Three weeks passed.
Three long weeks of pretending my life still belonged to me.
The black card remained hidden inside my wallet the entire time.
Sometimes I forgot about it for hours.
Sometimes I thought about it so much it felt radioactive.
But I never called.
I tried to convince myself that whatever Adrian Vale wanted had nothing to do with me.
Rich men with expensive cars did not appear in ordinary girls’ lives without consequences attached.
So I focused on surviving instead.
Which became increasingly difficult.
“You’ve been staring at the same page for ten minutes.”
I looked up from my notebook slowly.
Tessa sat cross-legged across from me on the apartment floor, surrounded by architecture sketches, tiny cardboard structures, and enough pencils to supply a small nation.
“I’m reading,” I lied.
“You’re dissociating academically.”
“I’m multitasking.”
“You’ve written the same sentence three times.”
I looked down.
Sure enough:
Global transport systems influence…
Global transport systems influence…
Global transport systems influence…
I sighed and dropped my pen.
Outside the apartment windows, late afternoon sunlight stretched across the city in fading gold streaks while traffic hummed endlessly below.
Tessa studied me carefully.
“You still thinking about the mysterious businessman?”
I stilled slightly.
“A little.”
“A little,” she repeated sceptically.
“Lia, you nearly walked into a pole yesterday.”
“That pole appeared unexpectedly.”
“It has existed longer than both of us.”
Despite myself, I laughed quietly.
But the sound faded quickly.
My tuition payment deadline sat in the back of my mind like a countdown clock.
I had already contacted the financial office twice, asking for an extension.
Both conversations ended with polite sympathy and absolutely no solutions.
I was supposed to receive partial tuition money in another three weeks from a private academic support program I’d applied for months ago.
But even that would only cover half.
And half wasn’t enough.
“You should let me help,” Tessa said softly.
Immediately, I shook my head.
“No.”
“Liora.”
“No.”
“You literally look exhausted.”
“I’m handling it.”
“You are clearly not handling it well.”
I looked away before answering quietly.
“I’ll figure something out.”
Because I had to.
There wasn’t another option.
By evening, Café Ellure smelled like coffee, vanilla syrup, and exhaustion.
Rain clouds gathered heavily outside the windows while conversations blurred into meaningless noise around me.
I balanced two cups carefully onto a tray just as Felix nearly collided with me.
“Sorry,” he muttered tiredly.
“You look dead.”
“I’ve worked six shifts in four days.”
“Capitalism wins again.”
He gave me a weak thumbs up before disappearing toward another table.
I carried the drinks toward the front quietly, trying not to think about the overdue tuition notices sitting unread inside my email inbox.
Or the bills at home.
Or the black card is still hidden inside my wallet.
The entire past three weeks had felt like life steadily tightening around my throat.
And somehow Adrian Vale’s silence made things worse.
He never returned.
Never called.
Never appeared outside the café again.
But now and then, I still caught myself searching for the black car outside unconsciously.
Which irritated me deeply.
“Liora?”
I turned.
Amira stood beside the counter holding the café phone.
Her expression had changed.
My stomach tightened instantly.
“What happened?”
“It’s your mother.”
Everything inside me dropped.
I grabbed the phone immediately.
“Mom?”
“Liora.” Her voice sounded strained.
“Don’t panic.”
Panic arrived anyway.
“What happened?”
“It’s Clara.”
The world around me blurred softly.
“What happened to Clara?”
“She had an asthma attack at school this afternoon.
They took her to the hospital.”
My grip tightened painfully around the phone.
“Is she okay?”
“She’s stable now,” my mother said quickly.
“They’re giving her oxygen and treatment, but the doctor says she’ll need more tests because her breathing still isn’t improving properly.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
“Which hospital?”
Windhoek Central Hospital looked colder at night.
The fluorescent lights washed everything in pale exhaustion while the smell of antiseptic clung heavily to the air.
By the time I arrived, it had started raining again.
My shoes squeaked softly against polished floors as I moved quickly through crowded corridors lined with exhausted families, crying children, and nurses walking fast enough to suggest there was never enough time for anything.
The respiratory ward sat near the back of the building.
And somehow it felt quieter there.
Not peaceful.
Just heavy.
The room Clara stayed in held six beds separated by thin curtains that didn’t provide nearly enough privacy.
Machines beeped steadily from different corners while muted television sounds drifted faintly overhead.
A little boy across from Clara slept beneath an oxygen mask while his mother sat beside him, praying quietly under her breath.
Further down, an elderly man coughed violently into a tissue while a nurse adjusted his IV carefully.
Sickness lived here openly.
Exhaustion too.
Clara looked painfully small against the white hospital bed.
An oxygen tube rested beneath her nose while she slept lightly beneath thin blankets, curls spread across the pillow.
My chest tightened instantly.
Mum stood beside the bed, looking like she hadn’t rested properly in days.
The moment she saw me, relief flickered across her face.
“You came.”
“Of course.”
I moved toward Clara slowly.
Her breathing sounded steadier than I expected, but every rise and fall of her chest still made anxiety twist painfully inside me.
“What did the doctors say?”
“They want to keep monitoring her,” Mum answered quietly.
“The attack was worse than usual.”
I swallowed carefully.
Then I noticed my father wasn’t around.
“Where’s dad?”
“He said he’ll meet some friends for help.
He’s doing the best he can.”
I could only nod at that.
Mom touched my arm gently.
“He’s trying, Liora.”
I nodded slowly.
“I know.”
And I did know.
That was the problem.
We were all trying.
Life simply didn’t care.
“Where’s Noah?” I asked quietly after a moment.
“At home,” Mom answered.
“He refused to go to school this morning.”
Of course he did.
I could already imagine him pretending not to worry while worrying more than everyone else combined.
I looked back toward Clara again.
Her tiny fingers curled weakly against the blanket.
Something inside me cracked softly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
About twenty minutes later, I stepped outside the hospital building alone.
And then, I couldn’t stop the tears.
Rain drizzled across the dark parking lot while ambulance lights flashed somewhere in the distance.
The night air felt cold against my skin.
For a long moment, I simply stood there beneath the hospital entrance lights, staring teary-eyed at nothing.
Then slowly…
I reached into my wallet.
The black card waited exactly where I’d hidden it.
Simple.
Elegant.
Dangerous.
My thumb hovered briefly over the silver numbers.
This was a mistake.
I knew it was.
Every instinct I had warned me not to do this.
But upstairs, my little sister lay in a hospital bed while overdue tuition notices waited in my inbox, and exhaustion hollowed everyone I loved.
And suddenly, survival felt heavier than fear.
I pulled out my phone.
Then finally…
I dialled the number.
The phone rang once.