Rhea stayed seated on the edge of her bed, spine straight, hands folded in her lap.
She hadn't changed since afternoon.
Same soft shirt. Same loose hair. Same quiet.
The room was lit only by the table lamp, warm and dim, shadows clinging to the corners like they didn't want to leave her alone. Books lay open on the desk, but she hadn't turned a page in a long time.
Shyra watched her for a moment before speaking.
"You're not even pretending to get ready," she said gently.
Rhea didn't answer.
Shyra stepped further into the room and leaned against the cupboard. "There's a party," she continued, lighter tone, testing. "End of semester. Music. Food. Noise. Humans."
Still nothing.
"Rhea," Shyra said, firmer now. "Do you not want to go?"
Rhea's eyes stayed on the floor. "I don't want to."
The words were flat. Final.
Shyra sighed. "You haven't wanted anything in months."
Rhea flinched—just a little.
Shyra didn't miss it.
Without asking, she turned to the cupboard and opened it. Hangers slid aside as Shyra scanned the options like a strategist, not a stylist.
"This one," she muttered, pulling out a dress.
It was strappy at the back, clean lines, dark wine-colored. Not loud. Not shy. It clung where it should, followed the natural curve of Rhea's body without trying too hard.
Rhea looked up instantly. "No."
Shyra held it up anyway. "Yes."
"I said I don't want to go."
"And I heard you," Shyra replied, calm but stubborn. "I'm still doing this."
She laid the dress on the bed, smoothing the fabric with her palm. "You don't have to smile. You don't have to dance. You don't even have to stay long."
Rhea shook her head. "You don't understand."
Shyra turned to face her. "Then explain."
Silence.
Shyra exhaled through her nose. "Okay. Don't explain. But you will not rot in this room pretending you're fine."
She moved to the accessories drawer and opened it. The soft clink of metal filled the room.
Bracelets first. She chose a thin one—elegant, understated.
Rings next. Nothing flashy. Just enough to feel weight on her fingers.
A watch. Minimal face. Leather strap.
Then the chain.
Shyra paused when she saw it.
Not the one Rhea always wore.
The other one.
She closed the drawer quietly and chose a different chain instead—simple, light, not competing with anything.
Hoop earrings followed. Small. Heavy enough to feel.
She placed everything neatly beside the dress.
"Anything else?" Shyra muttered, scanning Rhea.
Rhea stood up abruptly. "I don't want to go," she repeated, louder now. "I don't want people looking at me. I don't want music. I don't want—"
Her voice broke.
Shyra crossed the room in two steps and stopped in front of her. "You don't want to feel," she said quietly.
Rhea's eyes burned. "Feeling ruins things."
Shyra placed her hands on Rhea's shoulders, steady, grounding. "Feeling means you're alive."
Rhea laughed bitterly. "That's debatable."
Shyra held her gaze. "You're not doing this for them," she said. "You're doing this for the girl who used to sit on rooftops and complain about bad songs."
"That girl is gone."
"She's hurt," Shyra corrected. "There's a difference."
Rhea looked away. "I don't belong there."
"You belong wherever you stand," Shyra said. "Even if you're silent."
She picked up the dress and pressed it into Rhea's hands. "Just try it."
Rhea stared at the fabric like it might bite her.
"I don't want to," she whispered.
Shyra smiled sadly. "I know."
Then, softer: "But you're going."
Rhea closed her eyes.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Finally, Rhea exhaled—a slow, defeated breath—and turned toward the bathroom.
"Don't make a big deal out of it," she said quietly.
Shyra's lips curved just a little. "I never do."
As the bathroom door closed, Shyra sat on the bed, staring at the laid-out pieces.
Just proof that Rhea Nior still existed—
even if she didn't believe it yet.
Rhea came out of the bathroom slowly.
Not hesitant—measured.
The dress hugged her the way Shyra had promised it would. Straps rested cleanly against her shoulders, back open just enough to be daring without trying. The fabric followed every line naturally—38–28–42, balanced, effortless, dangerous in its quiet way.
Her hair was still slightly damp, loose, falling over one shoulder. No makeup beyond the basics.
Shyra looked up.
And froze.
Then she let out a low whistle. "Uff."
Rhea frowned immediately. "Don't."
Shyra stood up slowly, circling her like she was inspecting a masterpiece. "I physically cannot take my eyes off my sister," she said dramatically. "How exactly do you expect university students to survive this?"
Rhea rolled her eyes. "They'll live."
"Barely," Shyra replied. "I'm serious. This should come with a warning label."
Rhea crossed her arms instinctively. "You're exaggerating."
Shyra stopped in front of her and tilted her head. "You don't see yourself, do you?"
"I see someone overdressed for a party she doesn't want to attend."
Shyra reached out and adjusted one strap gently. "You see pain. I see control. Big difference."
Rhea looked away toward the mirror.
The reflection startled her—not because she looked beautiful, but because she looked present. Solid. Like someone who hadn't vanished.
"I don't want attention," Rhea muttered.
"You're not asking for it," Shyra said. "You're just existing. People confuse the two."
She picked up the bracelet and slipped it onto Rhea's wrist. "There."
Then the rings—one finger, then another. Each piece placed with intention, not decoration.
The watch followed.
Rhea glanced down. "This feels… too much."
Shyra smiled faintly. "You've been too little for too long."
She lifted the chain and paused. "Okay. This one's light. Nothing heavy. Agreed?"
Rhea nodded.
Shyra fastened it behind her neck, fingers brushing Rhea's skin briefly. Rhea stiffened, then relaxed.
Hoop earrings came last.
Small. Heavy. Grounding.
Shyra stepped back again. "Turn."
Rhea turned once, slowly.
Shyra clutched her chest dramatically. "No. Absolutely not. This is illegal."
Rhea snorted despite herself. "You're impossible."
"And you," Shyra shot back, "are devastating."
Rhea met her eyes in the mirror. "Stop flirting with me."
"I will never stop flirting with you," Shyra replied calmly. "It's my job as your sister."
Rhea shook her head, lips twitching. "You're embarrassing."
Shyra leaned closer, lowering her voice. "You smiled."
Rhea's face stilled. "Barely."
"But you did."
Silence settled for a moment.
Then Rhea said quietly, "I'll stay for an hour."
Shyra's grin was instant. "Deal."
"And if I feel uncomfortable—"
"Leave."
"If someone asks too many questions—"
"Ignore."
"If I want to disappear—"
Shyra squeezed her hand. "Come home."
Rhea exhaled. "Okay."
Shyra picked up her bag. "Look at that. Progress."
Rhea took one last look at herself before turning away from the mirror. "This doesn't mean I'm fine."
"I know," Shyra said softly. "It just means you're trying."
As they walked toward the door, Shyra added lightly, "Seriously though… if someone faints, that's on you."
Rhea rolled her eyes again—but this time, her shoulders were a little less tense.
And for the first time in days, she stepped out of her room not as someone hiding—
but as someone daring the world to look and not break her.