Simbaâs brow knit together as Nala shook in his arms, sobbing harder. He couldnât remember the last time heâd seen her cry like this. âCourse heâd seen it before butânot since university. Nala had never been a crier the way Simba was a crier. He had big crocodile tears for anything, at the drop of a hat. Ever since heâd been a baby, his mum would say, and realized that his tears would get him attention. Simba cried when he was happy, when he was sad, any time that emotion in his chest got too big for him to hold in.
He wanted to cry now, listening to Nala. His heart cried out, that emotion billowing inside of him until the wind from it stung at the backs of his eyes. He just swallowed and rubbed at Nalaâs back.Â
Whatever it was, they would face it. Together. That was what Simba had promised her, after heâd returned. No matter what, it would be the two of them. The way it was supposed to be.Â
This promise made Simba sturdy and strong. He felt sure of himself, the way he knew Nala usually felt too. If he had to be the only one right now, that was okay. He would hold it. He would find a way.Â
When Nala shoved her phone at him, he blinked but he took it in one hand, keeping his arm around Nalaâs shoulders. His brow knit together as he scrolled. There was nothing amiss from what he could tell.Â
âEr,â he said awkwardly, swallowing, âdid you mean to show me texts fromâŠHenry Charming?âÂ
Maybeâshe had clicked on the wrong name or something. He swiped back into the rest of her texts and looked through the first few. It was his name at the top (he assumed it usually was, Nala never left his top five for long.) There was Attina, Kiara, a few people from InterPride, the wedding party group chat (part of him kind of wanted to click that to be nosyâno, no, Simba, focus.)Â
âYou gotta give me a little more than that,â he joked as he scrolled, âyou know I canât read.â
He pursed his lips slightly and then clicked on Henryâs name, scanning the texts again. He wouldnât put it past himself to have missed something.Â
She couldnât say it out loud.
Her hands were pressed over her mouth, elbows digging into her knees. Nala was trying to drudge up the words. She could feel them, a physical force like sheâd swallowed heavy, misshapen rocks down into her gut. They rolled and clanked and went no where. She could just imagine Simbaâs face. Just imagine it.
What she was really thinking of was her fatherâs face, not Simbaâs. Okoth. Nalaâs hands slid from her mouth over her eyes as she hid there, shoulders hunching even more.Â
All her life, all sheâd wanted was to make her baba proud.
It was because of her baba that she went to Oxford. Oxford was, of course, Oxford-- not a bad school at all, and sheâd never complain. There had just never been another school for Nala to explore because she understood that she would go to Oxford, she would study business or economics, something that would position her well for InterPride. She stayed in more weekends than she went out, again for her baba and the degree she was building. She focused on work. When she was younger, she didnât date because baba told her not to waste her time. In uni, she didnât date because she knew her baba wouldnât like any of those boys.
She would have married Simba-- maybe. If her father insisted.Â
She stayed in Swynlake, she took over InterPride, knowing that her baba would cry tears of joy for her. And she had been right; she did.
But now here she was with a stupid boy she liked that threatened to undo almost thirty years of her hard work. Baba wouldnât approve of him, Baba would be shocked that Nala acted like she did that night in the club, that she was thinking about him, wanting him, despite the fact it could undo her. It was just a stupid boy, yes. But somehow, Henry Charming had become a symbol-- all those undreamed dreams.
Baba wasnât here, yet his spectre lurked and thatâs why she couldnât say it. Not looking at Simbaâs face anyway.Â
From behind her hands, Nala took a shuddering breath.Â
Her hands came down, clasping in prayer, as her head fell. âAllah,â she breathed out the breath sheâd taken. âIt was-- it was before-- before his internship but-- it doesnât matter because I didnât tell HR. I didnât tell anyone. And now every day he brings me coffee, Simba. Every day he comes in and he smiles at me and he compliments me and I have to hand him assignments while this secret grows bigger and bigger and... I canât focus. Iâm such an idiot, Iâm too old for this.âÂ