Morning sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, painting golden streaks across the white walls of Zhane's room. The world outside stirred gently — birds sang somewhere among the garden trees, and the faint scent of jasmine drifted in through the balcony doors that stood slightly ajar.
Zhane stood before the mirror, toweling his damp hair, his reflection half-hidden in the soft mist curling from his recent bath. He breathed deeply, feeling the faint calm of the morning press against his chest. It was rare — that kind of peace. Rare enough that it almost felt like a lie.
His eyes flicked to the wardrobe, an elegant piece of oak craftsmanship with brass handles shaped like vines. Inside, hung rows of neatly folded clothes — expensive, tailored, luxurious.
The kind of fabric that whispered wealth with every thread. Yet despite their shine, there was something modest about their arrangement. Everything was orderly, precise — like the owner's heart had once been pure before time complicated it.
Zhane ran his hand across the clothes, hesitating for a moment before pulling out a black hoodie. It was soft, the material thick but breathable, simple yet refined.
The subtle silver linings on the sleeves caught the light as he lifted it. Beneath it, he grabbed a matching pair of black tracksuit pants — comfortable, slightly fitted — the kind meant for quiet mornings or long walks that helped clear the mind.
He wore them slowly, adjusting the cuffs at his wrists before crouching to check under the wardrobe. There, tucked neatly beside a pair of formal shoes, was a pair of blue sneakers — the deep navy kind with white soles. A bit worn, but clean. He smiled faintly as he laced them up.
"Not bad," he murmured to himself, brushing imaginary dust off the hoodie before stepping out.
As he descended the staircase, the air seemed lighter — fragrant with the faint aroma of vanilla and something floral. But what caught him off guard wasn't the smell. It was her.
Celine stood near the hallway mirror, slipping on a small silver bracelet. The morning light seemed to cling to her like a secret, illuminating the pure white dress she wore.
It was modest in cut — sleeveless, with a soft flare at the hem that brushed her knees — yet it hugged her curves with quiet precision. Her long hair fell over her shoulders in gentle waves, framing her face like silk.
Zhane froze at the last step, eyes tracing the way the fabric shimmered faintly as she moved. The dress made her look… angelic. But there was a quiet sadness in her eyes that even beauty couldn't conceal.
"Morning," he said finally, his voice lower than he intended.
Celine turned slightly, her lips curving into a small smile. "Morning, Zhane. You're up early."
He nodded, walking toward her, pretending to inspect the houseplants by the window just to distract himself. Why is she making me feel like this lately? he thought. Every time he saw her, something inside him stirred — a pulse, a warmth he couldn't explain. He'd faced taunts without flinching, yet this… this unsettled him.
"Going somewhere?" he asked, glancing at her reflection in the mirror.
Her fingers paused on the bracelet clasp. "Yeah," she said softly. "To the graveyard."
Zhane's expression shifted. "The graveyard?"
She nodded, eyes distant. "To see Cathy and Cindy." The names hung heavy in the air, each syllable carrying a weight of grief that hadn't faded with time.
Zhane's chest tightened. "I see…" He looked down briefly, his voice quiet. "You still visit them often?"
"Every week," she said. "It helps. A little."
There was silence — not awkward, but fragile. The kind that could shatter with the wrong word.
Then Celine glanced at him, hesitating. "Would you… come with me?"
Zhane blinked, taken aback. "Me?"
Her lips parted as though she might take it back, but before she could, he said gently, "Sure. I'll come."
Her eyes widened briefly, then softened — a faint, grateful smile flickering across her face before she looked away. "Thank you."
-----~~
They drove through the city streets, the morning sun casting long shadows across the pavement. The car interior smelled faintly of vanilla and Celine's perfume. For a while, neither spoke — the silence filled with unspoken things.
Halfway through the ride, Celine slowed to a stop in front of a small floral shop. Its wooden sign read "Petals & Promise", painted in faded pink letters. A small bell jingled as she stepped out, her white dress swaying lightly.
Zhane followed her inside. The air was thick with the scent of roses, lilies, and fresh daisies. Behind the counter stood a cheerful-looking woman — a grandmotherly figure with short gray curls and kind eyes.
"Well, good morning!" she greeted, her smile bright. "You two look lovely together!"
Celine blinked, startled. "Oh—no, we're not—"
The woman chuckled, waving her hand. "Ah, young love! You don't need to explain." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "He's handsome, and you—oh dear, you're glowing! That's how it always starts."
Celine's cheeks flared a deep red. "We're really not—"
Zhane rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to laugh. "We're just friends," he said, his tone gentle but amused.
The woman gasped softly as her eyes focused on Celine. "Wait a moment… you're— you're Celine Everhart, aren't you?"
Celine froze. Her hand twitched nervously at her side. "Uh… yes, ma'am," she said with a sheepish smile. "That's me."
"Oh, heavens! My granddaughter adores you! You're even more beautiful in person." Then her tone softened as realization dawned. "You're here… for your friends, aren't you?"
Celine's shoulders fell slightly. "Yes," she said, barely above a whisper. "Cathy and Cindy."
The shopkeeper's smile faded into something more tender. "I'm so sorry for your loss, dear. They were good girls. The news broke my heart."
Celine nodded quietly. "Thank you."
The woman's gaze flickered between them. "Whoever did that… won't go unpunished. The world may be cruel, but justice always finds its way home."
Celine swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing a small smile. "I hope so."
She picked out two white roses and a small bouquet of forget-me-nots. When she placed them on the counter, Zhane reached for his wallet, but the woman stopped him.
"Ah, young man," she said warmly, "Let this one be on the house. For love and remembrance."
