Archive of Our Own

Rumi was watering a dead plant. Not officially dead. If anyone asked, she'd say it was "recovering," which was a very generous way of describing a pot of dry soil and three brown stems that looked like they'd given up on life sometime in June last year. But Mi-yeong had set it on the back step two months ago with a hopeful little "It just needs a little sunlight and TLC", and now Rumi was out here with the hose like that could perform necromancy.

The late-afternoon air still held some warmth thankfully, the kind that made the concrete breathe heat back through the soles of her socks. She tipped the nozzle and gave the pot a careful stream, because apparently she was committed to the bit.

From next door, a back door slid open. Rumi's hand tightened on the hose before her brain caught up. It was ridiculous how quickly she just knew it was Mira. Not even from seeing her—she hadn't looked yet—but from the sound itself. Mira's family door always rattled a little at the end, and Mira never closed it properly on the first try. Four years next door and Rumi could identify her from one sliding track and an annoyed little huff.

She looked anyway.

Mira was stepping out onto the deck in a loose black shirt and shorts, one hand lifting to gather her hair. She had a hair tie around her wrist and the kind of face that should have come with a warning label, even when she looked half-distracted and barefoot. Sharp eyes, mouth tilted like she knew a secret, dark pink hair — almost coppery, but it's totally not like Rumi pays that much attention — catching the light at the ends. She reached up, elbows high, and Rumi forgot she was still squeezing the hose.

Water arced right past the pot and splashed over the step.

"Rumi."

Rumi jerked the nozzle down so fast she almost soaked her own feet.

Mira had turned, one eyebrow lifting over the fence between them. "You... planning to drown the patio?"

Rumi glanced at the pot. Mud now. Great. "It's—" She swallowed. "It's for the plant."

Mira's mouth twitched. "Mm."

Rumi tried to look normal. She adjusted the hose. She stood up straighter. She absolutely, definitely did not wipe her sweaty palm on her shorts where Mira could see. Mira came down off the deck and wandered closer to the fence, like this was casual, like she hadn't just knocked Rumi's internal organs out of alignment by existing in a T-shirt. Rumi stared at the plant instead.

"You know that thing's dead, right?" Mira asked.

Rumi looked up before she could stop herself. "It's… not dead."

Mira leaned one forearm on the fence, looking into the pot with open scepticism. "Rumi."

"It's recovering."

"From what, a fire?"

Rumi made a face, and that was apparently the reaction Mira had been fishing for, because the grin she got in return was slow and satisfied and way too pretty for a weekday afternoon.

"It was green last week," Rumi said, which was a lie so weak she felt herself dying as she said it.

Mira's eyes narrowed like she was considering whether to spare her. "Ruru, it was brown last month."

Ruru?

Rumi nearly dropped the hose.

Mira blinked once, then smirked wider when she saw Rumi's expression go blank. "Oh my god," she said, delighted. "Did that do it?"

Rumi opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

From inside Mira's house, a guy's voice called, "Mira, Omma said if you're stealing the hose, you need to ask first!"

Mira didn't look away from Rumi. "I'm not!" she called back. "I'm… observing a crime in progress. Desecration of a corpse."

Rumi wanted the ground to open. Mira's older brother appeared at the back door a second later, shoulder bumping the frame as he stepped out with a tea towel in one hand. He looked between them, took in the hose, the now muddy step, and Rumi standing there with the expression of someone who'd been caught committing… something.

"Oh," he said, in the deeply annoying tone of an older brother who had just understood everything and planned to say none of it directly. "Neighbourly horticulture."

"Shut up, Jae," Mira said without heat.

He grinned at Rumi like they hadn't all just witnessed her soul leave her body. "Hey, Rumi."

"Hi," Rumi managed, voice slightly strangled. "Visiting for the weekend?"

"Mmhm." He replied before turning to Mira. "Appa wants the secateurs if you see them," he said as he handed the towel to her, then, turning back to Rumi, "Plant looks… great."

Rumi squinted at him. He laughed and ducked back inside before Mira could throw the tea towel at his head.

Mira exhaled through her nose, still smiling, and tapped one finger against the fence. "You need help?"

"With what?"

She tilted her chin toward the pot. "Planning the funeral."

Rumi stared at her for two seconds, then huffed a laugh she hadn't meant to let out. "Wow."

Mira just smiled at the sound. "There she is." Mira pushed off the fence, walking backwards a few steps. "Try a little less water," she said. "Or, like, a priest."

"I hate you," Rumi said, because her mouth had apparently stopped reporting to management.

Mira only looked pleased. "No, you really don't."

Then she turned and headed back toward her deck, one hand lifting in a lazy little wave over her shoulder like she hadn't just detonated Rumi's whole afternoon. Rumi stood there for a beat, hose running, plant maybe dead, pulse trying to outrun her. From next door, Rumi faintly heard Mira's brother said something indistinct and Mira laughed, bright and familiar. By the time she went inside, Celine was at the counter slicing spring onions and Mi-yeong was standing over the stove, wooden spoon in hand, the kitchen warm with gochujang. The extractor fan hummed overhead. Their house smelled like dinner and clean laundry and, unfairly, not at all like a girl who'd just been emotionally mugged over a dead plant.

Rumi tried to walk through the kitchen like a normal person…

Mi-yeong glanced over first. "You're back."

"Mm."

Celine didn't look up from the chopping board. "How's the plant?"

Rumi paused. "Fine."

Mi-yeong's spoon stilled. "Fine?"

"It's—" Rumi opened the fridge mostly to have something to do with her hands. "Recovering."

Celine finally looked at her, then over Rumi's shoulder toward the back window, where the fence line was visible if you leaned a little. "Did Mira come say hello?"

Rumi grabbed a bottle of water and shut the fridge with her hip. "Why would you ask that like that?"

Mi-yeong and Celine exchanged a glance so quick it was practically telepathic.

Rumi narrowed her eyes. "What?"

"Nothing," Mi-yeong said, turning back to the pan. "You have your school shirt in the wash basket, right? I'm doing a load after dinner."

Rumi took a drink, suspicious. "Yeah."

Celine resumed chopping. "We're sending food next door later. Mira's eomma dropped off some mandarins this morning."

"I can take it," Rumi said almost immediately.

Silence.

Celine's mouth twitched. "You seem very eager to deliver mystery food."

Rumi leaned against the counter and aimed for bored. "I'm just being helpful."

Mi-yeong stirred the pan, but Rumi caught the smile in the corner of her mouth. "Helpful is nice."

Rumi squinted at both of them. "Why are you being weird?"

"We're just cooking dinner," Mi-yeong said.

"I'm just chopping spring onions," Celine added.

"Which is not weird."

Rumi pointed her bottle between them. "You're doing the look."

"What look?" Celine asked, too innocent.

"The look."

Mi-yeong tasted the sauce, nodded to herself, and reached for the soy. "Perhaps the look is not very subtle," she whispered before glancing over to Celine knowingly.

"There!" Rumi said. "That! Why are you—"

Her phone buzzed on the counter. She lunged for it with indecent speed. Celine and Mi-yeong shared another glance. This one was so obvious Rumi chose, for the sake of her own dignity, to pretend she hadn't seen it. Jinu's name lit the screen.

Jinu:
u alive?
or did you see mira and did she look at you and you turn into dust
again

Rumi stared at the messages, then very deliberately turned her phone face-down.

Mi-yeong, who had definitely seen the preview, said, "Is Jinu coming over this weekend?"

Rumi looked at her sharply. "Why?"

"No reason. I was thinking of making japchae."

That tracked enough that Rumi couldn't accuse her of anything. "Maybe. He's with Abby tomorrow."

"Abby," Celine repeated, sliding the spring onions into a bowl. "That the one who said your curtains were 'giving haunted widow'?"

Rumi groaned. "Can we not?"

"It was funny," Mi-yeong said.

"It was rude."

"It was accurate," Celine said.

"You picked them."

Rumi looked between them, deeply outnumbered, and snatched her phone back up. "I'm going upstairs."

"Wash your hands first," Mi-yeong called. "Always wash your hands after gardening."

Rumi scrubbed at the sink, glaring at absolutely nobody, while behind her Celine said in a mild voice, "Ask Mira if she wants cut fruit with the food."

Rumi froze mid-rinse.

Mi-yeong made a little noncommittal sound that was suspiciously close to a laugh. "Celine."

"What? She likes the pineapple."

Rumi turned off the tap and dried her hands too hard. "How do you know she likes pineapple?"

Both mums looked at her.

Rumi stared back.

A beat passed.

Then Mi-yeong smiled into the pan. "Go answer your friend already."

Rumi fled.

Her room was a "controlled" mess. School books stacked on the desk, hoodie on the chair, charger cord hanging off the bed, curtains half open because she liked the light until she didn't. She flopped onto the mattress and unlocked her phone to seven messages and one voice note from Jinu.

The voice note was twelve seconds long and, because Jinu had no respect for her blood pressure, opened with him whisper-shouting, "Zoey says Mira was fishing to see if you'd be at that stupid fundraiser thing next month, and if you die before telling me why, I'm telling your eommadeul you're in love."

Rumi sat straight up and nearly smacked her head on the wall.

She typed so fast she made three mistakes.

Rumi:
I am nto in love with anyone
Mira's just a friend
and why is your sister in my business
also i t was not th ebins this time

Three dots appeared immediately.

Jinu:
"this time" 💀
first of all she lives to be in everyone's business
second of all she's older and therefore thinks that means she's wiser and deserves to be

Rumi snorted despite herself.

Rumi:
by an hour

Jinu:
AnD tWeLvE mInUtEs
she says i have to say the twelve minutes every time 🙄

Rumi could hear Zoey saying it, probably with her chin tipped up like she was queen of time.

Another message came through.

Jinu:
anyway Abby says your issue isn't liking Mira
it's having the survival instincts of a moth
his words not mine (mostly)

Rumi dropped back onto the bed and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead.

Rumi:
tell your boyfriend i hate him
and again
just
a
friend

Jinu:
impossible you think he's funny
and sure whatever gelps you sleep at night

That was, annoyingly, true.

Rumi:
gelps
why was Zoey asking if I'm going to the fundraiser

Jinu:
no clue
maybe because she has eyes
maybe because mira has eyes
maybe because you two are exhausting and i'm too handsome for this
and shut up it's a typo

Rumi stared at the screen long enough for the screen to dim.

She wasn't stupid. She knew Zoey and Mira were close. She knew Jinu and Zoey talked about everything because they were twins and kinda just weird like that. She knew information moved. But there was a difference between information moving and Mira asking about her, and her brain, traitorous thing, had already started replaying Jinu's voice note with slow-motion analysis.

fishing to see if you'd be there

It could mean nothing.

It probably meant nothing.

Mira asked things. Mira talked to everyone. Mira teased because she liked reactions. Rumi was just there a lot. Next door. Easy target.

Her phone buzzed again.

Jinu:
also zoey would again like me to say again that she is one hour and twelve minutes older than me, and therefore my senior in both age and wisdom

Rumi laughed into her pillow.

Rumi:
tell her I said being born first isn't an accomplishment if your mom did all the work

A full minute passed before Jinu sent back a voice note that was just Zoey in the background yelling, "RYU RUMI I HEARD THAT," followed by Jinu cackling and Abby saying, somewhere farther away, "She's kinda right, though."

Rumi held the phone to her chest, smiling before she could stop herself.

A knock sounded on her doorframe. Mi-yeong leaned in, dish towel over one shoulder. "Can you take this next door?"

Rumi looked up too fast. "Sorry?"

Mi-yeong lifted a container wrapped in a tea towel. "Stir-fried beef and vegetables."

Rumi sat up, trying for a level tone and failing by a mile. "Yeah. Sure."

Mi-yeong's expression did not change, which was almost more suspicious than if she'd laughed. "Mm. And some cut pineapple."

Rumi narrowed her eyes. "You're doing it on purpose."

"Doing what?"

Rumi gestured vaguely. "This."

Mi-yeong considered her, then walked in and set the container on the desk. She reached down and smoothed a piece of hair back from Rumi's forehead the way she'd done since Rumi was little enough to fit under one arm.

"Rumi-ah," she said softly, "I am simply asking you to carry food next door. If you turn that into something more, that is not my fault."

Then she left before Rumi could recover.

Rumi sat there for a second, glaring at the container like it had betrayed her.

From downstairs, Celine called, "Don't forget the pineapple!"

Rumi covered her face with both hands.

Around an hour after she came back from next door—alive, somehow, though barely—dinner was eaten, dishes were stacked, and the house had settled into evening. Celine was in the lounge with a book open on her lap. Mi-yeong had a drama playing softly on her tablet, volume low.

Rumi escaped to her room again with a muttered goodnight and changed into an old shirt and soft shorts. Outside, the neighbourhood shifted into porch-light hours. Doors clicked shut. Someone down the street laughed. A dog barked once and then, after a pause, again, as if making sure it had been heard the first time.

Rumi sat at her desk pretending to review a reading for school, pen in hand, eyes on the same paragraph for six minutes.

