Nicodème’s POV
She doesn’t bother to hide the longing in her eyes as she stares at me. At some point, a glimpse of sadness appears, which she hides just as fast as it comes, offering me a small smile. As usual. Face blank, I turn my attention back to the person who is currently presenting. From the corner of my eye, I notice her face drop before she distracts herself with the pen in her hand.
“Before attending this meeting, did you manage to collaborate with the marketing team on how we plan to improve sales?” Papers shuffle somewhere down the table, and the projector light casts a dull glow across the polished table.
“Yes, Sir. However, for this part of the presentation, it will be Ms Awa who will take over.” A chair scrapes softly against the floor.
Dad gives a short nod, and Ms Awa confidently takes the stage. When it comes to work, my father is known as a man who is difficult to please. Although he wasn’t this bad in the past, and being his son, I know when the shift took place. More like—played an unwanted role in that shift. Heat fills my chest at the thought. I shouldn’t blame myself—I’m not—but that doesn’t stop the guilt from surfacing uninvited, now and then.
Mom has called him out on it several times, on how he has become paranoid. It’s understandable; however, I wouldn’t say it’s an excuse not to change. Well, habits are hard to break. I let out a soft sigh.
“Could we kindly turn to page forty?” The thirty-something-year-old woman requests. I think this is my second time seeing her. It was rare to see new faces attend these meetings.
The next three hours of the meeting go by fast. Pages turn, voices overlap, and Dad’s sharp, controlled voice cuts through the room at intervals.
“Okay, that should be all for today. Remember, I want everyone to put in their best, not your understanding of the best alone, but to meet the standard of the business. Even exceed that if possible. I expect to see great results by our next recap meeting.” Dad pushes himself up from the chair and makes his way out, closely followed by Perel’s Dad.
Packing my things, I remove my reading glasses before making my way out to my office, greeting a few of the shareholders and employees on the way. My steps slow for a second as I notice Perel is waiting by the door, holding a folder. Hearing my approaching steps, she looks up at me, her mouth slightly opens to say something before closing.
“Afternoon, Ms Fall, how can I help you?” I ask, unlocking the door.
“Afternoon, Mr Ndiaga, I’ve brought in the files that require your signature.” We enter my office, and I place my things onto the desk. I nod, stretching out my hand—gesturing for her to pass it.
“Oh, right.” She snaps out of her daze and hurriedly hands it over, which I flip through without delay.
“I’ll read over everything and give it back by this evening or at the latest tomorrow morning.”
Will try to do so by this evening, or else I’ll need to stop by their family home.
“Nick, I—” My head raises, hearing my nickname, knowing whatever she wants to say next has nothing to do with work. I simply drop the file onto the desk before directing my attention to her. “I miss you.” I would be lying if I claimed her words didn’t take me by surprise.
All I manage is a vague, noncommittal hum. Well… how exactly is she expecting me to respond to that?
Her voice steadies. “I miss you, Nick… I really do.” She repeats with more confidence, as if she had just done something that is near impossible.
Silence takes over.
“Umm—are you not going to say anything?” Her confidence deflates, and pain is evident in her voice.
“What are you expecting of me?” I flatly remark.
She hesitantly steps towards me, then lifts her hand to my face. The air tightens between us as the gap between us collapses more than it should. Her movement is slow, uncertain, unlike her. The small shake in her hand doesn’t go past me—I take a step back before any contact can be made.
“I think I’ve gotten my response.” She mutters, dropping her hand. Her head dips for a moment before she meets my gaze—a faint curve rests on her face, but it tells another story.
“I’ll read through the files, and you’ll have it by evening.”
She gives a small, almost distracted nod before slipping out.
A slow breath leaves me, something raw scratches at my throat as I fight back the tear that fought to expose the emotions battling within and give me more reason why it’s best not to reread a closed chapter.
“Let her go.” My mother’s words come to mind. Somehow assuring me that I was doing the right thing. But a part of me knows this was just one test, that there was more to come. Was I really free from the past? Or there is still longing and familiarity that could keep me hostage if I give in.
I let my body fall into the chair, already exhausted.
“Come in,” I say to whoever is on the other side of the door, my eyes still fixated on the documents before me.
“Look at me, being an amazing brother. I brought you lunch.”
“It’s lunchtime already?” I glance at the time at the bottom of the laptop screen.
“Oh wow, so imagine if I didn’t stop by. You would probably have starved today.”