Zhane blinked. "Are you sure?"
"Positive. And…" The woman winked at Celine. "For the record, you make a very cute couple."
Celine's face turned crimson as she stammered, "We— we really aren't—" . When she couldn't take it anymore, she turned and walked out of the shop clutching the flowers.
Zhane chuckled as he followed her out, the bell chiming softly behind them.
----~~~
The drive resumed quietly after that, though the faint pink still lingered on Celine's cheeks. Zhane stole a glance at her once or twice, hiding a smile.
When they reached the cemetery gates, the air changed — cooler, quieter. The world beyond the wrought-iron arch was blanketed in serenity.
Rows of tombstones stretched out beneath tall cypress trees, their leaves whispering faintly in the morning wind. The faint scent of damp earth and fading flowers filled the air.
They walked side by side, the gravel crunching under their feet. Birds called somewhere in the distance, their songs oddly mournful.
Celine slowed when they reached two headstones — polished marble, side by side. Each bore a name etched in silver: Catherine Williams and Cindy Vale.
Her hands trembled as she knelt and placed the flowers down gently, her fingers lingering over the carved letters. "Hey, girls…" she whispered.
Zhane stepped back, giving her space. He watched quietly, the solemn weight in her posture drawing something heavy inside his chest.
"I brought flowers again," she said softly. "White ones, like you both liked. Remember how Cathy used to say roses make everything better?" She laughed weakly. "Guess she was right."
Her voice wavered. "Things haven't been easy. I miss you both so much… I keep wondering if I could've done something—if I could've stopped it. Maybe then, you'd still be here."
She swallowed hard, tears glinting at the corners of her eyes. "The house feels emptier now. Even when people are around, it's just… quiet." Her voice broke. "I still hear your voices sometimes. It's stupid, isn't it?"
Her tears began to fall, silent at first, then heavier, sliding down her cheeks.
Zhane's hands clenched slightly at his sides before he finally moved. He knelt beside her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "It's not stupid," he said softly. "It's human."
For a moment, Zhane's gaze lingered on the two tombstones — their names carved in marble, the silence around them heavy and familiar.
He understood her pain more than he wanted to admit.
It reminded him of how he had lost his own parents.
The world hadn't given him time to grieve. Instead, it handed him cruelty — an uncle who saw him as a burden, not blood. Every bruise, every harsh word had shaped the quiet steel within him.
Maybe that was why he couldn't just stand there and watch her cry.
Because not once, had anyone done the same for him.
Celine turned toward him — her eyes red, her lips trembling. Then, without warning, she threw her arms around him.
Zhane stiffened, surprised, but his arms instinctively went around her. She buried her face against his chest, sobbing quietly, her tears soaking into his hoodie.
He held her close, his hand rubbing small circles on her back. "Let it out," he murmured. "You've held it in long enough."
They stayed that way for a long time — maybe thirty minutes, maybe more. The world seemed to pause around them; even the wind softened, as if not to disturb their grief.
Eventually, her breathing steadied. She pulled back slightly, eyes downcast, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean to…"
Zhane shook his head. "Don't apologize."
For a moment, their eyes met — hers glassy with tears, his calm but deeply empathetic. Something unspoken passed between them — fragile, tender.
Then Celine smiled faintly. "Thank you, Zhane."
He returned it, his tone quiet. " You're welcome anytime."
----~~~
They walked back to the car in silence. The mood had softened — the heaviness replaced by a muted peace.
As they neared the car, Zhane asked gently, "Heading home?"
Celine paused, her hand resting on the car door. "Actually…" she hesitated. "I was thinking of going to a club."
Zhane blinked. "A club?"
"Yeah," she said, forcing a light smile. "I used to go there with Cathy and Cindy. It's… been a while. I just thought it might help me clear my head."
Zhane frowned slightly. "You sure that's a good idea?"
She raised a brow, half teasing, half defensive. "What? You think I'll suddenly fall apart?"
"No," he said. "I just… don't think clubs are exactly peaceful places."
Her smile faltered a little, but she shrugged. "Maybe I'm not looking for peace."
He wanted to argue, but the moment he saw the glimmer of sadness in her eyes, he stopped. He exhaled softly. "Fine," he said at last. "I'll come with you."
She blinked. "You don't have to—"
"I want to," he interrupted gently. "At least that way, you won't be alone."
For a heartbeat, she said nothing. Then her lips curved into the faintest smile. "Alright, then."
Soon afterwards they both entered Celine's car.
The engine purred to life, and they pulled away from the quiet graveyard, the sun now low in the sky. The streets shimmered under the fading light — gold melting into amber, amber into crimson.
Celine's gaze remained on the road, but her thoughts drifted. Cathy's laughter. Cindy's teasing smile. The way they'd planned to go to that club again after practice.
Her chest ached.
Zhane watched her from the passenger seat, his reflection faint in the glass. Maybe I shouldn't have agreed, he thought. But if it keeps her from breaking again… maybe it's worth it.
The car drove on, the city lights beginning to flicker awake in the distance — beautiful, blinding, and unaware of the shadows lurking beneath their glow.
Zhane's hand brushed faintly against the door handle as a prickle ran down his spine — a strange unease he couldn't quite name.
He turned to look out the window, eyes narrowing slightly as the skyline blurred past. Something about the air felt… different.
Why do I feel like this day won't end quietly? He thought.
Celine glanced at him briefly. "Something wrong?"
He smiled faintly, shaking his head. "Nothing," he lied. "Just thinking."
She nodded, turning back to the road, unaware of the faint tension in his jaw — or the instinct that whispered quietly in his chest.
Something was coming.
And neither of them was ready.
---