Then, because she had no self-respect, she got up and moved to the window.

She didn't pull the curtain all the way. Just enough to see through the gap.

Next door, Mira's back porch light cast a warm square over the deck and part of the yard. Mira was outside again, this time with two glasses in her hands, passing one to her older brother before dropping into one of the outdoor chairs. He said something that made her roll her eyes. She kicked at his shin with a bare foot, and he laughed and nudged her shoulder.

The sound carried, easy and familiar.

Mira tipped her head back against the chair and looked up at the darkening sky. For a second, with the porch light catching the line of her cheek and her hair loose around her shoulders, she looked softer. Younger and older all at once. Not prom-queen Mira, not school Mira, not the girl everybody seemed to orbit. Just Mira next door. Close enough that Rumi could hear her laugh if she listened.

Rumi rested her forehead lightly against the window frame.

Four years, and she still hadn't figured out how to be normal about any of it. How to be normal around her. She doesn't even really know why Mira has this effect on her.

Senior year had barely started. She had time. Time to get over it, maybe. Time to stop being weird. Time to stop stepping outside every time she heard the rattle of that back door like she was on a string.

Mira said something, and even from here Rumi saw the shape of her smile.

Rumi stayed where she was.

Rumi nearly walked straight into a Year 11 carrying a cello before first period.

"Sorry—sorry," she muttered, sidestepping hard enough to clip her shoulder on the trophy case, then pretending that had been intentional as she kept moving down the corridor.

She had slept badly.

Not because of homework. Not because senior year had started and suddenly every teacher spoke like university applications were a storm rolling over the hill. Not because Mi-yeong had made her take vitamins at breakfast while Celine asked if she'd packed lunch and then, with terrifying casualness, whether Mira liked the stir-fry.

No. She had slept badly because Mira had looked over the fence, called her Ruru, and then smirked like she'd discovered a button she wanted to press again.

Rumi reached her locker, shoved her bag into the slightly dented metal door, and stood there with both hands braced on the edge of it for one second too long.

"Oof… You look like you lost a fight."

Rumi shut the locker and turned. "Good morning to you too."

Jinu grinned, slinging his bag higher onto his shoulder. His tie already loose, sleeves rolled like he'd personally declared uniforms were pointless before 8:30 am. "I'm serious. You look haunted."

"That's rich coming from someone who willingly hangs out with Abby."

"Abby is charming."

"Abby called my curtains widow-core."

Jinu gasped. "He said 'haunted.' If you're going to quote my boyfriend, at least respect the artistry."

Rumi snorted despite herself, and Jinu's grin sharpened.

"Better already" he said, bumping her shoulder with his. "Come on. Zoey's already texted me three times."

"About what?"

Jinu checked his phone as they started toward homeroom. "No idea. The first one was just 'where are you.' The second was 'hurry up.' The third was a photo of her shoe."

Rumi blinked. "Why?"

"She says it was 'for emphasis.'"

"That doesn't mean anything."

"Exactly. Which is why I have no idea."

As if summoned by being talked about, Zoey appeared at the end of the corridor, weaving through the crowd with the kind of confidence that made space open for her before she even got there. Her hair was tied back in her usual style, her blazer open, lanyard swinging as she walked. She spotted them and lifted her chin.

"Took you long enough."

Jinu held up his phone. "You sent me a picture of your shoe."

"It worked, didn't it?"

"What is it even supposed to mean?"

Zoey gave him a sweet smile. "You'll get it when you're older."

Jinu stared at her.

Zoey patted his cheek as she passed.

Rumi laughed before she could stop herself. Jinu pointed at her, wounded.

"Do not encourage her."

"Too late," Zoey said, sliding into step on Rumi's other side. "It's in her eyes."

Rumi narrowed hers. "Good morning, Zoey."

"Morning, Rumi." Zoey glanced at her face and went still for half a beat, something wicked sparking there. "Oh. You look… a little tired."

Rumi felt immediate danger. "I slept fine."

"Mm."

Jinu turned to look between them. "Why does everyone keep doing that 'mm' thing? It's threatening."

Zoey's mouth twitched. "Maybe you'll understand when you're older."

"Stop saying that."

"Stop giving me opportunities to."

The bell hadn't gone yet, so the hallway was still clogged with people drifting toward class, gossip bouncing off the walls in little pockets. A group from senior committee hurried by carrying rolled posters and a box of markers. Someone farther down was trying to tape a flyer to a noticeboard and failing because the corner kept peeling off.

"Fundraiser sign-ups today," Zoey said, nodding toward the posters. "If you hear anyone say 'community spirit,' run."

Jinu groaned. "You and Mira are still doing that stupid thing?"

Zoey looked offended. "It's not a stupid thing. It's an excellent thing. It raises money for the arts programme."

"It's a bake sale with paperwork."

"It is a professionally coordinated multi-club event."

Jinu looked at Rumi. "She's using committee voice."

Zoey ignored him and looked directly at Rumi. "Are you going?"

Rumi blinked. "To the fundraiser?"

"Mmhm."

"I don't know. Maybe."

Zoey watched her for one beat too long, then nodded once like she was filing that answer away. "Come if you can. Mira's making everyone do shifts, she's insufferable when she's organised, but she's sweeter when you're around."

That did something unhelpful to Rumi's pulse.

Jinu squinted at his sister. "Why do I feel like this conversation is about six layers deeper than what's being said?"

Zoey smiled at him with real affection this time. "You'll get it when you're older."

By interval, the whole school seemed to have collectively remembered they were seniors.

Not in any mature, noble sense. In the loud sense. The overconfident sense. The "we own this place until November and therefore should stand in the middle of the courtyard yelling about sports trials and theme days" sense.

Rumi stepped out of class into sun and noise and immediately spotted Mira across the courtyard before she'd fully processed anything else.

It wasn't even fair at this point. Mira was half-turned toward a table set up near the office windows, sleeves rolled to her elbows, talking with two girls from drama and one of the deputy heads of house. Zoey stood beside her with a clipboard, chewing the end of a pen cap and pointing at a sheet like she was arguing over battle plans. A stack of posters leaned against the bench. Someone passed Mira a roll of tape. Mira said something, smiled, and three different people laughed.

Rumi slowed without meaning to.

At home, that version of Mira was barefoot on the deck, leaning over the fence and making funeral jokes about maybe dead plants.

Here, she looked like she'd been built for public life. Not in a fake way nor performative—she just seemed so easy in it. Comfortable with attention in a way Rumi couldn't imagine ever being. Students drifted in and out of her space, asking questions, offering help, hovering for a second too long. Mira answered all of them without looking rushed.

"Careful," Jinu murmured beside her. "You're doing the thing."

Rumi tore her eyes away. "What thing?"

"The 'I'm definitely not staring and no one can prove it' thing."

"Wha— I wasn't staring."

"Rumi."

She shoved his arm lightly. "Shut up."

"You're so down bad."

"Last time I'm saying it. She's just a friend."

A boy from their English class jogged past them and called to the courtyard table, "Kang! Save me a spot on setup, yeah?"

Mira looked up, nodded, and called back, "Only if you actually show up this time."

He put a hand over his heart like she'd wounded him. Zoey rolled her eyes and wrote something down.

"School royalty," Jinu muttered, not even trying to lower his voice. "Disgusting."

Rumi hated how much the phrase fit.

One of the girls at the table lifted a mock crown from somewhere in the box and dropped it onto Mira's head. "Prom queen in training!" she declared.

Mira pulled a face and took it off immediately, but she was laughing. Rumi looked away so fast she almost walked into the noticeboard.

There it was. Not even prom season yet, and people were already saying it like it was obvious. Of course they were. Mira had that kind of orbit. Rumi could feel it from the edge of the courtyard and hated that she could feel herself stepping back inside.

She and Jinu had almost made it past when Mira's voice cut through the noise.

"Rumi!"

Rumi stopped so abruptly Jinu smacked into her shoulder.

"Wow," he said under his breath. "Called out by name..."

"Shutup," Rumi hissed, but quietly because Mira was already walking toward them.

She moved like she always did—purposeful without looking hurried, eyes locked where she meant them to be. On Rumi. Not on the crowd around them, not on Jinu making faces over Rumi's shoulder. On Rumi.

Zoey stayed by the table, watching with the expression of someone who had front-row seats to a show she'd already seen the rehearsal for.

Mira stopped in front of them, one hand still holding the roll of tape. Up close, Rumi could see a faint smudge of marker on the side of her wrist and a tiny crease between her brows that hadn't been there yesterday, like she'd already had to solve six problems before interval.

"Hey," Mira said.

Rumi forgot, briefly, how greetings worked. "Hi."

Mira's gaze flicked over her face, quick and assessing. "You look tired."

Jinu made a choked noise behind her.

Rumi's ears went hot. "I'm fine."

"Mm." Mira's mouth twitched.

Traitorous, every single one of them.

Then Mira tilted her head a little and, with the tiniest smirk, said, "You coming to the fundraiser, Ruru?"

Rumi's entire nervous system shut down.

Jinu went silent in a way that was somehow louder than if he'd laughed. Behind Mira, Zoey physically turned away and put a hand over her mouth.

Rumi stared at Mira. Mira stared back, expression almost neutral except for that tiny, horrible, perfect curve at one corner of her mouth.

"What?" Rumi said, because that was all she had left.

Mira blinked innocently. "The fundraiser? We need people to buy things and pretend they actually enjoy raffles."

"Oh, she heard you," Jinu said, far too helpfully. "She's just lost in your eyes…"

"No one asked you," Rumi muttered.

Mira chuckled and her eyes flicked to Jinu then back to Rumi. "So…?"

Rumi had the distinct feeling this answer mattered more than it should. Which was ridiculous. It was a fundraiser.

"Maybe," she said, hating how breathy it sounded. "I might."

Mira watched her for one beat, then nodded once. "Okay." She held up the tape. "Good. Zoey keeps trying to put me on front table duty and I need witnesses for if I snap."

Zoey called across the courtyard without looking up from her clipboard, "That's because you flirt for donations."

Mira turned just enough to call back, "It works."

"It's manipulative."

"It's fundraising."

Jinu leaned toward Rumi, stage-whispering, "I love your weird little life."

Rumi elbowed him in the ribs. Jinu let out a soft "oof"

Mira glanced back in time to catch it and laughed under her breath. "See you two at lunch?"

"Depends," Jinu said. "Will there be more pet names?"

Rumi nearly died on the spot.

Mira's expression did something small and unreadable, then settled back into amused. "Maybe if you're lucky." She turned and headed back to the table before Rumi could recover. Halfway there she called, over her shoulder, "Don't disappear on me, Ruru."

Rumi stood rooted to the concrete while the courtyard carried on around her like nothing catastrophic had just happened.

Jinu stared at her profile for a second, then whistled softly. "I understand why moths go toward light now…"

"Don't."

"I'm telling Abby."

"Jinu."

"And maybe your eommadeul."

Rumi turned on him. "I will push you into traffic."

By lunchtime, Rumi had almost convinced herself she'd imagined the second Ruru.

Not the sound of it—she could still hear that. Mira saying it like she'd invented it just to watch Rumi short-circuit. But maybe the smirk had been in Rumi's head. Maybe Zoey turning away had been because someone at a table had said something else. Maybe Jinu's face after was just standard Jinu-face.

Then she walked into the library annex and found Mira and Zoey standing over a printer that was making a noise like a dying lawnmower.

So much for a calm lunch.

The annex had been commandeered by senior committee for fundraiser prep, which meant every flat surface was covered in paper, markers, half-finished signs, and boxes of things that looked useful if you knew what they were. The printer sat on a low table near the back wall with its tray open, an error message flashing accusingly.

Zoey looked up first. "Rrruuuuummmmmiiiii!"

Rumi stopped in the doorway. "Why are you saying my name like that?"

"Because I need something." Zoey pointed at the printer. "It hates me again."

"It hates everyone," Mira said, crouched beside the tray with two sheets of paper in her hand. Her blazer was off, tie loosened, and there was a faint streak of pink highlighter on one thumb. She glanced up at Rumi with a soft smile. "Hi again."

Rumi's traitor heart did something stupid once more. "Hi."

Jinu, who had followed her in with a bag of chips and zero interest in helping, looked around once and immediately sat on one of the desks. "I guess I'll give moral support."

"No one invited you," Zoey said.

"I invited myself."

Abby's voice crackled faintly from his phone, where he'd apparently joined a call without telling anyone. "You deserve it."

Rumi glanced over. "You're on call? Hey Abby!"

"Hey Rumi!"

Jinu shrugged. "We call during lunch. He likes hearing me suffer."

"About right," Abby said.

Zoey cackled. Mira, still crouched, held up the mangled pages.

"It jammed, then ate the sign-up sheets, then… I guess printed one page with just the word 'donation' in the corner and gave up."

Rumi set her lunch down on the nearest clear patch of table and moved closer before she could overthink it. "Did you open the back panel?"

Mira shifted sideways to make space for her without hesitation. "The what now?"

