Mira's fingers tightened in her lap.
"But," Ling added,
"I don't love you the way you want."
Silence fell heavy.
Mira nodded slowly, forcing herself to breathe.
"I know," she said quietly.
"But hearing it still… hurts."
Ling didn't look at her, but her voice softened just a fraction.
"I know."
Mira turned toward her.
"Then why bring me?" she asked.
"Why this drive?"
Ling exhaled.
"Because I respect you enough not to ghost you," she said.
"And because I won't use your feelings as a distraction from mine."
Mira looked down, then gave a small, sad laugh.
"You always were cruelly honest."
Ling replied flatly,
"I'm choosing not to be cruel tonight."
The car slowed at a signal. Red light washed over Ling's face calm, composed, broken underneath.
Mira watched her.
"Forget her. You will be happy. We will be happy. Can't you leave her now when she already left you?" Mira asked softly.
Ling's jaw tightened.
"She isn't a question you get to ask," Ling answered.
"But she is the reason I won't lie to you."
The light turned green. Ling drove on.
The Rolls-Royce cut through the city like it owned the night.
No music.
No traffic sound inside.
Just the low hum of the engine and Ling's hands steady on the wheel too steady, like she was holding something down.
Mira watched her for a long moment before speaking.
"I went to Milan first," Mira said lightly. "Then Paris. Tokyo after that."
Ling didn't look at her. "You don't usually ramble."
Mira smiled. "You don't usually let me."
Silence stretched. The city lights slid across Ling's jaw, her throat, the faint bruise still yellowing under her collarbone from practice. Mira's eyes lingered there.
"In Milan," Mira continued, softer now, "every café reminded me of you."
Ling exhaled through her nose. "That doesn't make sense."
"It does," Mira said. "You'd hate the noise. You'd sit at the far table. You'd judge the coffee. And then you'd still drink it."
Ling's grip tightened. Just a fraction.
"You're romanticizing," Ling said. "Don't."
Mira turned in her seat, fully facing her now. "I tried not to."
Ling finally glanced at her. Just once. Sharp. Warning.
Mira lifted both hands slightly, surrendering. "I didn't say anything. I behaved. I smiled when people talked about love like it was easy."
Ling's jaw flexed.
"And every time," Mira added, quieter, "I thought Ling would never lie like this."
Ling stared straight ahead. "You shouldn't measure your life against mine."
"I wasn't." Mira paused. "I was measuring my loneliness against your absence."
That landed.
Ling's foot eased off the brake too slowly.
"You're doing that thing," Ling said. "The thing where you circle."
Mira laughed under her breath. "You taught me."
Another silence. Thicker now.
Mira leaned back, eyes on the ceiling. "Tokyo was worse," she said. "Everyone moves like they know where they're going. I kept thinking… if you were there, you'd already be three steps ahead of me."
Ling swallowed.
"Stop," Ling said. Not harsh. Controlled. "You're crossing."
Mira turned her head. Looked at her fully this time. No smile. Just honesty sharpened into something dangerous.
"I missed you," Mira said. "Every time."
Ling's knuckles went white.
"You can miss someone," Ling said carefully, "without trying to pull them back."
"I'm not pulling," Mira replied. "I'm standing still. You're the one driving."
Ling didn't move for a second too long.
"You think I'm free," Ling said suddenly. "That's your mistake."
Mira studied her profile. The tension. The restraint. The ache she wasn't allowed to name.
"I think," Mira said, choosing each word, "that you're hurting alone. And you've always hated that."
Ling accelerated.
"You don't get to be the solution just because you were nearby," Ling said.
Mira nodded. Accepting. Patient.
"I won't touch what isn't offered," she said. Then, softer almost teasing—"But you can't blame me for remembering what it felt like to be wanted by you."
Ling's breath hitched. Just once.
"Don't," Ling said again. Lower now.
Mira leaned closer—not touching, not crossing, just close enough to be felt. "I never forgot how you look when you pretend you're fine."
Ling's voice dropped. Dangerous. "Mira."
Mira leaned back immediately. Hands folded. Obedient.
"See?" Mira said gently. "Still listening."
The car disappeared into the dark.
Ling drove the rest of the way without another word but the silence was no longer empty. It was crowded. Heavy with everything she refused to give and everything Mira was waiting for.
12:07 a.m.
Rhea lay on her bed staring at the ceiling, phone loose in her hand, Ling's black shirt folded beside her pillow like something sacred and criminal at the same time.
Her eyes burned. Not crying anymore. Past that stage.
The phone vibrated.
Zifa:u awake? wanna go out
Rhea exhaled sharply and typed back.
Rhea:it's 12am.
Three dots appeared instantly.
Zifa:exactly.
Rhea frowned.
Rhea:have u gone insane
The reply came fast, reckless.
Zifa:yes put shoes on. we're sneaking out
Rhea rolled onto her side, staring at the dark wall.
Rhea:zifa my mother would actually kill me
Zifa:relax aunt's asleep. also — it's gonna be fun
Rhea let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
Fun.
She hadn't felt that word touch her life in weeks.
She typed slowly.
Rhea:i'm not feeling ok
There was a pause this time. Longer.
Then—
Zifa:all the more reason. i'm coming to pick u
Rhea sat up.
