
Wobbling slightly, I try to catch myself. ‘You got this,’ I whimper, readjusting my stance for the fourth time. The muscles in my legs threaten to fold beneath me. Trickles of sweat sting my eyes, forcing me to blink them away. I pause, hands on my thighs; one knee lands on the mat as I try to steady my breathing. Ugh…the fatigue’s hitting earlier than expected. Should I give in to the temptation and end it here for today?
“Okay, cut it out, guys.” I step in, having had enough of their quarrelling.
Angèle clears her throat, composing herself, “Umm, sorry about that. Aroni knows how to get under my skin every single time, I’ll give him that.”
“I’m surprised Neil manages to put up with you.” He snaps back.
“How’s Neil, by the way?” I add, bypassing his remark, before another ten minutes go to waste on their petty fights.
Angèle lets out a dreamy sigh before responding, “Neil? Neil is amazing.”
I puff out a quiet laugh at her response, unable to stop the grin. My sister has always been one to wear her heart on her sleeve, despite putting up a tough facade. Her ending up with the wrong man was one of my biggest fears. Especially given our childhood, having no father figure to reflect what we should expect from a husband. Might I also add the negative outlook our mother has on him, which didn’t help the situation. Neil coming into her life is a testament that God answers the cries of His children, literally, too, might I add.
“Although our work schedules have been a bit more hectic than usual, I am glad we’ve been getting the hang of balancing everything. He’s out of the country at the moment, though.”
“That’s great to hear. OOO, where did he travel to?”
“He currently has a meeting in China, but after that will be heading to Angola.”
“Are you going to be alright, alone?” I softly ask, unable to hide my concern.
“Will you?” Aroni presses, his voice slightly wavering before he catches himself.
“Don’t stress, counselling has been helping a lot. Neil, would not leave me alone if he, if we, were not confident everything would be okay.”
“Glad you’re happy, big sis,” Aroni expresses.
“Hate to end this, but can I call you both back later? Want to finish up here. Will call you guys back when I grab something to eat? Does that work with you both?”
“In approximately how many hours?” Aroni enquires, being the type to strictly plan out his day.
“About an hour and a half, if not less. Will head to the diner, not far from the gym.”
“Sure thing. Angèle?”
“Not a problem with me, today is a rest day. So, other than fixing up the house and grocery shopping, which I have already done, I’ll be free.”
“Great, then, chat later.” I bid goodbye before disconnecting from the call.
Concentrating on the task at hand, I dive straight into planks and push-ups, before adding resistance with dumbbells and resistance bands. Each controlled movement focuses on tone and endurance. I keep my breathing steady, concentrating on the form I’ve been practising, feeling the burn and the satisfaction that comes from challenging myself.
Checking the time, I smirk, happy to have completed everything within the allocated time. Dragging myself to the restroom to change, I drop the duffel bag on the bench before drawing out a couple of wipes and other necessities. After thoroughly wiping the sweat off my skin, I spray lightly, refusing to mask it with perfume alone.
I glance around in case Jim hasn’t left, as I leave the gym. I guess he’s already gone, just as he said he would be.
The door jingles, and a few heads cursorily swivel my way. I keep my footsteps sharp and purposeful, avoiding eye contact as I scan the diner—hoping to find my usual spot available. Relieved, I slide in, the familiar crackle of the vinyl settling something in me.
━━━━━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━━━━━
© 2026 Emmanuelle Ngoie. All rights reserved. The Crying Girl is an original work. No part of this work may be copied, reproduced, or distributed without permission.