Rumi crouched beside her and ignored the way Mira's knee bumped hers for one unbearable second. "The back panel. It feeds weird if the paper's a little curled."

Zoey pointed dramatically at Rumi. "See? This is why I called her."

Jinu looked between them, then at Zoey. "You did this on purpose."

Zoey spread her hands. "I have no idea what you mean."

"You just said—"

"Shhhhh."

Rumi popped the panel open. "Yeah. There."

Mira leaned in to look, shoulder brushing Rumi's this time. "Oh."

A strip of paper was caught around one roller, folded in on itself. Rumi pinched the edge carefully and tugged. It resisted, then came loose in one long wrinkled piece.

"Don't yank it," she said, mostly because Mira looked like she was about to. "It tears if it's caught near the wheel."

Mira had gone quiet beside her. Rumi felt the look before she risked glancing over. Mira was watching her.

"What?" Rumi asked, immediately defensive because that was easier than whatever else this was.

Mira blinked, like she'd been caught. "Nothing." Then, after a tiny beat: "You're good at this."

Rumi looked back at the printer because looking at Mira felt unsafe. "It's just a printer."

"Still."

Zoey, who had absolutely heard that, made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a swallowed laugh.

Rumi cleared the error, reloaded the paper tray, and hit print. The machine whirred, clicked, considered its life choices, and then started feeding clean pages through one after another.

Zoey threw both hands up. "Queen."

"It's a school printer," Rumi said, standing too fast and nearly knocking her shoulder into the table. "It just needed—"

"Someone competent?" Zoey supplied.

Jinu, from the desk, raised a chip in salute. "To Ryu Rumi."

Abby, tinny through the speaker, said, "Tell her I'm proud of her but still stand by the moth thing."

Rumi pointed at Jinu's phone. "I take back what I said. I do hate him."

"You don't," Jinu and Mira said at the same time.

There was a tiny, ridiculous pause. Zoey's eyes widened. Jinu looked like he might ascend. Rumi however, contemplated faking her own death.

Mira recovered first, reaching past Rumi to collect the fresh pages from the tray. "Thanks," she said, tone easy, like none of that had happened. "Seriously."

Rumi nodded, because words felt dangerous. Mira tapped the stack against the table to straighten it, then looked at her through her lashes with that same infuriating almost-smile. "So. Fundraiser?"

Rumi exhaled slowly. "You're really pushing this."

Mira shrugged one shoulder. "I like full tables."

Zoey coughed into her fist.

Mira didn't look away from Rumi. "And you owe me for emotional distress after the plant situation."

Jinu sat up so fast he nearly dropped his chips. "The what situation?"

Rumi closed her eyes.

Zoey looked innocent in a way no innocent person had ever looked innocent. "Oh. Did no one tell you?"

Jinu rounded on his sister. "You knew something and didn't tell me? What about the twin code?"

Zoey put a hand to her chest. "I was respecting Rumi's privacy."

"Liar."

"Maybe," Zoey said cheerfully, then to Rumi, "Mira's version of the story was very embellished."

Mira's mouth twitched. "Hardly."

Rumi opened her eyes and pointed at all of them in turn. "I hate this school."

"No, you don't," Mira said quietly, and when Rumi looked at her, she was smiling again—small this time, less performance, more something Rumi didn't have a name for.

Rumi looked away first.

Lunch ended too quickly after that. Or maybe not quickly enough. Rumi couldn't really tell. Time when Mira was around had never quite behaved properly.

She spent the last ten minutes pretending to eat while Zoey and Jinu argued about whose turn it was to tell their mum they'd forgotten to bring home the reusable containers, Abby chiming in from Jinu's phone like he lived in the ceiling vents. Mira moved in and out of the conversation, sorting papers, pinning up a roster, stealing chips from Jinu's bag and ignoring his outrage.

It should have been easy. It was just lunch. Just friends and adjacent-friends, school noise and fundraising prep.

Instead, Rumi sat in the middle of it feeling split clean down the centre.

Because this was Mira too. Not just the girl next door under porch lights. This one. Sleeves rolled up, taking over a room full of energy and somehow making it function. Teasing Jinu, side-eyeing Zoey, occasionally asking Rumi to hold things like it was natural. Looking at Rumi like she'd notice if she left.

By the time the afternoon bell rang, Rumi was carrying that feeling around like a bruise.

She and Jinu ended up by the bike racks after school, bags at their feet while Jinu wrestled with a lock that had decided, apparently, to test his character.

"I'm just saying," he muttered, yanking the chain, "if she calls you Ruru again, I need a little forewarning. I almost swallowed a chip whole."

Rumi stared out toward the front gate, where students were spilling onto the footpath in clusters. "Can you not?"

"I'm processing."

"There's nothing to process."

Jinu looked up flatly. "She hunted you down twice. In one day."

"It was about the fundraiser."

"Mmhm."

"And the printer."

"Mmhm."

Rumi crossed her arms. "You're annoying."

"And you're transparent."

He got the lock loose and stood, dusting off his hands. For a second he was quiet in that way he got when he was being less of a menace and more of a best friend.

Then he said, "You know she doesn't do that with everyone, right?"

Rumi's throat tightened on instinct. "Do what?"

"She looks for you."

Rumi laughed, too quick. "Jinu."

"I'm serious."

She picked up her bag. "Mira talks to everyone."

"Yeah," he said, slinging one leg over his bike. "She'll talk to anyone, but she wants to talk to you."

Rumi frowned at him.

He just shook his head, half smiling, and started to push off. "Fundraiser. Go, don't go, whatever. But if you pretend you don't care, at least try to make it believable."

She opened her mouth to fire back something smart, but movement near the gate caught her eye.

Mira, outside the school fence now, one hand hooked in her bag strap, walking with Zoey at her side. Zoey was talking with both hands. Mira was listening, head tipped toward her, then looked up—across the parking strip, past the line of bikes, through the drifting crowd—and found Rumi like it was the easiest thing in the world.

She lifted two fingers in a tiny wave.

Rumi lifted her hand before she could think about it. Mira smiled, small and quick, then turned back to Zoey and kept walking.

Jinu made a soft, long-suffering sound beside her. "Moth."

"Shut up," Rumi said, but without heat.

He laughed and rode off.

Rumi stood by the bike racks another minute, bag strap cutting into her shoulder, the afternoon sun warm on the back of her neck. Around her, school thinned out into traffic and voices and weekend plans and people yelling final goodbyes over car roofs.

She could still feel the split in herself.

Next door, Mira was easy to read and impossible to survive.

At school, Mira was impossible to read and somehow even worse.

Rumi started walking home anyway, already dreading and wanting the sound of that back door rattling open.

A Few Weeks Later…

Rumi was having what she liked to call a productive evening, which meant her textbook was open on her desk and her brain was playing an internal game of Pong somewhere else entirely.

She'd done the bare minimum of homework. Refilled her water bottle twice. Reorganised her pencil case like ritual. And now she was standing in the middle of her room, folding laundry in the most inefficient way possible, because if she sat down again she'd start thinking about school, and if she started thinking about school, she'd start thinking about Mira.

Which was, unfortunately, the same problem she was already having.

A poster watched her from the wall above her desk — Beauty and the Beast — old, slightly sun-faded. Mi-yeong had helped her put it up years ago, when Rumi had insisted she didn't want it anymore and then refused to throw it away, then when Mi-yeong actually went to throw it away, Rumi panicked. She'd kept it. Of course she'd kept it. It was hers.

Rumi folded a T-shirt, then another, and because she was alone and her door was shut and no one could hear her, she started singing under her breath.

It wasn't good singing. It wasn't even "kind of okay." It was the kind of singing you do when you're not trying to be anything except entertained by your own voice. She was off-key and inconsistent with the rhythm, and she definitely didn't know all the words. She filled in gaps with vague humming and the occasional confident wrong lyric.

"Tale as old as tiiime…" she sang, voice cracking slightly on the long note. She chuckled at herself, then kept going anyway, it wasn't like she was auditioning for anything.

She tossed a folded shirt onto the chair and tried again, softer, like if she sang quietly the notes would behave better.

They didn't. Then again, she didn't want them to. It was so much more fun this way.

Rumi smiled into the next line because she couldn't help it. The song made her feel warm in a way she didn't get from most things lately. Senior year had a way of making everything feel like it was happening faster than her body could keep up.

She was halfway through another horribly mangled verse when something downstairs changed—sound shifting, a dull thump like the front door closing.

Rumi didn't clock it. Mi-yeong was always coming and going from the garden. Celine was always moving through the house like a calm ghost with a book in her hand. It could have been anything.

Rumi kept folding. Kept singing.

Then, faintly, she heard Mi-yeong's voice below her, and with it a second voice—lower, familiar, too close to make sense.

Rumi froze with a sock in her hands.

No. That couldn't—?

The upstairs hallway creaked.

Rumi's stomach dropped, in the way your body reacts when it recognises a threat before your mind can label it.

She went quiet.

The creak came again, closer this time. The sound of someone walking up the stairs with intention, not just passing by.

Rumi stared at her door like it might betray her.

A knock landed softly against the wood.

Rumi didn't move.

Another knock, a little firmer, followed by a voice that made every nerve in her body snap to attention.

"Rumi?"

Rumi's mouth went dry.

She opened the door on pure instinct and immediately wished she hadn't.

Mira stood there like she belonged there.

She wasn't dressed up. It was just a cropped top that showed a thin sliver of waist when she shifted her weight, and shorts that had no business being that short on a Wednesday evening, and Rumi's brain—that traitorous, useless thing—latched right onto the exposed skin.

Mira's hair was half-up, face-framing pieces loose, her makeup done in a way that looked effortless even though Rumi knew it wasn't. She smelled faintly like shampoo and whatever perfume she wore that always made Rumi think of something clean and sharp and too expensive for a teenager.

It was about now that Rumi realised she was still holding a sock. Because Mira's eyes flicked to it, then back up to Rumi's face, amused.

"Hi," Mira said, and her tone was too normal for someone who had just appeared in Rumi's upstairs hallway.

Rumi blinked. "What are you—?"

Mira's mouth tipped up. "Your omma let me in."

Mi-yeong's voice called from downstairs, bright and casual. "Rumi-ah! Mira's here!"

That was blindingly obvious.

Mira leaned one shoulder against the wall like she was settling in. "I needed a sewing kit."

"You… needed… a sewing kit?" Rumi repeated, as if saying the words slowly might make her understand them.

"Mm," Mira said, eyes glittering. "Jae ripped a seam on my favourite shirt by yanking it off the clothes line like an ape."

"That sounds like Jae."

Mira's expression softened into something that looked fond for half a second before she smoothed it over again. "Anyway. Your omma took it to fix, and then she told me you were home and I should say hi."

Rumi stared at her. "Eomma told you to come up here?"

"Yup."

Rumi's face heated. "She just—she just sent you?"

"Yup."

Mira's gaze slid over her, slow and curious, taking in the sock, the half-folded laundry pile, the fact that Rumi was standing there in a loose T-shirt and shorts with her hair messy, since she'd been living in her room instead of existing as a presentable human being.

Rumi suddenly remembered.

Oh no.

She remembered her own voice.

The singing.

She could feel it rising like a delayed explosion, humiliation moving up her spine.

"By the way." Mira's smile widened in real time. "Were you singing? Could've sworn I'd heard you."

Rumi's heart dropped through the floor. "No."

Mira's eyebrows lifted. "Rumi."

"I was… not singing."

"You were absolutely singing." Mira leaned forward a fraction, like she was letting herself enjoy this fully. "It was cute."

Rumi made a strangled sound and tried to step back, but stepping back only meant Mira could see into her room, and that was worse.

Mira's eyes flicked past her.

Rumi watched the exact moment she spotted the poster.

It wasn't a big reaction. Mira didn't laugh. She didn't make a show of it. She just paused, eyes lingering like she'd found a secret door in a place she'd assumed she already knew. Then she looked at Rumi again, and the amusement in her face changed shape. It was still teasing, but it had something softer threaded through it.

"Well," Mira said, voice light. "That explains everything."

"What explains what?" Rumi demanded, too fast, too defensive.

Mira's gaze darted once more to the poster. "You're a Disney girl."

"I'm not a Disney girl," Rumi said immediately, which was obviously a lie.

Mira's smile turned wicked. "Sure you are… Princess Rumi, my lady."

Rumi went so still it hurt.

Princess.

The word hit like a sudden shove to the chest—too intimate, too pointed, too perfectly chosen. Mira said it like it was casual, like it had always been there, like it belonged in her mouth.

Rumi's voice came out thin. "D-Don't call me that."

Mira tilted her head, like she was considering the request as a suggestion, not a rule. "Why not?"

"Because it's…" Rumi flailed for an answer that didn't sound like because it makes me want to melt into the floor. "Because it's stupid."

"Hardly, besides…" Mira's eyes sparkled. "You were singing Beauty and the Beast in your bedroom."

"I was not singing Beauty and the Beast."

"You were singing something," Mira corrected, with the patience of someone who had heard it with her own ears. "And it was Disney."

Rumi stared at her, mortified beyond language.