Rhea:zifa—
Zifa:no excuses. u don't sound sleepy anyway
Rhea glanced at the clock again. 12:11.
She looked at the door. The hallway beyond it. Kane's room down the corridor like a silent threat.
Then her eyes drifted back to the black shirt.
She pressed it to her face briefly. Breathed in. Then carefully slid it back into the drawer. Locked it.
Rhea:…ok
A beat.
Rhea:i'm not sleepy even so come
The typing bubbles exploded.
Zifa:THATS MY GIRL
Rhea stood, pulled on a hoodie, jeans, shoes with quiet hands. She moved like someone practiced at not existing.
As she eased her door open, the mansion breathed around her too big, too quiet, too full of memories.
Her phone buzzed again.
Zifa:2 mins. don't chicken out
Rhea paused at the top of the stairs, heart pounding not with fear.
With guilt.
With the same old betrayal she carried everywhere now.
She whispered to the empty house, barely audible,
"I just need air."
And then she slipped out.
The gate lights hummed softly as Rhea stepped into the driveway.
The guard straightened immediately.
"Ma'am—"
Rhea didn't stop walking.
"If my mother asks," Rhea said quietly, not looking at him, "you didn't see me."
The guard hesitated. Just a second too long.
Rhea turned then. Her face was calm, but her eyes weren't asking.
"Don't," she said. "Don't you dare tell her. I'll be back before she wakes."
The guard swallowed, nodded once. "Yes, ma'am."
Zifa's car idled at the curb, hazard lights blinking like a pulse. Music thumped faintly from inside something loud, reckless, alive.
Rhea opened the passenger door and started to slide in.
"Uh—no."
Zifa's hand shot out, gripping Rhea's wrist before she could sit.
Rhea blinked. "What?"
Zifa looked her up and down slowly. The oversized hoodie. Jeans. Sneakers.
"Nope," Zifa said flatly. "Absolutely not."
Rhea frowned. "Zifa, let go."
Zifa didn't. Instead, she leaned back in her seat, one eyebrow lifting.
"We're not going for tea," she said. "We're going out. Party. Club. People."
Rhea glanced down at herself. "So?"
"So," Zifa repeated, incredulous, "you cannot show up looking like you're about to cry into a textbook."
Rhea yanked her hand back. "I'm not dressing for people."
Zifa snorted. "You're always dressing for someone. You just don't admit it."
Rhea's jaw tightened. "I don't care what anyone thinks."
"That's a lie," Zifa said easily. "You care too much. That's the problem."
Rhea folded her arms. "I'm not changing. This is already risky."
Zifa leaned closer, voice dropping but sharp.
"Rhea. You're sneaking out at midnight. You might as well commit."
Rhea stared at her. The word commit hit something raw.
"I don't want attention," Rhea said. "I just want to not feel like I'm suffocating."
Zifa's expression softened just a fraction.
"Then don't dress like you're hiding," she said. "Dress like you're alive."
Silence stretched between them, thick with stubbornness.
Rhea looked back at the mansion. Dark windows. Kane's room somewhere upstairs. Control sleeping lightly.
She sighed. Long. Defeated.
"…Fine," Rhea muttered. "But nothing insane."
Zifa grinned instantly. "Too late."
Rhea shot her a look. "Zifa."
"I mean," Zifa corrected, starting the engine, "tasteful insane."
Rhea climbed out of the car reluctantly. "You better be quick."
Zifa laughed, already pulling away from the curb. "I will ruin you in fifteen minutes."
Rhea stood alone in the driveway for a second, hoodie still wrapped around her like armor.
She didn't know why her chest felt tight like she was stepping into something she wouldn't be able to undo.
She turned back toward the house.
Rhea stood in front of her mirror longer than she meant to.
The hoodie lay discarded on the chair, useless now.
The room smelled faintly of her perfume.
The dress hung from her fingers.
Untamed Allure Mini Dress.
Brownish print. Soft fabric. Dangerous in the quiet way.
She stared at it like it might accuse her.
"This is insane," she muttered to her reflection.
The girl in the mirror didn't argue. She just looked tired. Hollowed. Angry in places Rhea didn't know how to soothe.
Rhea lifted the dress.
Her phone buzzed on the bed.
Zifa:hurry up i swear if u come out boring—
Rhea tossed the phone aside.
"Everything I'm doing lately is insane," she said aloud.
She pulled the dress on.
The fabric slid over her skin too easily, like it belonged there. It stopped high on her thighs. The sternum dipped low bare, unapologetic. The brownish print clung instead of hiding.
Rhea's breath caught.
She turned sideways. Then away. Then back again.
Her navel piercing caught the light.
She stared at it.
Ling's hands flashed in her mind—no, don't—and she flinched, gripping the edge of the dresser.
"This doesn't mean anything," Rhea whispered, more to herself than anyone. "It's just clothes."
But guilt rose anyway. Thick. Immediate.
She reached for the lipstick. Nude. Soft. Not loud.
She applied it carefully, like if she rushed, something worse would happen. Her lips looked fuller. Stranger.
"Stop," she told herself. "You're just going out."
The stilettos waited on the floor.
Sharp. Tall. Final.
She hesitated before stepping into them.
Once they were on, her posture changed without permission. Her back straightened. Her chin lifted. She didn't look like someone sneaking out anymore.