The rain poured relentlessly as students spilled out through the grand doors of the college, scrambling to find shelter.
Some shielded their heads with bags, while others huddled beneath umbrellas, laughing at absurd jokes and nudging each other in playful chaos. Amidst them all stood Kiyara, her figure tucked beneath the shadow of the entrance roof. Trails of water streamed past her, a few droplets sprinkling on her shoes.
Her face bore no emotion as her gaze drifted upward to the vast, grey sky.
She stood there for several minutes, watching both familiar and unfamiliar faces pass by—none sparing her a glance, as though she were invisible.
And perhaps, she truly was.
Only a day ago, the endless arguments between her parents had finally reached their conclusion—they were divorced.
Her mother, unable to withstand the emotional toll, had broken down. The woman who genuinely loved her was forced to leave her only child behind.
It wasn't for lack of trying; her mother had fought for custody. But against the power and influence her father wielded, she stood no chance.
And if that wasn't cruel enough, her father had returned home with a new bride—one disturbingly close to Kiyara's own age.
The house she once called home now felt like a gilded cage she dreaded stepping into. Yet somehow, her mind remained oddly still amid the chaos, as though none of it truly mattered anymore.
She continued standing at the entrance, watching as silhouettes disappeared into the misty distance, leaving her behind.
With a quiet sigh, she slid the bag off her shoulder, fished out her phone, and typed a brief message to Dey—the one person who still felt like a refuge.
"I'm coming to meet you."
The message was sent.
She tossed the phone back in her bag, hoisted the bag over her head to shield herself, and stepped into the rain. Her footsteps echoed faintly against the rhythmic tapping of water, carrying with them a flicker of excitement—one she kept hidden beneath layers of fear. Fear that if anyone found out, it too would be taken from her.
She stood at the college gate, raising a hand to flag down a taxi.
After some time, one finally stopped. She climbed inside, already soaked—her shoulders and bag dripping as she brushed water from her hair and gave the driver the address.
Inside the cab, Kiyara sat silently, her arms wrapped around her bag as her eyes wandered to the window.
Rain smeared the glass, blurring the world outside. She didn't notice the crowd gathering just beyond the road—or Dey, down on one knee, holding out a small red box.
Cheers erupted around him as the girl before him gasped in disbelief. Her expression was that of wonder—a perfect fairytale reaction from a girl of modest roots being proposed to by a man from an elite family.
A picture-perfect Cinderella moment.
Kiyara's gaze fell on the scene, but through the blurry glass, she couldn't discern any faces. Still, the sight of someone being proposed to stirred something warm in her heart.
The cab moved forward.
She reached for her phone, hoping for a response.
Nothing.
Though the message was delivered, the silence remained. A bitter knot began to form, curling beneath her fragile hope—but she swallowed it down, gripping her phone tightly.
Dey had always been like this. She knew it. The kind of fairy-tale romance she yearned for was not her reality—and she had accepted that.
His delayed replies were enough for her. They had to be.
The journey would take a few more minutes, and Kiyara didn't check her phone again—not because she was occupied with studies, but because deep down, she knew there was no point.
Still, out of idle habit, she glanced at the screen—and there they were. A few unread messages:
Come back home early today. We are throwing a party to welcome your mother. —Father
Take care of yourself and focus on your studies. You know Mom is always there for you. —Momma
Hey Kiyara, it's Sam. We met last week at your father's house party. —Unknown
She read them from the notification screen but didn't bother opening any. With a sigh, she shoved the phone back into her bag.
An hour later, the taxi pulled up in front of a grand mansion. Kiyara looked up at the towering structure, her eyes settling on a particular room on the upper floor. A small, wistful smile tugged at her lips.
"My lady! You came without informing anyone. Oh dear, you're drenched," exclaimed Madam Sia, the elderly maid, hurrying to take her bag.
"It's alright. I forgot to bring my umbrella this morning," Kiyara replied with a gentle smile, hoping to reassure her as her gaze climbed the stairs.
Madam sis notice her gaze
Madam sia's eyes betrayed her concern—deep, knowing concern mixed with the kind of pity only those who understood too well could give.
"Young Master left two hours ago," she said, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "He was dressed quite elegantly... I assumed perhaps he went to meet you."
Kiyara paused, then smiled brightly. "Oh god, how could I forget that" she said as if she suddenly remembered something
The spark returned briefly to Madam Sia's eyes. "Is today something special?" she asked, her tone softer now, relieved to see Kiyara smile even if only for a moment.
"Oh, I won't tell you just yet," Kiyara said, tying her damp hair into a messy bun. "But... could I borrow your kitchen for a while?"
Kiyara and the kitchen—a notorious combination.
Even Madam Sia knew it too well, but she couldn't resist agreeing. Every time Kiyara smiled, it softened the weight on her own heart.
"Well, no problem my lady... but at least take a bath first," she said, eyeing the trail of water still dripping from Kiyara's hair and soaked clothes.
"Oh! So sorry, Madam Sia!" Kiyara laughed, sticking her tongue out. "Then maybe I should ask for permission to use the bathroom first."
"Please do! And I'll prepare some dry clothes while you're in there."
An hour later, Kiyara descended the stairs wearing a beautiful white dress—a dress chosen by Dey.
He preferred elegance. Kiyara, on the other hand, loved vibrant colors and flashy accessories. But just for the small smile he gave her whenever she dressed to his taste, she slowly began changing her style.