Mira's smile softened again, and she pushed off the wall, shifting closer in a way that should have felt invasive but didn't. Mira didn't act like she had to earn permission to be here. She acted like she'd been invited, even though the only person who had invited her was Mi-yeong and Rumi hadn't had a say.

"For what it's worth, I won't call you that at school," Mira said, like she was granting Rumi mercy.

Rumi blinked. "You better not."

Mira's mouth twitched. "This can be our little secret."

Rumi's brain snagged on the phrase. Her mouth opened. Nothing coherent came out.

"So." Mira's gaze held hers for a beat longer than necessary, then she nodded toward the room. "Can I come in, or are you going to keep guarding the doorway?"

Rumi looked down at the sock still in her hand and wanted to die.

She stepped aside, because her body had apparently decided it was going to cooperate with Mira no matter what her dignity wanted.

Rumi's room wasn't filthy and it definitely wasn't gross. It was just lived-in in a way Rumi didn't usually let people see. There were books stacked on her desk, a hoodie draped over the chair, chargers coiled in a messy knot, and a half-finished worksheet she'd been pretending to care about. The poster was the most incriminating thing in here and Mira kept glancing at it like it was adorable.

Rumi shut the door behind Mira and immediately regretted trapping herself in a room with her.

Mira turned in a slow circle, scanning everything with open curiosity. "This is… very you."

Rumi's throat tightened. "You don't know what 'very me' is."

Mira looked back at her. "Sure I do. I've lived next door to you for four years, Rumi."

"That doesn't mean you know me."

"Yeah, well…" Mira's smile went small. "Maybe I want to."

Rumi stopped breathing for half a second.

Mira walked toward the desk and picked up one of Rumi's pens, twirling it between her fingers. "So," she said, like she hadn't just said something that could wreck Rumi for a week, "are you actually doing homework, or are you pretending?"

"I'm doing it."

Mira's eyes slid to the open page. "Sure."

Rumi scowled. "Why are you here, Mira?"

Mira tapped the pen against her own bottom lip, thoughtful. "Told you. Your omma told me to say hi."

Rumi crossed her arms. "And you listen to her?"

"Obviously." Mira's gaze flicked to the closed door as if Mi-yeong might materialise upstairs and judge her. Then she looked back at Rumi with a faint smirk. "She's kinda scary."

Rumi snorted, surprised into it.

Mira's eyes brightened at the sound like she'd won something.

"Anyway," Mira continued, sliding onto the edge of Rumi's bed with too much ease. "I was here. I figured I'd see if you were alive."

"I'm alive."

"I can see that," Mira said, and then, before Rumi could react, she added softly, "Princess Rumi."

Rumi's face went hot again, immediate and helpless. "Stop."

Mira's smile widened. "Only when your face stops going red at it." Mira swung one leg idly, the motion making the sliver of waist flash again, and Rumi's eyes betrayed her for half a second before she forced them away. Mira noticed. Of course she noticed. Mira noticed everything that mattered to her. She didn't say anything, but her smirk deepened, pleased.

Rumi wanted to throw herself out the window.

Mira's gaze drifted back to the poster. "So… Beauty and the Beast," she said, more quietly. "That your favourite?"

"It's… not my favourite," Rumi muttered, because lying was a reflex at this point.

Mira made a sound like she didn't believe her for a second.

Rumi's head snapped up. "It's not."

Mira's eyes held hers, calm and certain. "It so is."

Rumi's stomach did something stupid.

Downstairs, Mi-yeong called up, "It'll take a few minutes!"

Mira raised her voice in reply. "All good!"

Rumi felt her shoulders lift, then ease a little as the reminder of Mi-yeong downstairs grounded her. This wasn't a dream. This wasn't a trap. Mira was in her house because her shirt was ripped, and Mi-yeong was fixing it, and Rumi was going to survive this. Somehow.

Mira leaned back on her hands, looking more relaxed now that she'd established she could sit in Rumi's room without being kicked out. "You going to the fundraiser thing?" she asked.

Rumi narrowed her eyes. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

Mira shrugged. "We need bodies."

"So I'm a body now?"

Mira smiled. "You're a very useful body, actually."

Rumi's brain tried it's damnedest to interpret that sentence in ways it didn't need to.

She swallowed. "I'll think about it."

Mira's gaze softened. "Okay."

Something about the way she said it made it feel like she meant more than the words.

Rumi hesitated. "Is it… fixable? Your shirt… I mean."

Mira's eyes flicked up at her. "Should be. Mi-yeong can fix anything."

"True."

Mira watched her for a beat, then said, casual like she wasn't being terrifying, "Do you always sing when you're alone?"

Rumi choked. "I don't sing."

Mira's expression was openly fond now, like she wasn't even trying to hide it. "You do."

Rumi looked away, heat crawling up her neck. "It was… one time."

Mira's smile widened. "Knew it."

Rumi threw a rolled-up sock at her. It bounced off Mira's shoulder and fell onto the bed. Mira laughed, soft and genuine, and Rumi's heart did something that felt like surrender.

When they went downstairs, it was like stepping back into a different world.

Mi-yeong had the sewing kit out on the table, glasses on, Mira's shirt spread neatly in front of her like a patient. Celine sat at the counter with a mug, just watching her with a quiet composure.

Mira's posture shifted the moment she entered the kitchen. Still confident, still relaxed, but the intimacy of Rumi's room tucked itself away behind her eyes. She was polite now, the way she always was around adults.

Rumi felt a flash of relief and a strange disappointment at the same time.

"There you are," Mi-yeong said, looking up from the stitch she was doing. "This is easy. The seam just popped."

Mira leaned forward a little, impressed. "You're actually saving my life."

Mi-yeong waved her off. "It's just thread."

"It's my favourite shirt," Mira insisted. "Jae will be insufferable if I have to admit defeat."

Celine lifted her mug. "Then we can't allow that."

Mira smiled at her. "Thank you."

Rumi hovered awkwardly, unsure where to put her hands. She took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water just to give herself a job.

Mi-yeong continued sewing, calm and steady. "Rumi-ah, can you get me the little scissors?"

Rumi grabbed them instantly and handed them over.

Mi-yeong's mouth twitched faintly, like she was amused about something Rumi couldn't see. "Good. Thank you."

Rumi tried not to look at Celine. Celine had the kind of face that could say I know without moving at all.

Mira perched on one of the chairs, legs crossed, cropped top riding up just enough that Rumi had to keep forcing her eyes back to safe zones like the table and the sewing kit and literally anything else.

Mi-yeong snipped the thread. "Hold this corner."

Mira leaned forward to do it, and Rumi found herself watching Mira's fingers—rings, neat nails. She tried not too look at them for too long. Failed however.

Mi-yeong worked quickly. "There. Done."

Mira exhaled in relief like she'd been holding her breath. "You're a magician."

Celine's eyes flicked briefly to Rumi, almost imperceptible, like she was checking whether Rumi was coping. Rumi refused to give her the satisfaction.

Mi-yeong handed Mira the shirt, neatly folded. "Tell your mother I said hello."

"I will," Mira said, standing. "Thank you. Seriously."

Mi-yeong waved a hand. "Any time."

Mira turned toward the door, then paused, looking at Rumi. "So. You walking me out?"

Rumi's mouth opened. She was going to say no. She was going to say she had homework. She was going to say something normal.

Instead she said, "Yeah."

Celine took a sip of her tea like she was watching a show she'd already predicted the ending for.

Outside, the air had cooled. The streetlights hadn't come on yet, but the sky was shifting toward evening, that in-between stage where everything looked softer.

Mira stepped onto the porch and adjusted the folded shirt in her hands. Rumi stopped just behind her, holding herself together with sheer will.

Mira turned back, close enough that Rumi could see the faint shimmer on her eyelids. Close enough that Rumi could smell her again.

Mira's expression softened.

"Thanks," she said.

"For what?"

Mira's eyes flicked up toward the upstairs window, then back to Rumi's face. "For letting me… invade your space."

Rumi swallowed. "Eomma told you to."

Mira smiled, small and private. "Yeah. She did. But you still let me."

She stepped down off the porch, then paused at the bottom step like she'd forgotten something. Her gaze held Rumi's for a beat, and the smile in her mouth changed into something gentler.

Her voice dropped, quiet enough that it couldn't possibly carry back inside.

"See you tomorrow, Princess."

Rumi's whole body went rigid.

Mira's eyes glittered with satisfaction, but there was warmth under it too, like she liked the way it landed and she liked that it was only for them.

Rumi managed, strained, "Don't."

Mira's smile widened.

Then she turned and crossed the short distance back to her own house, shirt tucked under one arm like a trophy.

Rumi stood on the porch until Mira's front door clicked shut.

Only then did she exhale, shaky and silent, like she'd been holding her breath the whole time.

Inside, Mi-yeong's voice floated from the kitchen. "Rumi-ah?"

Rumi startled. "Yeah?"

Mi-yeong's tone was mild. "If you are going to stand on the porch staring at nothing, at least bring in the laundry."

Rumi's face heated. "I wasn't—"

Mi-yeong hummed like she hadn't heard her and went back to whatever she was doing.

Rumi climbed the stairs two at a time and shut herself back in her room like the walls could protect her from the memory of Mira's voice saying Princess like it belonged.

Rumi dropped onto her bed, pressed her palms to her face, and let out a sound halfway between a groan and a laugh.

Then, because she was incapable of learning, she started humming again—quietly this time, still off-key, still terrible—because her chest felt too full to hold anything else.

A Few Weeks Later…

By the time the fundraiser actually rolled around, Rumi had managed to convince herself of three things:

One: that "Princess" had been surely a one-time lapse in Mira's judgment.

Two: that she was absolutely, definitely over the whole Mira showing up in her house and hearing her sing like a dying bird situation.

Three: that attending a school event voluntarily did not mean she was down bad, it meant she had school spirit. Community-mindedness. A sense of civic duty. Whatever phrase teachers used when they wanted you to show up.

It was a solid delusion.

She and Jinu arrived just after six, the sun slipping low enough to make the school look almost nice for once. Strings of fairy lights had been looped along the courtyard fence and around the big oak by the gym, and the whole place smelled like hot oil and sugar and those sausages that always tasted a little like future regret on the toilet. Music thumped from somewhere near the stage area, not loud enough to rattle your bones, but enough that you had to raise your voice when you talked. And say "what?" a lot.

Jinu nudged her as they passed the ticket table. "Stay close. I will not survive this alone."

Rumi eyed the booth where a teacher was attempting to look enthusiastic. "You can leave."

"And miss my date? Never."

Rumi followed his gaze and found Abby leaning against the wall near the food stalls, hands in his pockets like he'd been born to look unbothered in a crowd. He'd dressed down—hoodie, jeans, hair still slightly damp like he'd showered five minutes before leaving—but the effect was unfair. Abby spotted Jinu and lifted his chin in greeting, expression sliding into something softer.

Jinu's entire posture changed when he got close, shoulders loosening like he'd been holding tension all day and only remembered to drop it when Abby was within arm's reach.

"You're late," Abby said.

Jinu scoffed. "The sun's still up."

Abby's eyes flicked to Rumi. "You look like you're under duress. Blink twice if you need me to save you."

Rumi sighed. "I am."

"Good," Abby said, and the corner of his mouth tipped up. "That means you'll behave."

Jinu grabbed Abby's sleeve, immediately dramatic. "Tell her you missed me."

"I missed you," Abby said, tone flat.

Jinu beamed like it was poetry. Rumi watched them for a second and felt that familiar mix of fondness and annoyance. They were disgusting. In a way that made her chest ache slightly.

She pointed at the tickets. "Are you two doing the whole fundraiser, or are you just here to flirt over overpriced food?"

Jinu looked smug. "Bit of both, Rumi. Bit of both."

Abby leaned toward him and murmured something that made Jinu laugh too loudly. It was already obvious this was going to be insufferable.

Zoey blew past them a moment later, clipboard in hand, hair tied up, eyes scanning the courtyard like she was running a military operation. She didn't stop, but she did aim a quick, sharp look at Jinu.

"If you sabotage my raffle, I'll end you," she called.

Jinu saluted with the same hand that was holding Abby's. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Zoey's gaze slid to Rumi, warmer. "You made it."

Rumi shrugged like it hadn't taken her an hour to decide what to wear and another ten minutes to convince herself she didn't need to change. "Yeah."

Zoey's mouth twitched as if she had about twelve things she wanted to say and was choosing restraint for once. "Good. Eat something. Don't faint. Mira's already at peak annoying."

Then she was gone again, barking a gentle "Tickets are over there!" at a cluster of Year 10s who looked lost.

Abby watched her disappear. "She's terrifying."

Jinu snorted. "That's my sister."

"Condolences," Abby said, then looked at Rumi. "I'm hungry. You want food? I'm getting food."

Jinu squeezed his hand. "We're getting food."

Rumi pointed a finger between them. "Eat. Be gross somewhere else."

Abby gave Rumi a brief, knowing look—too quick to challenge, too accurate to ignore. "Have fun," he said.

