Sunday dawned lazily, as if Saturday had left a trail of soft light lingering through the house. There was no rush, no heavy shadows — just the pleasant echo of the night before: the shared bed, the warmth of their bodies close together, the whispers in the dark. Thalya was sprawled across the living room couch, her legs tossed over the armrest, wearing an old oversized T-shirt that slipped off one shoulder, with nothing underneath, the thin fabric lightly tracing her curves whenever she moved, and cotton shorts far too short to be considered decent. Her silver hair was messy, falling into her face. She flipped through an old book absentmindedly, smiling to herself now and then, as if remembering something silly from the night before.
Seina watched from the window, arms crossed, still feeling light, relaxed. Every so often her eyes drifted back to Thalya — to the exposed shoulder, to the way she bit her lip while focusing on the page — and a warm feeling rose in her chest. Everything felt perfect. Until it wasn't.
Across the street, standing like a statue beneath the shade of a tree, was her. Platinum blonde hair with silver streaks shining under the morning sun, eyes an intense, artificial blue that seemed to pierce the distance. Even from far away, Seina recognized her: the hooded figure from the market. The same strand escaping the hood. And when the girl lifted her hand to adjust her hair, her wrist became visible — an irregular, round scar, as if someone had pressed a cigarette into her skin. The same spot. The same shape.
Seina's stomach went cold. She stepped back from the window on instinct.
"Thalya…" Her voice came out low, almost a whisper.
Before Thalya could answer, the doorbell rang. A sharp, intrusive sound that shattered the warm air of the house like breaking glass.
Thalya frowned, set the book aside, and stood up. "Who the hell…?"
She walked to the door dragging her bare feet, but paused a second before opening it. She ran a hand through her messy hair, pulled her T-shirt up to cover her exposed shoulder, straightened her posture. Suddenly, she wasn't the careless, intimate Thalya of the morning — she was more composed, as if wanting to present herself properly to whoever stood outside.
She opened the door.
"Thalyta!" The voice came sweet, melodic, overflowing with exaggerated affection. "Oh my God, it's been so long! I heard you were back and I couldn't resist!"
She stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, wrapping her arms around Thalya in a tight, lingering hug. Thalya laughed in surprise, returning it with a light pat on her back.
"Malori? Seriously? It's been… what, seven years?"
"Eight! And you're still gorgeous, you little minx." Malori pulled back slightly but kept her hands on Thalya's shoulders, looking her up and down with a smile that felt too genuine to be just friendly. "Can I come in?"
"Of course, come in!"
Seina remained standing in the living room, arms still crossed, watching everything. Malori walked past her as if she were invisible at first, then stopped and turned, intense blue eyes fixing on her.
"Oh, hi! And you are…?"
Thalya closed the door and stepped closer. "This is Seina. My… friend. Seina, this is Malori Fontaine. We grew up together — she used to be my neighbor."
"Nice to meet you, Seina." Malori extended her hand, smiling widely, though her eyes were assessing. "I'm glad Thalyta finally has company. She was always kind of… lonely, right?"
Seina shook her hand, feeling the coldness of her skin. "Nice to meet you."
The afternoon dragged on. Malori sat on the couch as if she owned the place, pulling Thalya closer, playfully nudging her, laughing loudly at old stories: "Remember when we skipped class to eat ice cream on the roof?" "Thalyta, do you still have that stupid skateboarding scar?" Thalya laughed along, her eyes shining with a nostalgia Seina had never seen before. It was a world that belonged to the two of them — before everything, before the loop, before Seina.
Seina stayed quiet in the corner, pretending to scroll through her phone. Every "Thalyta" sounded like a small stab. Every casual touch on Thalya's arm made her stomach twist. And the worst part: when Malori gestured, her sleeve would slide up slightly, revealing the scar on her wrist. Exact. The same dark, round burn mark.
"It's her. It has to be her," Seina thought.
But Thalya didn't seem to notice anything wrong. She was relaxed, happy. And that hurt more than the fear.
When Malori finally stood up to leave, Thalya looked genuinely sad.
"You're leaving already? It was so good to see you."
"Me too! We have to do this again soon." Malori hugged her once more, longer this time, her face against Thalya's shoulder. "Oh, and I brought something. I made a savory pie today — family recipe. I'll leave it here for you to try."
She left promising to come back soon.
The house fell silent all at once. Thalya sighed, smiling.
"Wow. That was crazy. She hasn't changed at all."
A few hours later, the doorbell rang again. Malori stood there holding a golden, fragrant pie wrapped in aluminum foil.
"All set! For my girls. Enjoy it with love."
Thalya took the pie, touched. "Malori, thank you so much. You're so sweet."
"You're welcome. Eat it together." Her gaze lingered on Thalya for a second too long before shifting to Seina. "The two of you."
The door closed. Thalya carried the pie into the kitchen, already grabbing a fork.
"She's always been amazing in the kitchen. Let's try it?"
Seina felt her heart tighten. The silver streak. The scar. The way Malori looked at Thalya. Everything tangled into a bad premonition.
"I'm… not hungry right now," she said quietly. "But go ahead."
Thalya shrugged, unconcerned. "Okay. Just a small piece, then."
She cut a generous slice and brought it to her mouth, chewing with pleasure.
"Oh my God, it's incredible. Malori really nailed it."
Seina watched, motionless, the knot of jealousy and fear growing in her chest. She had no proof. Just a suspicion that felt more childish by the minute — and more real. That night, lying beside Thalya as she slept peacefully, the only taste in Seina's mouth was the bitterness of doubt. And, for the first time since Saturday, the space between them in bed felt far too wide.