Unsaid

The mall is louder than it needs to be — music spilling from every store, laughter bouncing off glass walls, the sound of bags rustling as we walk.

But I don’t mind it.

There’s something comforting about being surrounded by my friends, arms full of shopping bags, doing nothing important except existing together. We move in a loose line, bumping shoulders, pointing at displays we don’t need, laughing like this moment won’t ever end.

We’ve graduated.

That thought still feels unreal.

Three years of deadlines, lectures, breakdowns, and survival — finished. Done. No more classrooms. No more seminars. No more pretending we knew exactly what we were doing.

But freedom doesn’t come without weight.

I’m still working part-time at the same café, juggling shifts while doing work placements that barely pay, telling myself it’s temporary — that it’ll be worth it.

My goal is simple now: get a proper placement. I’ve applied everywhere. Marketing firms. Design studios. Corporate offices that all promise “growth” but reply with silence.

Princess, Hope, Bria, and Salma all graduated too. Asia skipped university altogether — she built her hair business from the ground up and now does tattoos on the side. Somehow, she’s the one who seems the most certain.

We’re excited, sure. But there’s an unspoken anxiety sitting between us.

Because now that university is over, reality has arrived — and it’s asking what we’re going to do next.

We end up at a restaurant and slide into a booth, menus in hand. The smell of food fills the air, but before anyone can focus, Hope’s phone starts buzzing.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

She tries to ignore it. Fails.

A grin slips across her face as she checks the screen.

Princess narrows her eyes. “Let me guess. Your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Hope says quickly. “We’re just getting to know each other.”

“You guys are still getting to know each other?” Bria says, frowning. “It’s been a month.”

I shrug. “A month isn’t that long. You don’t really know someone yet.”

“Right,” Hope murmurs, fingers flying over her screen. She hesitates, then places her phone face-down on the table, letting out a quiet sigh that gives her away completely.

She’s caught feelings. Hard.

She met him in Birmingham, and I’ve seen more than enough pictures — Hope loves to show him off. And honestly… he’s cute.

So I can’t even blame her for falling a little too fast.

Princess smirks. “I don’t think a month is short. Me and Michael talked for a few months and now we’re official.”

Asia raises an eyebrow. “But you don’t even really know him.”

Princess shrugs. “We’ll get to know each other whether we’re official or not. Might as well do it together.”

She pauses, then adds, “And at least it’s not long distance.”

Caleb’s name doesn’t need to be said.

Princess and Caleb broke up three years ago, not long after university started — when he transferred to America. The distance, the lack of attention, the silence… they ended it mutually.

But I know her well enough to know it still hurt.

“Princess,” Salma says gently, “it’s been three years.”

“I know,” Princess replies. “I’m just saying — long distance doesn’t work.”

She glances at Bria. “You can agree, right?”

Bria exhales through her nose, already knowing where this is going. Three years ago, she’d ended things with Jacob — after a year of late-night calls and almost-commitments — when he’d ghosted her again. He lived in Scotland and used to come down to London whenever he could, just enough to make it feel real before disappearing all over again.

Salma cuts in before Princess can say more. “Let’s not go there,” she says, a note of disgust in her voice — already understanding exactly where Princess was headed.

It reminds me of those nights years ago, when Bria would call, breaking down over Jacob. All of us on FaceTime, crowded into our screens, half-asleep, half-studying — but fully there for her.

No matter how busy university got, no matter how far apart we were, we always showed up. That was the unspoken rule. We carried each other through it.

Bria snorts. “How did we even get here? We were talking about Hope.”

Princess waves her hand. “Whatever. Bria, you need a man.”

“I absolutely do not,” Bria fires back.

Salma nods. “Exactly. Men these days want to be women.”

Princess laughs. “You’ll miss out on a good guy with that mindset. Even you, Jada.”

“I’m good,” I say calmly. “A man isn’t my priority. I’ve got other things to focus on.”

“Period,” Salma says.

Princess tilts her head. “Like what?”

“Like getting a placement. Building a career,” I reply. “Which, last time I checked, we’re all trying to do.”

Princess sighs. “I’m just saying — out of all of us, you especially need to find a man.”

I frown. “What does that mean?”

“Every group call for the past three years,” she says slowly, “you’ve never once mentioned talking to a guy.”