Rumi made a face. "That's not happening."

Jinu and Abby drifted toward the stalls like a couple who had absolutely decided this counted as a date. Jinu was holding Abby's wrist, guiding him through the crowd with that easy possessiveness that only worked because Abby clearly liked it.

Rumi stood there for a second, ticket strip in hand, and tried to breathe like a normal person instead of someone about to be hunted down by her next-door neighbour.

She scanned the courtyard without meaning to.

Found Mira instantly.

Of course she did.

Mira was near the dunk tank setup on the far side of the gym wall, talking to a teacher and two other seniors holding a bucket of tennis balls. Her hair was up, sleeves rolled, and she moved through the crowd like she belonged to it. People stopped her to ask questions and Mira answered them without slowing down, like she'd been built with extra batteries.

Rumi's stomach tightened.

Then she remembered she had promised herself she was not doing this tonight. She was here. She was present. She was not going to spend the entire fundraiser staring at Mira like a trapped animal.

She turned toward the food stalls and bought herself a pretzel the size of her head, mostly because it was warm and salty and gave her something to do with her hands.

It worked, briefly.

She found a spot by a low wall near the stage area where she could see most of the booths without being in anyone's way, and started eating like it was her job. Both hands around the pretzel, elbows tucked in, shoulders hunched a little against the evening chill that was starting to creep in.

The first bite was honestly incredible. She closed her eyes for, she'd swear just half a second.

When she opened them, Mira was standing in front of her.

Rumi nearly dropped the pretzel.

Mira's gaze flicked to it, then back to Rumi's face, and something small shifted at the corner of her mouth. Not a full grin. Something private that made Rumi's pulse do an unhelpful jump.

"Hi," Mira said, like this was casual, like she hadn't just materialised out of nowhere and shocked Rumi's nervous system.

Rumi swallowed a mouthful of pretzel too fast and regretted it immediately. "Hi."

Mira leaned one hip against the wall beside her, close enough that Rumi could feel her presence without even looking. "Did Zoey scare you into coming?"

Rumi stared at the pretzel like it might rescue her. "No."

Mira hummed, amused. "Jinu then."

Rumi shot her a look. "Why do you know who scares me into things?"

Mira's eyes glittered. "Because I know you."

That was… not helpful.

Rumi tore off another chunk of pretzel and chewed hard, as if she could grind the sentence into something less dangerous.

Mira watched her eat for a second, then said, "You're hiding."

"I'm not hiding."

"You picked the one spot where you can see everything and no one can talk to you," Mira replied, brushing a crumb away from the corner of Rumi's mouth with her thumb. "That's hiding, Rumi."

Rumi's face heated, partly because she'd been perceived and partly because Mira said her name like that. "I'm taking a break."

Mira's gaze slid over the crowd as if tracking something, then returned to her. "Come play a game with me."

Rumi blinked. "What?"

Mira's expression sharpened with a hint of triumph, like she'd been waiting to say it. "Come on. You've done your lurking. Now you have to participate."

"I bought a pretzel. I'm participating."

"That's eating," Mira said. "Different skill set."

Rumi narrowed her eyes. "What game?"

Mira tipped her chin toward the far side of the courtyard. "Dunk tank."

Rumi's stomach dropped. "Absolutely not."

Mira's smile widened. "Absolutely yes."

Rumi's grip tightened around the pretzel. "Why?"

Mira leaned closer, lowering her voice as if she was telling her something confidential. "Because I'm getting in it."

Rumi stared at her.

Mira's eyes held hers. She looked pleased with herself, like she'd just pulled off a magic trick.

"You're getting in the—" Rumi cut herself off because her voice was doing something embarrassing. "Why would you do that?"

Mira shrugged. "People pay more to dunk someone they know."

"You're insane."

"Thank you," Mira said, like it was a compliment.

Rumi took another bite of pretzel purely to avoid saying something worse.

Mira watched her for a beat, then tilted her head. "Are you coming?"

Rumi tried to find a version of herself who could say no.

She couldn't.

She tore off the last chunk of pretzel, swallowed, and muttered, "Fine."

Mira's smile turned bright and sharp. "Good."

Rumi blinked.

Mira pushed off the wall and started walking, then glanced back over her shoulder. "Keep up, Ruru."

Rumi's entire soul flinched.

Mira's smirk was tiny, like she'd dropped the word just to see what it did and had confirmed, once again, that it ruined Rumi's day. Then she kept walking like she hadn't said anything at all. Rumi stood there for half a second, stunned, then forced her feet to move.

She found Jinu and Abby near the food stalls on the way—Abby holding two drinks, Jinu holding something fried. Jinu clocked Rumi's direction and immediately leaned around Abby to see where she was going.

"Oh," Jinu said, voice rising with delight. "Oh no. She got you."

Rumi didn't stop. "Don't."

Jinu's grin sharpened. "Do I need to get my camera?"

Abby glanced over the crowd, caught sight of Mira heading for the dunk tank, and made a low sound like he was trying not to laugh.

Rumi pointed at them as she passed. "If either of you speak, I'll set you on fire."

The dunk tank had been set up beside the gym wall, a big plastic pool with a platform over it and a battered target board that looked like it had survived a decade of school events. A handful of people were already gathered around, tickets in hand, buzzing with anticipation. Someone had hung a banner over the stall that read DUNK A SENIOR! in glittery letters.

Mira was already talking to the teacher supervising, taking the tennis balls from one of the volunteers like she'd done this a hundred times.

Zoey appeared at Rumi's shoulder, materialising with the efficiency of someone who never stopped working. "You're here."

Rumi looked at her. "Why are you smiling like that?"

Zoey's expression was innocent in a way that was obviously fake. "I'm not smiling."

"You are."

Zoey made a noncommittal sound. "If Mira gets dunked, we make more money. Everyone wins."

Rumi's mouth went dry. "She's actually doing it?"

Zoey's eyes glittered. "Mira loves attention. She's also weirdly competitive about raising money."

"That makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense," Zoey said, like she was explaining something to a child. "She hates losing, and she loves being adored. This combines both."

Rumi wanted to protest. She couldn't find anything that didn't sound like she cared too much.

Mira climbed up onto the platform and sat, swinging her legs once before she settled her feet on the little ledge. The teacher checked the latch. Mira waved at the crowd like she was on stage, then pointed at a sign listing the prices.

"Two dollars a throw!" she called. "Five for three!"

Rumi stood there on the edge of the crowd with her hands empty now and no excuse left. Mira's eyes swept over the group and found her immediately. Her gaze pinned Rumi in place, then Mira lifted her chin in a wordless question.

Rumi stared back, helpless.

Then Mira called, loud enough for the crowd to hear, "Rumi! First throw! I'll pay!"

Rumi froze.

The crowd turned toward her like she'd been announced as the main event.

"No," Rumi hissed under her breath.

Zoey nudged her forward.

Rumi's face heated. "Zoey."

"You wanted to participate," Zoey said sweetly. "Here's your participation."

Jinu's voice rose from somewhere behind her. "DO IT! IT'S FOR CHARITY!"

Abby, to Jinu, deadpan: "She's going to combust."

Jinu: "Worth it."

Rumi took the tickets Zoey shoved into her hand like she was accepting a death sentence, then stepped up to the front. The volunteer pressed a tennis ball into her palm. It felt too light. Too stupid to have this much power.

Mira leaned forward slightly on the platform, elbows resting on her knees, eyes fixed on Rumi.

"You're so going to miss," Mira said, loud enough for Rumi to hear, but not loud enough for the crowd to catch every word. Her tone was all confidence and challenge.

Rumi narrowed her eyes. "I'm not."

Mira's smile widened. "Yes, you are."

Rumi's grip tightened on the ball. "Shut up."

"Make me," Mira said, and her eyes glittered.

Rumi lifted the ball, aimed at the target, and threw.

It hit the edge of the board with a sad, hollow thunk and bounced off into the grass.

A groan rose from the crowd.

Rumi stared at the ground in horror.

Mira laughed, bright and triumphant. "Told you!"

Rumi looked back up at Mira, who was still grinning like she'd won a prize in seeing Rumi this way. Water reflected the fairy lights below her, rippling faintly. Rumi's embarrassment burned hot enough that it finally flipped into something else—stubbornness, maybe. Spite. Determination. Anything that wasn't helpless.

She held out her hand for another ball.

The volunteer hesitated, then gave it to her.

Rumi stepped back, took a breath, and threw again.

The ball hit dead centre.

The target snapped down with a sharp clack and the seat released.

Mira dropped with a yelp that cut off into a splash.

Water erupted over the edge of the tank. The crowd screamed and laughed at the same time.

Rumi didn't move. She stared at the tank like she'd committed a felony and was waiting for Mira to get back up.

Mira surfaced, slick hair plastered back from her face, eyes wide for half a second before she broke into laughter. She wiped water off her mouth with the back of her hand and looked straight at Rumi, grin feral.

"You—" Mira started, then laughed again, voice shaking with it. "Okay. You win."

Rumi's throat went dry. Mira looked… ridiculous. And alive. And unfairly beautiful even when soaked.

Mira pointed at her. "You're banned."

Rumi's voice came out thin. "You told me to throw."

"I did," Mira agreed, still laughing. "I didn't think you'd actually hit it."

Zoey clapped once, satisfied. "Money raised."

Abby's mouth twitched. "Also, that was impressive."

Rumi looked back toward the tank because it was safer than thinking about what Jinu might've said.

Mira climbed out, dripping, water streaming off her clothes. Someone handed her a towel. She scrubbed her hair roughly, then shoved the towel at a volunteer, already scanning the crowd like she was looking for someone.

She found Rumi instantly.

Mira walked straight toward her, dripping all over the pavement, towel in one hand, eyes sharp. The crowd parted around her like she had gravity.

Rumi stood there, frozen.

Mira stopped close enough that Rumi could see droplets caught on her eyelashes.

"You're evil," Mira said, breathless.

Rumi swallowed. "You volunteered."

Mira's smile shifted, quick and private. "Come with me."

Rumi blinked. "Why."

Mira leaned closer, lowering her voice so only Rumi could hear. "I'm soaked, and I hate my hair like this."

Rumi's brain snagged. "So… what?"

Mira's gaze held hers. "So, you're gonna help me dry it."

Rumi's mouth went dry all over again. "I can't—"

Mira's expression sharpened with a hint of impatience. "Rumi."

The way she said it wasn't a tease. It was a request that expected to be met.

Rumi didn't know how to refuse that.

She nodded once, too stiff, and followed.

Mira led her behind the gym toward a quieter corner where the noise dropped off, muffled by the building and the distance. There was a side door propped open for volunteers, and a stack of spare towels in a plastic tub just inside.

Mira grabbed two more towels and tossed one at Rumi. "Here."

Rumi caught it automatically, then just stood there holding it like an idiot. "I don't know how to—"

"Yes, you do," Mira said, already tilting her head forward and shaking water out of her hair. "Just… do it."

Rumi stared at her. "You're bossy."

Mira's eyes flicked up, amused even now. "You're slow."

Rumi made a face, then stepped in, because standing there arguing felt worse than doing anything. Mira sat on the low ledge beside the door, dripping onto the concrete. She tipped her head forward again, hair falling around her face.

Rumi hesitated for a fraction of a second, then lifted the towel and started blotting carefully, trying not to yank or tangle anything. Her hands were steady when she had a task.

Mira went quiet.

The world around them felt suddenly smaller. The noise from the fundraiser was still there, but it sounded far away now, like it belonged to another world.

Rumi kept her eyes on Mira's hair because looking at Mira's face felt dangerous. "You're going to get sick," she muttered.

"I'll be fine," Mira said, voice softer than it had been a minute ago. "You wouldn't let me."

Rumi pressed the towel gently, working down the strands. Water soaked into the fabric.

Mira's shoulders eased under her hands in a way that made Rumi's chest tighten with something she didn't have words for.

"You're good at this," Mira said.

Rumi scoffed. "It's… I'm just drying hair."

Mira shifted slightly, turning her head just enough that her cheek was angled toward Rumi. "Well, yeah. But you're good at taking care of things."

Rumi's throat tightened. She didn't answer because any answer felt like it would reveal too much. Mira glanced sideways, eyes catching hers for a second, and the look she gave her was quiet. Almost grateful. Almost something else. Then Mira's mouth tipped into the tiniest smile and she lowered her voice again into a sing-song tune.

"Princess."

The word landed in the space between them like a spark.

Rumi's hands paused mid-blot. "Don't."

Mira's smile deepened. "Why not?"

Rumi resumed drying her hair with exaggerated care, as if the towel needed all her focus. "Because you're going to say it at the worst possible time and someone else is going to hear."

"I would never," Mira lied, completely unbothered.

Rumi huffed, then—before she could stop herself—said, "You look like a wet cat."

Mira's laugh burst out, sudden and real. "Excuse you?"

"It's true."

Mira turned her head farther this time, eyes bright. "You like it."

Rumi's face heated so fast she nearly dropped the towel. "No."

