Theo's POV
What should I wear?
I muttered to myself while flipping through the endless row of shirts in my closet. Black, black, darker black, and—oh wow—navy.
"It's not a wedding, Theo. We're just going to the mall. Put on whatever," Zara's voice carried across the room, dripping with impatience.
I turned my head. There she was, my sister, sprawled across my bed like she owned it. Her shoes—on my blanket. The audacity.
"Zara, if you leave even one speck of dust on that blanket—"
"Relax, neat freak. You're so dramatic." She yawned, like she wasn't the very reason I was stressing over this in the first place.
Why am I even going with her? Why, Theo, why?
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Yesterday
"Theo, please come with me. Pleaaase!"
Her whine echoed in the gym room as I adjusted the treadmill speed. I pretended I hadn't heard. Not my problem.
"Get out, Zara. Not happening," I said flatly, eyes glued to the treadmill meter.
She wasn't giving up. "Pleeease, Theo! Dad only gave you access to his cards! I can't shop with just my pocket money."
I snorted. "And how is that my issue?"
Zara stomped her foot like a child. "I need to go shopping! Urgently!"
"Urgently?" I raised an eyebrow, still jogging. "What, did your closet spontaneously combust?"
"No, but—"
"No."
She groaned, throwing her head back. "You're impossible!"
I smirked. "Thank you."
Her tantrum escalated. She dropped onto the floor, flailing her arms like a toddler in a toy store. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her flipping me off. Classy move. I didn't even spare her a reaction.
"Fine then!" she huffed. "Just give me the card. I'll… I'll safely return it after use."
I actually laughed. "Aw, poor thing. Desperate. But still—no."
Her eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening. "I'm legally an adult, Theo! And yet here I am, begging for money to shop. Do you know how humiliating that is?"
"Then don't beg, idiot."
She froze, eyes darting to me, calculating. I knew that look. That devilish glint. Oh no. She was scheming.
Her lips curled into a grin that screamed Eureka.
"What?" I asked cautiously, slowing the treadmill. "What's with that creepy smile?"
She let it hang in the air for a moment, milking the suspense, before delivering the blow.
"Melina said she'd help me pick out the dress!"
My foot faltered. The treadmill belt shot me forward, and I barely caught myself before face-planting. I slammed the stop button and hopped off, cursing under my breath. Grabbing a towel, I draped it around my neck to cover how flustered I suddenly felt.
Melina? She's going?
I cleared my throat once. Twice. "Fine. Stop begging. I'll come."
Zara shot up from the floor like she'd just won the lottery. "THANKS, THEO! YOU'RE THE BEST! TOMORROW IT IS!"
Wait. Hold on. Was she playing me? Would Melina actually be there?
Stupid Theo. That devil probably tricked me.
Present
Seems like the devil tricked me.
I walked into the mall beside Zara. My hands stayed buried in my pockets. I didn't bother to hide the way I kept looking at her—sharp glares, steady, as if I could burn holes in her for dragging me here.
She swung herself around and dropped onto the railing like this was all a joke. "Why are you looking at me like you want to kill me, bro?" Her lashes fluttered in exaggerated sarcasm.
"I always wanted to kill you, sis," I said flatly, eyes moving away from hers.
Scammed. That's what this was.
I told myself I hadn't come because Melina's name was mentioned. That I was here for my sister, just to help her out.
I am wise enough to know that between the two statements, Both was a lie.
A sound broke into the air behind me—Slight panting heavy breathes heavily inhaling and exhaling. The voice human make when the chest keeps heaving up and down. Then her voice. Melina's
"Sorry, Zara. I'm late."
I didn't turn. Didn't need to. Every note of her tone was familiar, her smile woven into the edges of her words.
Still, I kept my eyes on the mannequins, blank-faced, pretending they deserved all my attention. The crowd moved around me, loud, restless, but it blurred into nothing. All I could hear was her.
All i could feel was her presence. Because doesn't matter where my gaze at, my attention is behind my back, to the girl my sister calls her friend.
I am forcefully being dragged to pay attention to Melina by my brain no one else.
"What did you tell your parents?" Zara asked.
"I said I had an assignment to finish. It's fine." Breathless, but she smiled, resulting the words to sound as if the words are smiling too.
"Will you get into trouble?"
For going out on sunday? Zara shut up.
"No, no. My sister's covering for me—"
Her voice stopped there, mid-sentence. Silence pressed in, heavy, as if she realized I was standing here too.
Then, sudden: "Girl! Is that the Grinch costume?!" Excitement lifted her voice above the noise of the mall.
Grinch. Not me.
I finally turned, almost against myself. Her face was lit up, eyes fixed somewhere else. Not me.
It was the man in the costume. Green fur, wide smile, children laughing around him.
She didn't notice me at all.
I cleared my throat once. Quiet.
Then again, louder.
Her eyes shifted. They caught mine for the briefest second.
"Hey," she said, simple, almost careless. Then she walked off with Zara.
I followed a few steps behind them, shoulders tightening, loosening, tightening again. My eyes drifted toward Melina. She was laughing—head tipped back, hair falling loose—at something Zara had just said.
Without meaning to, a half-smile pulled at my mouth. It lasted only a breath before her head turned, eyes catching mine over her shoulder.
The smile vanished. Poker face. Nothing there.
I raised my brows slightly—What?
Her lips pressed inward, lower one caught between her teeth, shoulders lifting in a small shrug.
Hah.
"Are you guys… communicating through actions right now?" Zara asked, her gaze flicking between the two of us, suspicion written all over her face.
"What makes you think she's worth my communication?" I said evenly, tone flat.
I heard a soft scoff. Maybe from Melina, maybe even from Zara.
Then Melina stopped, turning fully toward me. I had to halt in my tracks, her gaze locked on mine as I looked down to her eyes, hands tied over my chest lifting an eyebrow waiting for what's going to come out of her mouth.
"What worth do you have? Just a brat with a silver spoon in his mouth?"
Hahh! Admirable.
she asked, hands folded behind her back, head tilted slightly, eyes sharp—like she was ready for a fight.
I studied her. I never really knew what this girl was. Sometimes meek, quiet, the kind who'd rather swallow words than speak them—like an excavation would be needed just to find her tongue. And sometimes she struck like this. Clean. Direct.
"Are you sad because I'm a brat," I asked evenly, "or because you can't be one?"
Her brows arched. "Are you stupid?" she said, tapping her temple with her forefinger, her expression making it clear she thought my brain needed checking.
I opened my mouth to answer, but before a word could come, a domineering voice sounded behind me.
"Who are you calling stupid?"
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To be continued..