“No, I would have eaten at home. Just late.” I state, removing my glasses and pressing my thumb and index finger against my eyes.
“Such a buzzkill.” He mumbles, dropping the package onto my desk.
“Thanks for the food, but what exactly are you doing here—and at this time, Adam?”
Getting up from the chair, I take the package and make my way to the couch with him following.
“This smells homemade…” I utter, the familiar smell filling my nostrils. Steam curls faintly from the food, and the warmth seeps through the container into my hands. “You cooked for me?” I lightly joke, though I highly doubt he did so. Adam wasn’t exactly the best in the kitchen, so if he had prepared something, it would mean he was more than willing to sit through videos or let Mom instruct him step by step. And with his lack of patience, and considering the busy day he had claimed to have today, last night, I doubt he put whatever was inside together.
“Eh, maybe next time, to be fair, I helped by bringing it here.” He shrugs, the couch dips slightly under his weight as he makes himself comfortable beside me.
“Sure…like that’s the same as making it. But yeah, I appreciate it, bro.” I tap his shoulder, making my tone serious.
He smirks, nodding in accomplishment.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“This is for sure, Mom. Thank you, but what exactly is going on?” I murmur, more to myself than him, after reading the pink sticky note that says “Here are a few of your favourites to reenergise you xxx Also don’t let anyone ruin your day! Kisses,” I had a hunch on what it could possibly be, but I prefer to first hear what he has to say.
“Dad called for his usual check-up with Mom, and mentioned something about Perel attending today’s meeting. Guess she got worried,” he snorts, as if having a flashback, “Dad too.” His focus lands on me, as if examining me, a bit of worry passing through his eyes.
My fingers brush my collar, and I clear my throat. “I’m all good. You all can stop worrying now.” I lazily say, taking a bite of the alfredo pasta. “By the way, why were you at home in the first place?”
“Ugh, don’t remind me. Had the worst morning.” He huffs out, putting his face in his hands. I raise an eyebrow.
“Attended my morning classes, then went through terrible traffic of almost three hours, just to receive a call that the meeting had been postponed, mind you, I was a few minutes away from the office. On a normal day, I would be rejoicing, but having to drive back for another two or so wasn’t part of the plan.”
Adam had refused to work at the company for the moment, mentioning how he wanted to first work at one of his dream enterprises before joining. Mom was a bit offended, uncertain whether he was insulting the company. But his response was, “Well, I know eventually I’ll end up working in the company. So it’s not necessarily something that feels out of reach. I want a bigger challenge.”
I remember Caleb snickered at his explanation and mumbled. “Dad at work is for sure a challenge, but do you.”
“Adam, why are you lying? I don’t think I have met someone as energetic as you when it comes to work. Just say you are disappointed you don’t have any work today.”
He breathes out a laugh, “Ah, you understand me well, mon frère,” he exclaims, grabbing a bite from my food.
“You sneaked in an extra fork and knife?” I state more than a question.
“Yep! Hmmmm, this is good. Mom’s food is like having our own personal chef at home.” He closes his eyes, savouring the flavour.
I hum in response, diverting my eyes from him to the food.
We spend the rest of the time talking about anything that comes to mind.
“Ugh, my leg has been hurting.” I absentmindedly utter, rolling my ankle. Adam freezes, and I wish I had not spewed that without thought.
“Uhm, have you taken your medicines?” His jaw tightens, like he is holding back more questions.
“No, haven’t needed them for a while. It’s not a big deal, probably due to doing too much movement lately.” I force out a smile.
A flicker of guilt presses low and sharp. Sometimes I wish I had dealt with the event better, then maybe everyone wouldn’t feel the need to be on edge.
“Wait, how did you manage to attend all your classes though?”
“Oh, that, I played it as background music, while I was driving.” He shrugs, but the stiffness is still evident.
“You still do that?”
“Don’t exactly have any other choice, at the moment.”
“You do—”
“Okay, yes, but according to my plans, I don’t,” he cuts me off, a tinge of annoyance in his tone.
“Hey, I’m not trying to persuade you away from your plans. I’m just proposing that if you feel overwhelmed by your schedule, maybe try looking into jobs that cater to your studies, too. It doesn’t need to be our company.”
“Sorry about that, assumed it was going to be a repetition of Mom’s conversation earlier this morning.”
My brow furrows deeply, his chin dips, thoughtful and uneasy. Was he starting to feel pressured? Obligated to join? I sure hope he isn’t going to people-please—that rarely ends well in the long run.