Mira watched her for a beat, then leaned in slightly, close enough that Rumi could smell the clean shampoo under the damp. "You're a terrible liar," Mira murmured.

Rumi swallowed hard.

Mira held the look a second longer, then sat back, letting the moment loosen without snapping. Her voice went light again, like she was giving Rumi room to breathe. "Okay. I'm good."

Rumi lowered the towel, heart banging against her ribs, and tried to act like she hadn't just been handed a private moment that would live in her brain forever.

Mira stood, rolled her shoulders, and took the towel from Rumi's hands with a touch that lingered half a second too long. "Thanks."

Rumi nodded, useless.

Mira's smile flicked back into place, sly again. "Come on. I owe you."

"I dunked you," Rumi said. "That was good enough."

Mira's eyes glittered as she barked out a laugh. "No, I wanna get you something nice. Don't argue."

Rumi opened her mouth.

Mira lifted her eyebrows.

Rumi shut her mouth.

The prize booth was near the ring toss and the balloon darts, a messy little corner filled with cheap plush toys and plastic trinkets that looked like they'd been bought in bulk by someone who hated joy. Kids swarmed the front, clutching tickets and shouting over each other.

Mira moved through them easily, soaked hair now merely damp, eyes scanning the shelf with the seriousness of someone choosing jewellery.

Rumi hovered beside her, uncertain. "What are you doing?"

Mira didn't answer immediately. She reached up, tugged a string of fairy lights out of the way, and leaned closer to the top row. Then she plucked down a stuffed tiger—soft, bright, slightly lopsided, with big stitched eyes and an expression that looked permanently derpy.

Mira held it up and looked at Rumi.

Rumi blinked. "A… tiger."

Mira nodded. "It's you."

Rumi stared at her. "How is that me?"

Mira's mouth twitched. "Because it looks like it wants to bite people, but secretly? I think it just wants to be held."

Rumi choked. "That's not—"

Mira shoved the tiger into her arms before she could finish. "No returns."

Rumi held it automatically, the plush too large to tuck under one arm, too ridiculous to pretend she didn't like it. "Mira."

Mira handed the booth volunteer a strip of tickets, she'd been saving them specifically for this, then glanced back at Rumi. "You're welcome."

Rumi looked down at the tiger, then back up at Mira, feeling strangely off-balance. "You didn't have to—"

Mira's gaze softened for a moment, quick and real. "I wanted to."

Rumi's throat tightened so hard she almost couldn't speak. "Okay."

Mira's smile returned, smaller now. "Good."

Behind them, Jinu and Abby were attempting to play a game together and failing because Jinu kept getting distracted trying to explain the rules with unnecessary dramatics. Abby looked bored until Jinu laughed, then Abby looked less bored. Zoey strode past again, still in clipboard mode, but her eyes flicked to Rumi's arms and the tiger and she paused just long enough to lift one eyebrow at Mira.

As the fundraiser started winding down, the music softened and the crowd thinned into pockets of tired laughter and sticky fingers. Cleanup began in that slow, inevitable way where people wandered around holding garbage bags like they didn't know what to do with their hands.

Rumi helped, because of course she did.

Mira ended up beside her near the ticket table, stacking stray flyers into a neat pile. She looked less like "fundraiser commander" now and more like herself again, damp hair loose around her shoulders, cheeks flushed from cold and laughing and being dunked.

Rumi held the tiger against her stomach like it was fragile.

Mira glanced at it, then at Rumi. "You're taking it home."

Rumi scoffed weakly. "I gathered that."

Mira's eyes flicked up, bright. "Good."

Rumi tried to find something to say that didn't sound like gratitude, or terror, or both. "You were… fun tonight."

"Just tonight?"

"Shut up, you know what I mean."

Mira's smile widened. "You were brave."" Mira leaned closer, just enough that her voice dropped under the noise. "I'm glad you came tonight."

Rumi's chest tightened.

Mira's gaze held hers for a beat longer than necessary, then she straightened and nudged Rumi's shoulder lightly as if to break the tension before it snapped.

"See you next door," she said, like that was nothing.

Rumi nodded, too stiff.

Mira turned to go, then paused and glanced back with that private curve of her mouth that Rumi had started recognising. Her voice was quieter this time, threaded through the noise so only Rumi could hear it. "Goodnight, Princess."

Rumi stood there holding a stuffed tiger and trying not to look like she'd just been pushed off a cliff. Mira disappeared into the crowd, and the fundraiser lights kept twinkling like nothing had changed.

But it had.

Rumi could feel it in her hands, in the weight of the plush, in the lingering damp smell of Mira's shampoo on the towel that was still tucked under her arm like she'd forgotten to put it back.

A Month Later

Rumi found herself standing in Mira's backyard with a bowl of marinated something in her hands and the distinct feeling that she'd walked into a movie set where she hadn't been given the script.

Mira's yard looked different at evening.

It was the same patch of grass she'd seen from her bedroom window a thousand times, the same deck, the same fence line that ran between their houses like a polite suggestion of separation. But someone—Mira's omma, probably—had strung warm fairy lights along the pergola and around the railing, and the glow softened everything. Even the plastic outdoor chairs looked less awful. The air smelled like charcoal and that sweet smoky tang that always made Rumi's stomach growl even when she wasn't hungry.

Mi-yeong walked in ahead of her like she belonged here, because she did, greeting Mira's mum with an easy smile and handing over the bowl like this was just another Tuesday.

"Mi-yeong! You didn't have to bring so much," Mira's omma — Soo-Yun — said, already reaching for it with both hands.

"I wanted to," Mi-yeong replied, the kind of tone that meant the argument was over before it started. "And you know Rumi will never forgive me if I let her arrive empty-handed."

Rumi made a sound that was supposed to be a laugh and came out like she'd swallowed it halfway. "I would not."

Celine, beside her, adjusted her grip on a plate covered in foil and offered Mira's dad — Yong — a polite nod. "Thank you for having us."

"Please," he said, waving them in. "We're glad you came. It's been too long."

Rumi had the strange awareness, as they stepped fully into the yard, that she wasn't being treated like an awkward guest for once. She was being treated like… part of the usual. Like a neighbour kid who'd grown up under the same streetlights and played in the same cul-de-sac and borrowed sugar and returned containers and existed in a shared orbit for years.

Which made it worse, somehow, because it meant she couldn't hide behind "I don't belong here."

She saw Mira before she meant to.

Mira was near the grill with her sleeves pushed up, hair tied back, handing a plate to Jae with a look that could have been fond if she wasn't Mira. Jae took it and said something that made Mira shove him with her shoulder. He laughed, easy and loud, and for a second the whole scene looked like it belonged in a family photo.

Mira's gaze lifted.

Found Rumi immediately.

Rumi forgot, briefly, how to stand like a person with functional bones.

Mira's expression didn't do the sly smirk thing it did at school. She didn't look like she was about to press a button. She just looked… pleased. Quietly. Like she was glad Rumi was actually here. Then she turned back to whatever she was doing, like that glance hadn't just rearranged Rumi's insides.

Mi-yeong steered Rumi toward the outdoor table set up under the lights. Plates were already stacked at one end, napkins fanned beside them, a jug of iced tea sweating onto a coaster. Someone had put out little bowls of sliced cucumbers and pickled radish like this was a proper event and not "the neighbours are over."

Soo-Yun clapped her hands once. "Okay, everyone, sit. Eat before Jae steals all the meat."

Jae looked offended. "I would never."

Yong pointed at him with the tongs. "You're already stealing."

Jae grinned and held up a piece of meat. They all moved toward the table in that familiar shuffle of people who'd done this before. Chairs scraped against concrete. Someone reached to pull one out for Mi-yeong. Celine sat with the calm precision of someone who never looked awkward anywhere. Rumi hovered, waiting for her place to reveal itself.

Soo-Yun gestured. "Rumi, sit here. Mira, you can sit across from her."

Rumi's stomach dropped through her shoes.

Mira lifted her brows slightly, like she found that funny. She didn't argue. She just pulled out a chair on the opposite side and sat down, long legs folding beneath the table like she'd been placed there on purpose and wasn't bothered by it.

Rumi sat, mostly because she had no choice. She reached for her chopsticks with hands that were suddenly too aware of themselves. Across the table, Mira's eyes met hers for a quick second—steady and unreadable—and then Mira looked away to accept a plate from her dad as if Rumi hadn't just mentally caught fire.

Conversation started immediately, the way it always did when adults got comfortable. Rumi smiled where she was supposed to, nodded where she was supposed to, answered when someone asked her a question. She was doing fine. She was doing normal.

Then, under the table, something tapped her foot.

Rumi froze mid-chew. It was gentle. Not a kick. Not an accident, exactly. A light touch, a toe against hers, like someone checking to see if she was still there. Rumi kept her face neutral with all the concentration of a bomb technician with shaky hands and looked up slowly.

Mira was talking to Mi-yeong, answering something about school with an easy half-shrug. Her expression was calm. Unbothered. If she was the one doing it—and she had to be, because whose foot else would be reaching her from directly across—she gave no sign at all.

Rumi stared at Mira's mouth for half a second and had to force herself to look away. She swallowed. Took another bite. Pretended her nervous system hadn't shorted. A minute later, it happened again. A smaller tap this time.

Rumi's shoulders tightened. Mira's gaze flicked up briefly, caught Rumi's face, and slid away again without a smile. It felt like Mira… keeping her anchored. Rumi hated how much that helped.

"So," Soo-Yun said, leaning forward slightly, "senior year. Are you both feeling the pressure yet?"

Jae groaned.

Yong laughed. "You laugh, but it's real. Applications, exams, all of it."

Mi-yeong made a sympathetic sound. "Rumi's been quiet about it, but I can tell she's been thinking about it."

Rumi's face heated. "I'm fine."

Celine glanced at her. "You say that a lot"

"That's because it's true," Rumi muttered, reaching for water.

Across from her, Mira's foot brushed hers again, longer this time. A soft slide, then a stillness, like Mira had decided to leave it there for a second.

Rumi's breath caught. She forced herself to take a sip of water with steady hands.

Mira was listening to her omma talk, chin tipped slightly down, eyes focused. She looked different here, in her own backyard under warm lights, not wearing her school persona like armour. She looked like someone's daughter, someone's sister, someone who belonged to this table and didn't have to perform. Rumi's chest tightened with something she didn't want to name.

Jae leaned back in his chair and squinted at Rumi. "Doing something after school? Uni? Gap year? World domination?"

Rumi blinked. "What?"

He grinned. "I'm asking like a normal person would ask. You just look like someone who's got plans."

Rumi opened her mouth, then closed it, because she didn't actually know how to answer without sounding like she actually had no idea what she was doing. "Probably uni," she said finally.

"Probably," Jae echoed, amused. "Spoken like someone who's absolutely certain."

Mira's foot tapped hers once, sharper. Rumi shot a glance up. Mira met her eyes this time. Her expression was quiet, direct. Jae's teasing wasn't cruel, but it was still attention, and attention made Rumi want to shrink. Mira's gaze held hers like she was saying, without words: You're okay. Breathe.

Rumi breathed.

She looked back at Jae and found a scrap of sarcasm to cling to. "World domination is still on the table."

Jae laughed. "That's what I like to hear."

Mira's mouth twitched, almost a smile, then she looked away again like she hadn't let it show.

Dinner rolled on. Plates refilled. Yong grilled a little more meat. Mi-yeong and Soo-Yun traded compliments over side dishes. Celine said something dry that made Yong laugh harder than he probably meant to.

Rumi found herself relaxing in tiny increments, not because she'd stopped being aware of Mira across from her, but because the warmth of the night and the rhythm of the family chatter was hard to fight. It felt… normal. In a good way. Safe.

And Mira kept tapping her foot, every so often, like a steady little reminder that Rumi wasn't alone at this table.

Eventually Soo-Yun stood and dusted her hands off. "Okay. Dessert time."

Jae perked up like a dog hearing a treat bag rattle. "Finally."

Soo-Yun pointed her wooden spoon at Mira. "Go get it from the fridge."

Mira made a face. "Why me?"

"Because you're closest."

"I'm not."

"Close enough," Soo-Yun said, unimpressed. "And take Rumi. Two sets of hands."

Rumi's head snapped up. "What—"

Mira's gaze slid to her, and this time there was the faintest edge of something like relief, like she'd been waiting for an excuse.

"Help me," Mira said, tone casual, like it was nothing. Like it wasn't going to make Rumi's heart jump into her throat.

Rumi looked at Mi-yeong instinctively, as if Mi-yeong would rescue her. Mi-yeong smiled into her drink like she was enjoying herself far too much. Celine didn't look up from her plate. "Go."

Rumi stood on stiff legs and followed Mira toward the sliding door that led into the kitchen. The second they stepped inside, the noise of the backyard muffled behind glass, the air changed. Cooler. Smelling faintly of dish soap and whatever candle Mira's mum always lit in the hallway.

Mira didn't speak at first. She just walked ahead, bare feet quiet on the tile.

Rumi hovered near the island like she didn't know where to put herself. "What's for dessert?"

