It couldn't be.
For the last, she gathered all the remaining courage to speak again into the telephone,
"Madame, are you still there? Hello?"
She managed to sound normal despite the series of riots upheaving inside her chest. Her lips soaked in glossy pink lipstick broiled; her head began to tighten; her lips were a zipper, the upper curve of her lips glided with the bottom; teeth crashing paralleled on each other beneath. It joined with the rhythm of apprehension and confusion wrestled inside her cardiac muscle.
The opposite line fell into a deep pit of subtle silence like there was no conversation that happened minutes before. Her lungs commenced to collaborate with the squabble in her heart; deep thick breaths were unleashed.
"Belinda."
Her world stopped in a drop of a second; her breathing halted; her chest died. She was in astral projection; her soul seemed lost, and could be found never; her flesh was dead; her sensory organs malfunctioned. The name of the lady she'd been hiding for several decades echoed in her mind.
"Ms. Shakkira, someone is looking for you? He's waiting outside."
She got back into her senses when she heard the familiar voice behind the door. She bit her lower lip and composed herself.
"Yah sure, thanks Jackie," she replied and opened the door.
Jackie was waiting outside wearing her delicate smile. She let out a wrinkled forehead, with a tiny hint of unhinging, while her pupils traveled on to the studio.
Ate Layla strode her feet towards her.
"It's okay Shakkira. He already asked my consent," she let out a comforting smile.
"He?" Her eyebrows crossed.
"I guess you knew him."
Knew him, she thought. As far as she'd recalled, she wasn't affiliated to any man or any guy— before? An image of a man displayed in her mind— she zipped her eyes for seconds, then blinked, trying to process. It couldn't happen, not now, never— she trembled. Her fingers began to tap.
"Shakkira?"
She made it back to her senses.
"Ah, I'm sorry Ate Layla. What is it?"
"One more thing before I leave."
"You're leaving?"
She looked at the sling bag hanged on her shoulder, then ventured her eyes on the Nikon D3500 camera on her neck.
She smiled seeing Shakkira's expression. "Well, perhaps I haven't told you. The governor recently call, they're having a conference this 1 PM" she gave a glimpse to the wristwatch worn on the left wrist, then back her eyes on her, "It's urgent. He'll be having a meeting with the congressman. The congressman is with someone— identity ain't revealed. No journalists are allowed to enter. It is something like private, but not totally. It just needs my presence. Photographic proof, I guess."
"Then, what about the photoshoot?"
"I have an appointment for two days. We'll get back the next day, on the 24th. Will it be convenient?"
"Yes, of course, Ate Layla." Her eyes were tired and dead, so was her voice.
"Don't worry, dear. It'll be fine. Your career will keep on blooming. Just stay chill. You're the luck of QYC, remember that."
Ate Layla tapped Shakkira's shoulder.
"Thanks Ate."
Her lips formed a half-arc; she bit her lower lip that was drained in dryness.
"You're alright?" Ate Layla tried to meet Shakkira's eyes. There were minute moles of liquid accumulating on her eyelids.
She averted her eyes on the barren wall. "Yes, I am." And, halfway gaze at her.
Ate Layla knew her very well, and at this moment she wasn't okay. Shakkira had always been secretive.
She left no words and no choice, thus, opened her arms to welcome her; she accepted her embrace. The smell of rose fragrance perfume penetrated her nostrils.
She dumped her face on her bare shoulders, taking breaths in there.
"Keep safe ate," she murmured on her shoulder. Her voice was weak and low, but audible enough for the impulse to infiltrate the receiver's auditory nerves.
"You too darling."
Ate Layla was the first to let loose their hug, leaving in her nose Shakkira's perfume. Shakkira on the other side choked her saliva. Ate Layla left her behind.
"Jackie," she called the assistant.
"Yes, Ms. Shakkira."
Jackie quickly went inside the studio.
"Is he still there?"
"Yes Ms. Shakkira"
"Kindly tell him to give me five minutes. I just have to get myself done."
"Yes, sure Ms. Shakkira."
She went back into the restroom, changed clothes, erased her make-up, and replaced it with a light foundation, and pink lipstick. She was wearing denim jeans and a plain gray T-shirt, paired with doll shoes. She mirrored herself. She looked so simple; no one would recognize that she was Shakkira Ballesteros. She let out a deep sigh and smiled at her reflection in the mirror.
"Everything will be fine Shakkira. You can do it." She composed herself for the last time, then went out.
Her chest thumped on her way.
"It's been a long time."
It couldn't be, she thought. The familiar voice went into her ears. She zeroed her eyes on the man leaning at the door of the car.
"Austin?"
***
"Hey, what's going on?"
Jasmine jumped her feet off the hospital bed. She was completely safe and sound; she was no longer connected to the ventilator; the patient monitor was dead.
"Good morning, Ms. Jasmine."
The nurse strode her feet towards her, hands were pocketed, eyes were pasted softly on Jasmine as a delicate smile arced in her red thin lips.
"I don't understand."
Jasmine's eyes moved back and forth but stopped when the morning rays gaped them.
"Stay calm, dear," the nurse hushed Jasmine's growing panic signs.
"How long did I sleep?"
Jasmine threaded quickly and swept the curtains of the glass window letting the gleams of the sun to exposed the inside even more. She rubbed her eyes and found no answers in the clear sky. She went back to the clock— it's not functioning. Her eyes searched for a calendar— it was never.
"Stay right there, Jasmine."
The nurse pointed a finger on her.
Did she call me by my first name? Jasmine asked her notions.
"Okay, just stay there."
Not a minute, the nurse was a few feet away from Jasmine.
"Jasmine," a voice called.
Jasmine heard someone called her name; her eyes searched for the origin of the voice; before she found the source, an image of a gray man hurdled in front of her. She looked up and meet his almond eyes.
"Who are you?"
He took off his black sunglasses and smiled.
"Wha--what's the meaning of this?"
Jasmine's tongue trembled to see the familiar shape of the baggage beside his shoes.
"Where is he? Miss, I'm not leaving right?"
Jasmine's hands grabbed the nurse's hands. Her palms were soaking in swear.
"Don't be scared, darling. He'll not harm," the nurse said calmly.
She hushed Jasmine's eyes.
"Bu--ut Miss…"
Jasmine tried to protest. Yet, she was pale, light, naive and seemed pointless on escaping.
"Shhh…"
The man successfully brought her out of the hospital.