Hope nods. “It’s true. You’re different from college.”

Asia squints, thinking. “You used to have bare talking stages… even that one time with— what was his name?”

She snaps her fingers, struggling.

Salma exhales. “Cole.”

Oh shit

Asia freezes. “Yeah. Cole.”

On the table all their faces shift into knowing looks.

“Ohhh,” Bria says.

Hope rolls her eyes. “That bastard.”

“Hope,” Princess says sharply, shooting her a warning look.

“What?” Hope shrugs, unapologetic. “Did we all just forget what he did to Keon?” Her voice tightens — the anger from that night still sitting close to the surface.

My chest aches before my mind can stop it.

Because suddenly I’m not here anymore.

I’m back there.

That night.

The night everything broke.

The fight.

The chaos.

The way fear tasted sharp at the back of my throat.

And then — his voice.

Low. Shaking. Honest.

I love you.

I didn’t say it back.

I think about that more than I ever admit — how silence can change the direction of an entire life. How knowing something too late can haunt you forever.

That moment still feels close enough to touch. Like yesterday never really left.

“Yeah,” Asia says quietly, her tone shifting. “That day… it really went bad. Especially after Keon ended up unconscious.”

Keon woke up the next day from that incident.

And I’d be lying if I said he didn’t want revenge — if he didn’t hope, in his anger and pain, that he’d run into Cole on the street and finish what that night had started.

It terrified me.

But it never came to that. And deep down, I’m glad it didn’t.

And soon after, Cole transferred to America — like running was the only way to survive what he’d left behind.

Just like that, he was gone.

Keon and I stayed in touch for a while. Messages here and there. Check-ins that grew further apart as life kept moving. Now he’s in prison.

“Not going to lie,” Salma says, glancing at me, “ever since Cole transferred, boy drama has followed you, Jada.”

Everyone turns to look at me.

All at once.

I stiffen in my seat, heat creeping up my neck. Being put on the spot like this makes my stomach twist — dragged back into college mess I thought I’d outgrown.

Not this.

“Even the fights,” Bria adds, grinning like she knows exactly how uncomfortable I am.

“You mean Cole’s fights,” Asia says. “Every single one of them was about Jada.”

“No it wasn’t” I said trying to shut it down.

“Yes it was,” Princess laughs, memories clearly replaying. “Cole versus Rami. Cole versus Keon.” She tilts her head. “You have to admit… it was kind of cute.”

Bria nudges her shoulder.

And before I can stop myself — before I can shut it down — my lips curve.

Just slightly.

Fuck.

“There,” Hope laughs, pointing at me. “See? Jada’s smiling. You know it was cute.”

“Alright,” I cut in quickly, forcing my face back into neutrality. “That’s enough.”

I don’t know if it’s my tone or the way I won’t meet anyone’s eyes, but they finally let it go. The conversation shifts— effortlessly, mercifully — onto something else.

And it wasn’t long for the waiter to come over to our table and we take our order. They were talking amongst themselves but I’m already gone.

Their voices fade into background noise as my thoughts drift somewhere I didn’t invite them to go.

Because once his name is said, once the memories are dragged back into the light, they don’t leave quietly.

They never do.

And no matter how hard I try to stay present —

My mind finds him.

Cole.

Always him.

And if I’m honest, I don’t even know how to feel about it.

About that night.

I don’t know what I’m allowed to grieve.

It’s been three years.

And I’ve never really spoken about his confession.

Not properly.

Not to my friends. Not even to Bria.

I buried it instead — the fear, the guilt, the love I never gave back. I pressed it down so far inside myself that I convinced myself time would take care of it. That silence would soften the edges.

But love doesn’t disappear just because you refuse to look at it.

It waits.

And mine stayed unresolved — folded into the quiet parts of me, shaping the way I learned to swallow words, the way I chose distance over honesty. It taught me how to stay still even when my heart was screaming.

I keep telling myself that college — and Cole — belong firmly in the past. That I’ve moved on. That I’m focused on placements, on careers, on becoming someone with a future that doesn’t ache like that one did.

And most days, I believe it.

I am looking forward.

I am building something.

Still… every now and then, I can’t help but wonder what’s coming for me.

And whether the future I’m walking toward will ever stop echoing with what I left unsaid.