Madam Sia stood below with an apron in her hands, a soft smile playing on her lips. She knew how much Kiyara had sacrificed for Dey—how much of herself she had reshaped.
But all she could do now was help her tie the apron and nod in silent support.
For the next two hours, Madam Sia sat with her back to the kitchen, unable to watch the chaos unfold. Every few minutes came the unmistakable crash of a plate followed by a guilty "Sorry!" echoing from the kitchen.
All she could do was shake her head and smile.
Two hours later, Kiyara emerged—covered in flour and some unidentifiable dark liquid that may or may not have been chocolate. Her smile was equal parts pride and apology.
She held up a charred piece of cake triumphantly. "This is what survived," she said, pointing to the lone remnant on the plate, her grin wide and unapologetic.
And for just a fleeting moment, all her burdens seemed to vanish.
Time passed.
Kiyara now sat in Dey's bedroom—but not on the bed. That was off-limits. He was a neat freak, and no one, not even she, was allowed to "touch his things."
She had never understood why she was treated like everyone else, even in private. But she let it slide—just like she had let go of the fact that she wasn't allowed to enter his room without prior permission.
But tonight, she was making an exception.
Because today marked their first anniversary.
A full year had passed since she first laid eyes on him—Dey, the epitome of brilliance, the model student everyone admired. And Kiyara, the carefree storm of a girl, vibrant and unruly.
She had noticed his quiet charm, and, on a whim—driven by a silly dare—she'd proposed to him. To everyone's shock, especially hers, he had accepted.
She had no idea their story would spiral so far from that innocent beginning.
The rain had stopped. The silence in the room was broken only by the ticking of the clock. With each second, Kiyara checked her phone, hoping—yearning—for a reply.
"It's okay," she whispered. "He must be preparing a surprise."
She sat upright in a poised position—back straight, hands resting neatly on her lap. It wasn't natural for her. This posture was something he had drilled into her: "Sit like a lady." Over time, the habit had etched itself into her bones.
"Just ten more minutes," she told herself.
But ten minutes turned into an hour, and that hour stretched past midnight.
Madam Sia came by every so often, silently checking in, unable to bring herself to tell Kiyara to stop waiting.
The juice and fruit she had brought remained untouched on the table. Kiyara's eyes flicked between the door and the ticking clock with restless devotion.
At one point, she even imagined smashing the clock—anything to stop time from moving forward without him.
It was 3 a.m. when the rain returned, more merciless this time. The windows rattled, the chill creeping in, echoing her emotional storm. A violent gust flung open the half-latched window, rain spilling in and waking her with a start.
The cake still sat on the plate, untouched. The candle she had placed so lovingly had fallen over, now resting like a defeated soldier.
Her phone buzzed—a brief flicker of hope.
She snatched it up, praying to see his name on the screen.
But it wasn't Dey.
It was Kitty—her only real friend in college.
With trembling fingers, she opened the message.
Hy Kiya, I'm really sorry, but I think you should see this...
Dey's at a nightclub. He's introducing a girl named Elina as his girlfriend.
Attached were two photos—Kitty knew words wouldn't be enough.
The first photo made Kiyara's world crumble.
Dey, kissing a beautiful girl with light brown hair, his hands cradling her as if she were made of glass.
The second photo showed them heading upstairs to one of the club's private rooms.
Kiyara turned off the screen.
She sat, still, in the chair—motionless. The clip in her hair slid to one side, unnoticed.
The rain came in through the open window, soaking the curtains and tapping cold drops on the floor, but she didn't move.
And then—something inside her cracked.
Her fists curled into the hem of her dress.
Tears flowed freely now. Not loud. Not chaotic.
Silent. Shattering.
The sun rose, its golden rays slipping through the lingering gray clouds—warm light after a long, merciless night.
On the bedside table, phone vibrated. Around it lay scattered small packets torn. The room was filled with quiet morning light and clothes around the floor, stood in stark contrast to the storm that had raged the night before.
In another room—an unfamiliar one—a woman stirred beneath velvet sheets. Her light brown hair framed a pretty face as she gently pushed away the arm lazily draped over her waist.
She reached across the bed, fingers brushing a vibrating phone.
"Hello?" she answered, her voice groggy.
"Y-Young Master…" came the trembling voice of Madam Sia on the other end. "It's… it's me. I… I'm sorry to call but… Lady Kiyara… she… she had an accident last night… on her way back home and…"
A pause. A breath caught.
"She's… dead."
The words cracked with emotion.
From beside her, Dey stirred. "Who is it?" he mumbled, voice thick with sleep, reaching for her waist again.
The woman looked at him—and then at the phone screen. Without a blink of hesitation, she replied:
"No one. Wrong number."
And she ended the call.
With a sweet, practiced smile, she leaned down to kiss him on the forehead and lay back down beside him—as if nothing had changed.
But something had.
Back at Dey's mansion, the bedroom window was now closed to prevent teh water from coming inside...neat just the way he liked.
The cake—burnt, broken, and once full of meaning—had been tossed in the trash. A candle lay beside it, bent and useless.
On the side of the bed, tucked gently beneath the sheets, was a small, handwritten note.
In delicate, flowing script, just two words:
Goodbye — Kiyara
"Wah! My first Client is sleeping like she is in heaven"