Mira opened the fridge and leaned in. "Uhhh… Cake. Ooh and pineapple."

Rumi nodded like she hadn't expected anything else. Mira shifted, rummaging, then straightened with a cake box tucked under her arm. "Hold this," she said, and handed Rumi a container of sliced fruit.

Rumi took it automatically. The plastic was cold against her palms. Mira closed the fridge and paused, turning slightly as if she'd forgotten something. Rumi waited, heart doing that stupid jumpy thing it did whenever Mira went quiet.

Mira's gaze flicked over her face, quick and assessing. It wasn't a teasing look. It wasn't a challenge. It felt like Mira checking in the way she had in that quiet corner behind the gym, when her hair was wet and she'd asked for help like it was normal.

"Hey. You okay?" Mira asked.

Rumi blinked. "Yeah."

Mira's eyes held hers for a beat. Rumi could hear the faint chatter from outside, muffled through the glass, but in here it felt like the house had shrunk down to just this kitchen and the two of them standing under the overhead light.

Mira's expression softened a fraction. "Good."

Rumi swallowed. "Why do you keep… doing that?"

Mira tilted her head. "Doing what?"

"You keep looking at me like that."

Mira's brows lifted slightly. "Like what?"

Rumi stared at her, frustrated. "I dunno… like you're… like you're paying attention."

Mira's mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "Well I am."

Rumi's stomach dropped again, the same sensation as standing on the edge of a pool before you decide whether you're going to jump.

She managed, thinly, "Why?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Mira's gaze didn't move. "Because I want to."

Rumi's chest tightened so hard it almost hurt. She looked away first, because she had to, because she couldn't hold that stare and still pretend she was fine.

"Okay," she muttered.

Mira's voice softened further. "Okay."

Rumi turned toward the door. "Let's—let's go before Jae eats everything."

Mira laughed quietly, the sound low and real, and stepped closer to the door beside her. As they walked back outside, Mira's shoulder brushed Rumi's for half a second in the doorway, close enough that Rumi felt it like an imprint. They carried the dessert back to the table like nothing had happened.

The adults barely looked up. Jae immediately reached for the cake box and got smacked on the wrist by Soo-Yun. Yong made a joke about dessert being the real reason anyone agreed to dinner. Mi-yeong started plating fruit with calm efficiency. Celine poured tea like she'd done it her whole life in this backyard.

Rumi sat down again, and under the table, Mira's foot found hers almost immediately. This time, it didn't tap. It just rested there, light pressure, steady, as if Mira had decided that was where it belonged for the rest of the night. Rumi's hands shook slightly as she lifted her fork. Across from her, Mira looked up, caught her eyes, and let her gaze linger a second longer than she needed to. Then Mira looked away, focused on dessert like a normal person. Rumi tried to do the same.

The fairy lights above them glowed warmer as the sky darkened, and the yard filled with the soft, familiar noise of family conversation. For the first time in a while, Rumi found herself laughing without thinking too hard about it. When dinner ended and her eommadeul stood to gather containers and leftovers, Soo-Yun hugged Mi-yeong goodbye and told Celine to come over for tea next week. Yong handed Rumi a foil-wrapped slice of cake "for later".

Rumi thanked them all, quiet and sincere, and followed her eommadeul back toward the gate.

She didn't look back.

She could feel Mira watching anyway. She could still feel the phantom weight of Mira's foot against hers, steady under the table, like a promise that hadn't been spoken out loud.

A Bit Over A Month Later

By the time mid-term hit, the stuffed tiger had become a permanent resident on Rumi's bed as she slept, the foot-taps under dinner tables had started living in her body like muscle memory, and today, Jinu had caught the flu.

He was absent today.

Which meant Rumi's day started wrong before it even started.

Her phone lit up while she was still putting her shoes on.

Jinu:
Rumi
i'm dying

Rumi stared at it for two seconds, then typed back with the patience of someone who had done this exact routine before dozens of times.

Rumi:
drink water
take your meds
sleep

Her phone buzzed again immediately.

Jinu:
water tastes like nothing
medicine just sucks
and i dont wanna sleep yet
:(

Rumi:
stop texting and REST

Jinu:
no ❤️

Rumi sighed so hard Mi-yeong looked up from the kitchen and narrowed her eyes like she could feel nonsense through walls.

"Is he still being… Jinu?" Mi-yeong asked, ladling soup into a container for Rumi's lunch.

"He's always being Jinu," Rumi said.

Celine, already in her coat, glanced over her glasses. "Tell him if he doesn't rest, Abby will put him in time-out."

Rumi's mouth twitched. "He would."

"Then tell him,"

Rumi shoved her phone into her pocket and grabbed her bag. "I will."

Mi-yeong pressed the lunch container into her hands. "Eat."

School without Jinu was quieter.

Not because the school itself was quiet—there were still lockers slamming, people yelling across corridors, but because the usual bubble around Rumi had a hole in it. Jinu wasn't there to pull her into conversation, to make her laugh when she wanted to be invisible, to translate other people's social noise into something she could tolerate.

So Rumi slipped into her default setting: contained, and as unapproachable as she could manage without being rude. She kept her head down. She got to class early. She picked seats at the edge of rooms. She listened, wrote notes, answered questions when called on, and didn't offer anything extra.

Her phone buzzed in her blazer pocket every ten minutes anyway.

Jinu:
abby is being mean to me

Rumi:
abby is keeping you alive
drink water

Jinu:
how do u always sound like a disappointed parent
it's scary

Rumi:
go to sleep

Jinu:
no ❤️

Rumi stared at the screen until it dimmed, then shoved the phone away again before she did something stupid like smile in public.

First period passed. Second period passed. A teacher tried to motivate the class by talking about "the last stretch of senior year," and Rumi pretended she didn't feel that heavy press in her chest that always followed those words.

At break, she didn't go looking for anyone.

She walked to the courtyard, found a spot near a tree that threw a patch of shade across the bench, and sat with her lunch container in her lap even though it was too early to eat. She just needed something to do with her hands. Something that made her look occupied.

She lasted two minutes before her phone buzzed again.

Jinu:
do u think i'm gonna die

Rumi:
no

Jinu:
but
what if i do

Rumi:
then i'm sure you'll haunt me
sleep

Jinu:
i can't sleep

Rumi exhaled through her nose and typed with one thumb.

Rumi:
REST

Jinu:
i dont wanna

Rumi:
Jinu

Jinu:
what

Rumi:
go. to. sleep.

He didn't respond for almost a whole minute, which was either a miracle or Abby physically taking the phone away from him.

Rumi started to relax.

Then...

Jinu:
no ❤️

Rumi pinched the bridge of her nose and stared out across the courtyard like she was considering walking into traffic.

A burst of laughter rose near the steps by the hall. Rumi's eyes drifted there without permission. Mira was by the doorway, talking to someone she had probably known since kindergarten, hair tied back, posture loose. Her gaze flicked outward, scanning the courtyard the way she always seemed to, and landed on Rumi.

Rumi looked away immediately.

She hated how fast her body reacted. The way her attention snapped toward Mira like it had been waiting. She forced her focus back to her lunch container. Popped it open. Ate two bites because Mi-yeong would somehow know if she didn't.

Her phone buzzed again.

Jinu:
abby says you have to be nice to me bc i'm sick
he says it's the law

Rumi:
rest already

Rumi shoved the phone away, shoulders tight.

She could do today. She could do today without Jinu. She could do today without spiralling. She could get through classes and go home and pretend nothing felt different. She just had to stay out of everyone's way. Unfortunately, someone decided she was in it.

It started small.

Outside third period, while everyone crowded the hallway waiting for the teacher to unlock the room, a girl from their year—Hyeri, maybe, or Hyejin; Rumi knew her face better than her name—leaned against the lockers with two friends and watched Rumi like she was trying to figure out what category to put her in. Rumi ignored her.

Rumi was very good at ignoring people.

The girl's voice carried anyway.

"Does she ever talk?"

Rumi didn't look up from her notes.

One of the friends snorted. "Maybe she's one of those mute freaks."

Rumi kept writing, pen steady. No reaction. Nothing for them to feed on.

The girl tried again, louder. "Or she's just doing that thing where she acts like she's too good for everyone."

Rumi's jaw tightened. She didn't look up. Silence always worked. Most people got bored if you didn't give them something. Except some people didn't want a reaction. They wanted control. The girl pushed off the lockers and drifted closer with that lazy confidence of someone who had never been checked hard enough to learn caution.

Rumi could feel her presence before she stopped beside her.

"You know," the girl said, voice falsely bright, "it's kind of rude."

Rumi's pen paused. She lifted her eyes slowly and gave the girl a flat look.

"What," Rumi said.

The girl blinked like she hadn't expected Rumi to respond at all. Then she smiled wider, encouraged. "You always look like you're judging people."

"I'm not," Rumi said.

She stared at her for a beat, then looked back down at her notes like the conversation had ended. It didn't.

The girl leaned closer. Too close. "What's your problem, anyway?"

Rumi's patience thinned into something sharp. "I don't have one."

The girl laughed like that was hilarious. "Okay, so, what? You're just like this for no reason."

Rumi's eyes flicked up again. "Can you move?"

"Ooh," one of the friends murmured, delighted. "She bites."

Rumi's grip tightened on her pen.

The girl's smile sharpened. "Why? Am I blocking your view of… your textbook?"

Rumi didn't answer.

The girl tilted her head, still smiling. "You know, if you want friends, you actually have to talk to people."

Rumi's chest went tight, not because it hurt, but because anger always made her body feel like it was bracing for impact. She could handle being called weird. She could handle being dismissed. What she couldn't handle was people deciding she owed them her softness.

"I'm not looking for friends," Rumi said, voice low.

The girl's eyes flashed. "God, you're so stuck-up."

Rumi's mouth went cold. She looked down again, refusing to give her anything else. For half a second, it almost worked. Then the girl reached out and tapped Rumi's notebook with two fingers, like she was touching something dirty. Rumi's pen stopped.

She lifted her head with slow control and met the girl's eyes. "Don't touch my stuff."

The girl scoffed. "Relax."

Rumi didn't blink. "Move."

The girl's smile faltered slightly. People were starting to look. Not a crowd yet, but enough attention for her ego to get defensive.

"God. Why are you such a bitch?" she snapped, too loud.

The hallway went subtly quieter.

Rumi's blood flashed hot. She sat there, perfectly still, and felt the familiar urge to disappear collide with the unfamiliar urge to bite back.

Before she could choose either, a voice cut in from behind the girl— sharp, and dangerously even.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

The girl went still. Rumi's stomach dropped. Mira stepped into view like she'd been summoned by violence. She looked… lethal in her calm. Her posture was loose, but her eyes were sharp enough to cut. She took in the scene in one glance: the girl leaning over Rumi's desk, the friends hovering, Rumi sitting rigid with her pen frozen mid-air.

Mira's gaze locked onto the girl.

"Mira…" The girl tried to laugh it off, scrambling for control. "Nothing. We're just—"

Mira didn't let her finish.

"You're hovering over her like a mosquito," Mira said, voice quiet. "You're touching her things. And I'm pretty sure that you just called her a bitch."

The girl's face flushed. "I didn't—"

"You did," Mira replied. No emotion. Just fact. "I heard you."

One of the friends shifted uncomfortably. "We were joking."

Mira's eyes flicked to her, dismissive, then back to the girl. "You're not funny enough to make a joke."

The girl's smile twitched, brittle. "Why do you care?"

Mira's mouth curved slightly, but there was no warmth in it. "Because watching you try to bully someone who isn't giving you attention is honestly pathetic."

The girl's eyes widened, offended. "Excuse me?"

Mira's voice stayed level. "You're picking on her because she's quiet. Because she's not performing for you. Because you need a reaction so badly you're willing to embarrass yourself to get it."

The friend behind her made a small sound like she was trying not to laugh.

The girl's head snapped toward her friends. "Shut up."

Mira's eyes sharpened. "Don't tell your friends to shut up. You dragged them into this."

The girl's cheeks burned bright. "Who do you think you are?"

Mira leaned in slightly, not enough to be aggressive, just enough to make the space feel smaller. "Someone who's telling you to back off."

The girl scoffed, trying again for control. "Or what?"

Mira held her gaze. "Or you can keep going, and make sure everyone here remembers you like this. Loud, desperate."

The girl's lips parted, searching for something to throw back.

Mira didn't give her time.

"You want to be interesting?" Mira asked, tone almost conversational. "Go develop a personality that isn't ‘I'm cruel because I'm bored.'"

The hallway went properly silent now. Even the lockers felt quieter.

The girl's eyes glittered with humiliation. "You're overreacting."

Mira's expression didn't change. "No." Then, with the same calm, she added, "You're underthinking. You really believed this was a good look."

The girl's friend tugged her sleeve, murmuring something urgent.

The girl yanked her arm away, still staring at Mira like she couldn't decide whether to fight or flee. "Whatever," she snapped finally. "We're leaving."

Mira nodded once. "Good."

