Chapter 30: The Couple Who Hid the Same Answer
The groan of the wooden dock underfoot, the slap of brine against pontoon floats, the distant cry of gulls cutting through the orange haze of sunset—Tiko’s was all ambiance, a creaking, salt-weathered jewel box moored in the oil-slick calm of Suva Harbour. The scent of grilled mahi-mahi and frying coconut batter wrapped around Lusiana as she followed the host to a table by the railing, the very tableau Taitusi had requested: water view, romantic, a statement of normalcy.
He was already there, leaning back in his chair, a bottle of Fiji Bitter sweating in front of him. He stood as she approached, the gesture smooth and practiced, placing a quick kiss on her cheek that smelled of lime and hops. “You look amazing,” he said, his smile dialed to its usual, disarming warmth.
“So do you,” she replied, the automatic words dropping between them like a coin into a shallow well. She sat, smoothing her dress over her knees, feeling the gentle, nauseating rock of the restaurant beneath her.
For a while, it was the ordinary script. They ordered another beer for him, a sweet vinarette for her. They talked about the heat, the crazy traffic on Grantham Road, a mutual friend’s new baby. The sentences were bubbles, rising and popping without leaving a trace. All the while, the unspoken thing sat in the fourth chair at their small table, patient and humming.
Taitusi broke first. He took a long pull from his bottle, set it down with a decisive click. “He found you too, then. Varek.”
The water lapped softly beneath them. “Yes.”
“What…” He cleared his throat, his eyes on the horizon where a container ship slowly bled into the dusk. “What did he ask you?”
Lusiana traced the condensation on her glass. “The same, I imagine. How are you finding it. Who would you choose. The usual invasive personality test.”
“Right.” A brittle laugh escaped him. “Just a test.”
She looked at him then, really looked. She saw the faint tension around his eyes, the way his thumb rubbed at the bottle's label, peeling it back in a slow, persistent curl. He was performing calm, but the performance had a crack. She knew because hers did, too.
“It felt different this time, Lusi,” he said, his voice lowering though the nearest table was empty. “Not like the early rounds, all puzzles and teamwork. This felt… surgical. Like he was looking for a weak seam to pry open.”
“And did he find one?” she asked, her tone light, almost airy.
His gaze snapped to hers, held for a second too long. “No. Of course not.” He reached across the table, covered her hand with his. His palm was damp. “We’re a team, yeah? That’s our strength. We stay united, we watch each other’s backs, we get through this. Together.”
The word hung in the salt air. Together. She felt the phantom weight of her answer in the MHCC food court. Taitusi. She saw the calculation in his eyes and wondered what his number had been. What name he had offered to Varek’s quiet, relentless pressure.
“Together,” she echoed, nodding. The nod felt jerky, too quick. She disguised it by taking a sip of her drink. The sweetness was cloying.
Silence stretched, filled by the restaurant's murmur and the water's restless sigh. Taitusi withdrew his hand, picked at the label again. “You know, I was thinking… about pressure. What it does to people. Makes them say things… theoretical things… that don’t mean anything in the real world.”
Her heart was a dull, cold stone in her chest. “Theoretical.”
“Yeah. Just words to get through a door. Not… not reflective of true feeling.” He was justifying it, pre-justifying his own choice, and in doing so, he confirmed everything. He had sacrificed her. The knowledge didn’t shatter her; it settled into a hollow, confirmed space.
“True feelings are complicated,” Lusiana said carefully. “Sometimes the past holds onto people. Makes the present… theoretical.”
His head came up. She had threaded the needle, just enough. Maraia’s name wasn’t spoken, but her presence entered the space between them like a sudden drop in temperature. She saw him flinch inwardly, saw the defensive shadow cross his face. He took a swig of beer, a longer one this time. “Some doors need to stay closed,” he said, his voice firmer now. “For everyone’s good.”
Including yours, she thought. Especially yours.
Their food arrived, a vibrant plate of kokoda for her, a massive curry pot for him. They ate. They commented on the flavor. They talked about the logistics for the next group challenge, a safe, barren topic. The meal was a pantomime of companionship. Every laugh of his sounded slightly forced. Every smile of hers felt stiff, applied like makeup.
When the plates were cleared and the bill paid, they rose together. Taitusi put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as they navigated the narrow, bobbing gangway back to the solidity of the dock. His body was warm, familiar. She leaned into it, letting her head rest against his shoulder for a moment. It was the expected pose.
They walked to the car parked along Stinson Parade, the neon lights from the city beginning to flicker on, reflecting in the dark harbour water. He opened her door for her, another practiced gesture.
