The first thing I did after coming back from college was to fling my bag against the bed.
The thud echoed in my small room, but it wasn't enough to release what I was feeling inside. I buried my face into my pillow, muffling a frustrated scream.
I couldn't scream out loud—not here. If I did, Mom would come running with her first-aid kit, ready to patch me up as if I'd broken a bone instead of my spirit.
"Argh, I don't even want to see his face, let alone step foot in his house!" I growled into the fabric.
Somehow, even with my face stuffed into the pillow, my mom heard. I caught the sound of her footsteps climbing the stairs—swift, worried, familiar. How does she always know?
The door creaked open, and she leaned in with a sigh, her eyes scanning me like I was a patient on her ward.
"What happened, baby? Are you okay? I thought I heard something." Her voice carried that careful blend of concern and gentleness that only she could manage.
She probably saw right through me; moms always do. Something was upsetting me, but the last thing I wanted was to dump it on her.
"I'm fine, Mom. Really. Just… college stuff. Too much stress," I muttered, trying to mask the storm inside.
Her eyes lingered on me, searching for cracks, but after a moment, I saw her expression soften. She nodded, almost convincing herself.
"Alright, if you say so." Her tone brightened suddenly, like flipping a switch.
"When you're done cleaning up, come downstairs. I've made something for you guys to taste."
Her eyes sparkled with excitement, and I couldn't help but notice how rare that was these days. Nurses hardly had time to sit, let alone cook an entire meal and enjoy it with their families. I missed having her like this.
I had no intentions of going to his house, never. And I am planning on doing the same.
After washing up, I dragged myself downstairs—and stopped dead in my tracks.
The dining table looked like a festival. Steam curled from a bowl of golden corn soup—my favorite. A plate of buttery parathas glistened beside a rich dish of palak paneer. The aroma alone was enough to make my mouth water.
"But… what's all this?" I asked, still stunned.
"Everything looks amazing, Mom. Is there some occasion I don't know about?"
She turned to me with a smile so full of pride it almost glowed.
"Ah, sweetie. Your dad and I got bonuses at work today! And it's all thanks to our new mayor—such a generous, big-hearted man. Truly a blessing.
I stifled a groan. Oh, the mayor again.
Dad, already seated at the head of the table, grinned and raised his glass of water like it was champagne.
"So, we thought—why not celebrate together? For once, no shifts, no rushing out the door. Just us. A proper family dinner."
Mom leaned against the chair; her cheeks flushed with pride.
"And I thought it was about time I refreshed my cooking skills. It's been ages, hasn't it, darling?" she asked, looking at Dad.
"Oh yes, sweetheart," Dad replied immediately, his voice dripping with adoration. "You know I always long for your food. Nothing beats it. Pure heaven on a plate."
Mom laughed softly, swatting his arm playfully as she set the last bowl down.
"Flatterer. You just don't want to eat my burnt toast experiments again."
Dad chuckled, shaking his head. "Even your burnt toast tastes better than anything I've had at work."
Then there was my brother. Only he had the supernatural ability to ruin my mood within seconds of opening his mouth.
"Dad," he began casually, shoving paratha into his mouth, "I heard the mayor's son goes to Olivia's college. Is that true?"
The room went still.
"Very well," I muttered under my breath, gripping my spoon so hard I thought it might bend.
Dad turned toward me, eyebrows raised with sudden interest.
"I don't know. Is it true, Olivia?"
I froze, my throat tightening. The smell of palak paneer suddenly felt suffocating. My dinner threatened to climb back up my oesophagus.
"What?" I said, forcing a laugh that sounded anything but natural.
"How would I know that?"
Wait a minute. I don't even know his name. Why did I never ask his name in our recent interactions?
This can only get worse. I can feel it in my guts, and suddenly I am not hungry anymore.
Before my brother could fire off another question, I shot up from my chair so abruptly my fork clattered against the plate.
"Mom, Dad—I just remembered. I've got an assignment due tomorrow. I need to finish it tonight."
All three of them turned to me, startled by the sudden announcement.
Even my brother froze mid-bite, his smirk fading into confusion.
I didn't wait for their replies. I grabbed my glass of water, gulped it down like an excuse, and bolted upstairs.
The door slammed behind me. My back pressed against it as I sucked in a shaky breath.
Then I started pacing, the boards under my feet creaking with each hurried step.
This was too much. Too fast.
I didn't even know his name. Or his intentions—nothing. And yet, he wanted me at his house. Tonight.
My stomach churned. The very thought of it felt absurd, reckless.
Who even invites someone over this late?
Someone you barely know?
But then again… why me?
I shook my head hard, trying to push the thoughts out, but they clung like cobwebs. His voice from earlier echoed in my mind, sharp and persuasive, a whisper I couldn't unhear.
I pulled the curtains shut, as if the night itself was watching me.
My reflection in the window looked like a stranger—wide-eyed, restless.
"This is bullshit," I muttered. "Absolute bullshit."
And yet, beneath the irritation, something colder slid through me.
A shiver.
The kind that made you wonder if refusing the invitation was safer—or if it was already too late to refuse at all.