“Join when you’re ready to join.” I sit back, tapping my fingers idly against the couch head.
His lips curve faintly, a quiet understanding taking over his face.
“I think it’s best I leave you to it now. You probably have tons of work.” He slaps his hands against his knees as he gets up.
“Ouff yeah, there’s another document that just came, planning to get it done by this evening.”
“Why stress yourself? You can’t get it done tomorrow or…?”
“Something like that…” My words trail off, catching his attention.
“What do you mean by ‘something like that’?”
“Perel needs it signed, since she’s around for the day, I’m not planning on dropping it off at their place tomorrow.”
His mouth shapes into an o, “Yeah, I’m gonna leave you to it and make sure you get it done by evening.” I chuckle as I watch him pack the containers away, which I join to help. “Should I take it with me, or will you?” He hints toward the bag now filled with the containers.
“You can take it with you, thank you.”
“Okay then, catch you later.” He salutes, which I respond to by extending my hand for our usual handshake.
“See you.”
The rest of the afternoon slips by in fragments—structured, productive, controlled. If anything, the only inconvenience is the occasional drift of thought—unnecessary, uninvited—which I don’t entertain.
A soft knock sounds in the room. “Yes, come in.”
Heels clicking fill the quiet room. I don’t bother lifting my head as the familiar scent hits me.
“Hi, came by for the files. Are you done?” The hint of hopefulness is hard to miss.
“Yes.” My hand reaches out to where it had been lying for the past forty-five minutes. “Here,” I say, meeting her stare for the first time since she entered.
“Ohhh…” Her voice thins before she clears her throat.
I fold my hands, maintaining eye contact. “I suppose that should be all?” She still plays her little tricks. Back then, it may have worked, but now I make sure it doesn’t.
“Yes.” She lets out a small laugh, a crack slips. “I’m not here for long. I—I came because I wanted to fix things.” She briefly shuts her eyes. “I know I messed up.”
“You made your choice. Let’s not label it as messing up—” I suck in a silent breath before continuing. “There was no obligation to stick beside me.”
“Nick—” Her eyes close as she turns away. “Loving you means walking with you through different seasons…even unexpected ones. I failed to do so.”
I rise from my seat, approaching her but remaining at a distance. “As I said, you weren’t obliged to, and you made your decision.” I keep my tone controlled, although the space feels charged.
She watches me carefully for some time before slumping her shoulders. “You won’t take me back,” she states, though it sounds like a hidden question.
Nothing comes out. Not that I don’t have an answer. Not because I see a possibility, but because I don’t want to hurt her any further. She seems to have caught on to it, because her eyes mist over.
She lets out a shaky breath. “It’s okay. It’s—okay,” she mumbles, bringing her hand to wipe the tear that had escaped. A dull, lingering pinch presses low. “But I won’t give up easily. Just like you didn’t.” She forces a weak smile.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” I mutter, slipping my hand into my suit pocket as I return to my seat. Knowing her, there’s no way to convince her otherwise once she makes a decision, so a warning is all I had to offer her. It’s crazy that I allowed myself to go that far, despite knowing this about her. A waste of energy. You loved her. The quiet voice speaks through the bitterness.
The click of the door alerts me to her absence.
“I should get going,” I mumble, checking the time on my wrist—ten minutes past six. Packing everything I need into my briefcase, I lock the door.
My knuckles give three swift knocks on the door. Getting no response, I pull down the handle. My lips twitch, satisfied to know that the workaholic has kept his promise to Mom when the door doesn’t open. Okay, workaholic is a stretch, considering that the most Dad will work for is an extra hour or an hour and a half—but that still pisses Mom off.
As she famously says, “You guys seem to forget that when you work for an extra hour or so, you most probably will only be arriving home around eight or nine.”
A light chuckle leaves my lips at my mother’s love language. My mind drifts off to Jasmine, stopping me in my tracks. Am I…taking a liking to her? I shake my head. Although the question remains in the back of my head. “If so, it would be terrible timing.” I huff out, stepping out of the elevator—the evening air hitting coolly against my skin. My steps move in a steady rhythm down the parking lot, and the sound echoes faintly onto the concrete. A car door slams somewhere in the distance.
What if it’s not?
“Holy Spirit, not now.” I push the thought back once again, before unlocking the car and starting the engine.
Don’t push away your blessing.
The thought settles somewhere I don’t want it to.
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© 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.
