Page 103 of Little Miss Fortune

Can I?

I received that message about ten days ago—the same morning I successfully completed my internship. Fawzia, Maahni, Steven, and Adzo threw me a little party at lunch with nut-free cupcakes (Steven specified). Leon took me out to dinner and presented me with a bouquet of daisies. My family let me put on a film of my choosing and only complained once. It could have been a perfect day. It should have been a perfect day. But Toby wasn’t there.

I haven’t seen him since dinner at mine.

He sent me a quick message congratulating me on passing my probation and saying that he never doubted me. But that was it. Then Steven informed me that he is taking his annual leave and should be back in ten days.

Why did he not say anything to me?

He’s stopped calling me to say good night and texting me random thoughts or news from the gaming world. I asked him whether he is in deep trouble with his parents because of me, and he just sent this:

Toby: Ha ha, I’m an adult, Fuko. I know they wish to control my every move, but they will just have to deal with it.

He still sends a message or two every day, but they do not sound like him. What if he’s been taken hostage?

Fuko: Hey, is everything all right?

It takes him about twenty minutes to respond.

Toby: Yeah, why?

I feel my fingers ready to lash out, to point to the texts above and how empty they have been. But instead, I type:

Fuko: You have been quieter than normal.

Toby: Ah! Sorry, I’m doing half marathon training.

If that were the case, he would have boasted about it already or challenged me to a running duel. Like when he mentioned the charity swim at his local swimming pool and egged me on to participate. At first, I politely declined, but he wouldn’t let go of it for weeks. That’s how Toby usually is—turning everything into a jokey challenge, knowing full well that I am not the person that would ever do these things.

He signed us up four weeks ago to do the charity swim early October. I can’t help but wonder whether that still is going ahead. I’m too chicken to ask.

Fuko: Ooo, have fun then! Let me know how it goes. Are you back in work tomorrow?

Toby: Ah, yeah, maybe.

I reread Zaria’s text again. It seems they are going to throw a party at a bowling place. With retro games, air hockey, and claw machines. Perfect for a 12-year-old boy, which means he will love it. If he comes.

I sit in the office the next morning with the rest of the marketing team, which I am now a part of, looking around to see the strawberry blond of his head or tweed of his trousers. Fawzia was right, by the way; they are a boring bunch, this marketing team. They make me miss Maahni—at least she knows which planets are in retrograde and how they are affecting my life.

When we finally reach lunch, I head to the kitchen. The two bento boxes I made last night for Toby and Fawzia are sitting in the fridge.

‘I made you something.’ I open the box for Fawzia to see. ‘I have checked. It is halal.’

Cocktail sausage octopodes, rice, tempura (this time perfectly cut and shrimpless) and a square folded omelette.

‘That’s so nice, Fuko! Bismillah itadakimasu.’

‘Bismillah itadakimasu,’ I say, but my strained smile drops when I glance at the other box.

Toby’s one has a little heart made out of peppers.

‘You all right?’ Fawzia asks.

‘Yeah. It’s just... Toby said he’d be here today.’

‘Hmm.’ She draws out a hum.

‘What?’