“We’re good, yeah?” he asked, his hand on the roof of the car, his face earnestly searching hers in the dim light.
“We’re good,” she said, smiling up at him.
He believed her. She could see the relief soften his features. He closed her door, rounded the hood, and slid into the driver’s seat, already talking about turning on the rugby highlights when they got home.
As he started the engine and pulled into the evening traffic, Lusiana looked out her window at the passing city. She had lied. He had lied. The lies were not spoken aloud, but they were the most real thing that had passed between them all evening. They were a new, silent understanding. The connection between them hadn’t broken; it had simply learned to accommodate falsehood. It had learned to lie.
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University of the South Pacific, Laucala Campus, Suva, Fiji — along Laucala Bay Road, on the eastern part of the Suva Peninsula.
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University of the South Pacific, Laucala Campus, Suva, Fiji — along Laucala Bay Road, on the eastern part of the Suva Peninsula.
The air over Laucala Bay was thick and still, holding the day’s heat like a held breath. The sprawling campus greens, usually bustling, were quiet in the twilight, the shadows of the palm trees stretching long and thin like grasping fingers. Niyan found Karavi where he said he’d be, sitting on the low concrete wall near the science building, staring at nothing.
“You look like you’ve been sentenced,” Niyan said, coming to stand beside him.
Karavi didn’t turn. “Feels like it.” He flicked a pebble. It clicked against the pavement. “Varek find you, too?”
“Yeah.”
“What number did you give him?”
Niyan felt the question like a probe in a tender spot. “Thirty-four,” he said, the admission sour in his mouth.
A dry, humorless sound escaped Karavi. “Solid. Respectable. I went with forty-six. Nice and middling, right? Not a monster, not a martyr.”
The way he said it—the flat, analytical tone—set off a low alarm in Niyan’s gut. He’d known Karavi since they were kids building forts in the mangrove mud. He knew the difference between his real laugh and the performance. This was all performance, polished and hollow. “He’s not just choosing contestants, K. He’s opening people. Right where they’re weakest. You need to be careful what you show him.”
“What did you show him?” Karavi finally turned his head. In the fading light, his eyes were dark, unreadable pools. “Your weakness. Was it me? Or Mara?”
Niyan stiffened. “Don’t.”
“Why not? It’s the calculus, isn’t it? That’s all this is now. He’s quantifying us. Turning loyalty into a decimal point.” Karavi stood up abruptly, a fluid motion of contained energy. “You ever think maybe he’s not opening anything? Maybe he’s just revealing what’s already there.”
The words hung between them, charged. Niyan could smell the salt from the foreshore, the damp earth from the watered gardens. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Karavi said, shoving his hands into his pockets, “when he asked, you had a number ready. You’d already done the math. We all have.” He started walking slowly along the path, and Niyan fell into step beside him, the familiar rhythm now strained. “My whole life, I’ve been the utility player. Karavi can fix that. Karavi knows a guy. Good old Karavi.” He kicked at a crushed soda can. “Even with you.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” Karavi stopped, facing him. The bioluminescent glow of a campus security orb cast shifting blue light across his features. “When have you ever looked at me and seen an equal? Not your friend, not the guy who helps, but someone on your level. Someone who could ever be a threat, or a priority. You see a satellite, brother. A predictable orbit.”
Niyan’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. The protest—the automatic denial—died before it reached his tongue. He searched his memory, sifting through years of camaraderie, of shared beers and covered shifts and silent understandings. He saw support. He saw reliability. He saw a constant.
He saw, with a sudden, cold clarity, that Karavi was right. He had never considered him a variable. He had never factored his best friend’s ambition, his resentment, his quiet, burning want to be chosen first, into any equation. He’d loved him like a fixed point.
“See,” Karavi said softly, watching the realization dawn on Niyan’s face. The anger seemed to drain out of him, leaving something weary and exposed. “You don’t have an answer. That’s the answer.”
“K…”
“Don’t.” Karavi held up a hand, a weary smile touching his lips. It didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s okay. Really. I’m not asking for an apology. I’m just… naming the terrain. Varek did that. Now I see the map.”
He turned and began walking back toward the road where the buses ran. The distance between them was only a few feet of cracked pavement, but it felt continental.
“Where are you going?” Niyan asked, his voice rough.
“To think,” Karavi called back without turning. “The utility player’s got to recalculate.”
Niyan stood alone under the darkening sky, the sounds of the campus night settling around him. The loyalty was still there, a deep, bedrock truth. But for the first time in their lives, he felt a fissure in it. A distance had been measured, and it had his name on it. He watched Karavi’s silhouette merge with the other shadows, wondering what number his friend had truly given Varek, and what that calculation would now set in motion.
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