The girl turned, shoulders stiff, and stalked away with her friends scrambling after her. Mira watched them go until they were out of earshot. Only then did she look down at Rumi. The shift in her face wasn't much, but it was real. The edge eased.

"Hey…"

Rumi's throat felt tight. She swallowed and forced out the automatic answer. "I'm fine."

Mira's eyes narrowed slightly. "Rumi."

Rumi's fingers flexed around her pen. Her voice came out quieter than she meant it to. "I'm fine."

Mira held her gaze for a beat, then nodded like she'd accept it for now because pushing would make Rumi shut down. "Did she hurt you?"

Rumi blinked. "What?"

"Did she put her hands on you?" Mira clarified, still calm, still deadly if the answer was yes.

Rumi shook her head quickly. "No. Just touched my notebook."

Mira's jaw tightened. "Okay."

Rumi stared at her, heart hammering.

Mira glanced toward the classroom door, then back at Rumi. "Do you want to move? Sit somewhere else?"

Rumi should have said no. She should have said she didn't need help. She should have done the aloof thing and shut the door. Instead, her mouth moved before her fear could stop it.

"Can you… just—" Rumi swallowed. "Stay?"

Mira's expression softened in a way that made Rumi's chest ache. "Yeah," Mira said. "I can do that."

The teacher finally unlocked the classroom. Everyone surged forward. Mira stepped aside to let people pass, then fell into step beside Rumi as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Rumi walked with her. It was such a small act. It felt enormous anyway.

Rumi's phone buzzed as she slid into her seat.

Jinu:
r u alive
did anyone try adopt u yet
extroverts do that to introverts you know
like i did :)

Rumi stared at the message, then typed back under the desk while the teacher started taking attendance.

Rumi:
alive
someone tried being a dick
mira shut it down

Three dots appeared instantly.

Jinu:
WHAT
WHO
I'M COMING TO SCHOOL
ISTG IM THROWING HANDS

Rumi:
no you are not
you have the FLU
REST

Jinu:
i can fight from bed
nvm abby says i'm not allowed
this is oppression

Rumi:
abby is correct
sleep

Jinu:
no ❤️

Rumi exhaled through her nose, phone warm in her palm, and shoved it away before she smiled.

Mira leaned slightly toward her desk from the row beside, voice low enough that no one else could hear. "Your boyfriend texting you?"

Rumi snapped her head toward her, horrified. "He's not my—"

Mira's mouth twitched. "Relax. I know. I'm just teasing you."

Rumi huffed a laugh before she could stop herself. It was small, but it loosened something tight in her chest. Mira glanced at her, caught the sound, and her expression eased further. She didn't say anything. She just stayed there, present, a steady weight in the room.

For the rest of the day, Mira didn't hover. She didn't crowd. She didn't make a big show of "protecting" Rumi.

She just… kept showing up in the places Rumi was.

Waiting outside class. Walking the same corridor. Sitting near enough that Rumi didn't feel exposed. And Rumi, without even fully deciding to, stopped trying to disappear. At lunch, she sat at the end of a table where Mira already was, picking at her food. Mira didn't announce it. She didn't grin like she'd won. She just shifted her bag out of the way to make room.

Rumi sat down. Mira's hand slid a juice box across the table without looking. Rumi stared at it.

"You're not eating enough," Mira said, voice quiet.

Rumi blinked. "That's what eomma said..."

Mira's mouth twitched. "She is always right. Scary…"

Rumi took the juice box because she didn't have the energy to argue with two terrifying women in her life.

Her phone buzzed again.

Jinu:
abby took my phone away
i'm using my laptop
he can't stop me

Rumi:
JINU

Jinu:
tell mira i said hi
moth

Rumi stared at the screen for a long second, then locked it and dropped the phone face-down on the table.

Mira's eyes flicked to it. "What?"

Rumi shook her head. "Nothing."

Mira's expression said she didn't believe her for a second, but she didn't push. Rumi took a sip of juice. It tasted like apple, quiet relief, and just a hint of blackberry. When the final bell rang, Rumi walked out with Mira without thinking about it. They reached the front steps, the crowd thinning into after-school noise, and Mira stopped beside her.

"You know. You don't have to pretend you don't hear it," Mira said.

Rumi blinked. "Hear what?"

Mira's gaze stayed on the gate, where students spilled out in clusters. "When people talk. When they try to get under your skin."

Rumi's throat tightened. "I don't care."

Mira looked at her then, direct. "You do."mMira's voice dropped, softer. "It's okay to care. It's not okay for them to do that."

Rumi swallowed. "Thanks."

Mira nodded once, like that was enough.

Then, after a beat, her mouth curved slightly—not the sly school smirk, not the teasing one. Something softer.

"Come on," Mira said. "We're walking the same way anyway."

Rumi hesitated for half a heartbeat out of habit. Then she stepped forward and matched Mira's pace.

Naturally.

A Few More Weeks Later

Zoey was already halfway through a story when Rumi got to the table, which was how Rumi knew—before she even sat down—that she was allowed here.

"No, because I'm telling you, it wasn't even the quiz that made me want to do it," Zoey was saying, hands moving like she was conducting an orchestra that only she could hear. "It was the way Mr. Han stood there with that little smile he does, and he goes, ‘This is to help you practice managing pressure,' and I'm like, Sir. We do that enough."

Jinu made a sound that was half-laugh, half-cough, and waved a hand at her like he was trying to fan her down. "You have to breathe between sentences."

Zoey turned her head, offended. "I was. If you can't keep up with me, that's on you."

Mira, sitting beside Zoey with her lunch open and her sleeves pushed up, didn't look like she was in any distress at all. She was listening with that quiet, sharp attention she had when she wasn't performing for a crowd—eyes on Zoey, mouth twitching at the corners like she was amused even when she acted bored.

Zoey spotted Rumi approaching and did the thing she'd started doing lately: she didn't stop talking to make the moment awkward. She just kept going.

"—and then, because obviously it gets worse, he goes, ‘This is only five questions,' like five questions isn't enough to ruin a person's lunch break, and I swear to god, I watched three people age in real time—please sit down, Rumi, you're making me itchy hovering like that."

Rumi paused, because old habits didn't disappear just because the table had room for her now. Then she lowered into the spot opposite Mira.

Mira moved her bag without looking, shifting it away from the chair space before Rumi's knees could bump it. It was so automatic it made Rumi's chest tighten, the same way it always did when someone did something for her without expecting thanks.

Rumi set her lunch down and opened it, mostly to keep her hands occupied.

Zoey continued, apparently unstoppable. "Anyway, the point is, I don't mind a little pressure, I mind people who cause it and then pretend they're doing you a favour, because like, if you're going to torture me, at least have the decency to admit you're enjoying it."

Jinu leaned back, pointing a fork at her. "You say that like you're not enjoying being mad right now."

Zoey looked at him from the corner of her eye. "I'm not enjoying it. I'm committed to it. There's a difference."

Mira finally spoke, voice low and dry. "You're both exhausting."

Zoey snapped her fingers and pointed at her. "See? That's the kind of support I need. Validate and insult me in the same breath."

Jinu grinned. "That's what best friends are for. Emotional violence, but make it tender."

Rumi took a bite of her food and stayed quiet for a minute, letting the noise wash over her without bracing against it. That was new. The last few weeks had quietly rearranged her routines. She still liked being alone. She still got tired of people. She just didn't feel like she had to disappear the second lunchtime started.

Zoey turned and pinned her with attention. "Okay, Rumi. Back me up. Was he being weird, or am I being dramatic?"

Jinu made a wounded sound. "I hate that you're asking her like she's not gonna throw me under the bus."

Rumi chewed, swallowed, and said, "You're being a little dramatic, but he was also being weird. Both things can be true."

Zoey's eyes lit up like she'd just been handed a trophy. "Thank you. That's all I wanted. That's all I wanted this whole time."

Jinu groaned. "You just wanted permission."

"I wanted confirmation," Zoey corrected, completely unrepentant. "Also, you shouldn't be talking, you cough like an old lawn mower now."

Jinu pointed at her. "First of all, I'm fine. Second of all, rude."

Zoey smiled sweetly. "I'm honest."

Rumi expected Mira to smirk at that, to make it a thing, to press one of her buttons because she couldn't help herself. Mira didn't. Mira just glanced up from her food, eyes flicking over Rumi's face briefly, like she was checking whether Rumi was okay sitting in the middle of all this.

Rumi pretended she didn't notice.

Jinu's phone buzzed on the table. He checked it, then his face did something soft and stupid in a way he never managed to hide.

Zoey immediately leaned over. "Is Abby bullying you again?"

Jinu pushed her forehead away with two fingers. "Stop reading my messages."

Zoey leaned in anyway, grinning. "You're supposed to tell me everything. That's what being twins is for."

Jinu rolled his eyes and typed back, thumbs moving fast.

Rumi caught the edge of the message screen for half a second—some photo attachment, then Abby's name, then Jinu typing what looked like an insult that probably read like flirting to anyone who knew him well enough.

Mira watched Jinu for a moment, then said, "If you two start like… virtually making out at the table, I'm leaving."

Zoey laughed so loudly a teacher on duty glanced over. She ducked her head and kept going anyway, undeterred. "Okay, can we quickly talk abouthow the fundraiser? I'm never organising one of those again. I swear that made me age like six years. I pormise, I'm going to become a super-villain if I get wrinkles before any of you."

Jinu finally looked up, delighted. "Oh, you'd be such a good villain."

Zoey nodded solemnly. "I know. I'd be one of those villains who's actually kinda right when you think about it..."

Mira snorted. "You'd be one of those villains who can't shut up."

Zoey slapped her hand to her chest. "That's so mean. Also really accurate."

Rumi tried not to smile into her lunch. She failed a little.

Zoey's attention swung again, because it always did. "Okay, are we ever going to discuss the dunk tank, or are we pretending that didn't happen?"

Rumi's shoulders went tight on instinct. "Why would we discuss it?"

Zoey's eyes widened. "Because it was one of the best moments of my life. And Rumi—"

Rumi cut in, flat. "Don't."

Zoey's grin didn't fade. "—you actually dunked her, and Mira came up looking like she'd been reborn. I'm not even exaggerating here, it was cinematic."

Mira looked at Zoey, expression dead. "You're never allowed to narrate my life again."

Rumi met her eyes for half a second, then looked away, as if her food had suddenly become fascinating. Jinu's phone buzzed again. He checked it and smiled to himself like an idiot, then tried to hide the smile and failed.

Zoey noticed instantly. "If Abby is sending you cute messages in the middle of my rant, I'm going to start poking you."

Jinu scoffed. "He asked if I ate today."

Zoey made a soft gag noise. "Ew."

Rumi, without thinking, said, "That's normal. It's just… considerate."

Zoey's eyes snapped to her. "Look at you being a romantic. Who are you?"

Rumi blinked, mildly horrified that she'd spoken out loud. "I'm not."

Mira's mouth twitched, like she found that genuinely funny.

Zoey started rambling again, as she always did when her attention found a new track. "Anyway, new topic, I think everyone should get a pet at this point. Like, genuinely. Not even as a joke. Because at least a pet doesn't care if you bomb a quiz. A pet doesn't care if you say something embarrassing in front of the whole year level. A pet just wants snacks and love and it's honestly—"

"We need to stop letting you have coffee…" Jinu muttered under his breath.

Mira cut in, casual, "I've actually been thinking about it."

Jinu's head snapped up. "You?"

Mira shrugged, picking at her lunch with the end of her fork. "Yeah. Something small. Something that makes the house feel less empty when everyone's doing their own thing."

Zoey's face softened immediately, then brightened in the same breath, because Zoey only had one speed once she cared. "Okay, wait, no, because that's actually so good. What kind? Like, are we talking a dog? Because if you get a dog, I'm moving in. I'm not joking. I'm going to become the dog's aunt and I will be insufferable about it. Or are we talking cat, because cats are evil but in a cute way, or are we talking something smaller like a hamster, which is basically a tiny—"

"Rabbit," Mira said.

Zoey went silent again, then burst, "A rabbit?"

Jinu squinted. "Rabbits always look like they're judging you."

Zoey shoved his shoulder. "You deserve to be judged."

Mira glanced at Rumi. "You'd like a rabbit."

Rumi, caught, said the first honest thing that came to mind. "They're pretty cute."

Zoey leaned forward like she was about to start a presentation. "If you get a rabbit, we need to talk logistics, because rabbits are not just ‘put it in a cage and forget it.' Rabbits need space and enrichment and you have to bunny-proof everything or they'll chew your cables and then you'll be standing there like, ‘Why did my phone die?' when the answer is that your rabbit decided electricity was a snack."

Mira's eyes flicked to her. "You've researched this."

Zoey nodded, completely unashamed. "I research everything. It's a gift and a curse."

Jinu muttered, "Mostly a curse…"

Zoey ignored him. "If you get a rabbit, I'm going to need to meet it immediately because otherwise I'll feel like you have a secret child."

Mira's mouth twitched. "It's not a secret child."

"It will be to me," Zoey said.

Rumi ate quietly and listened, and the strange part was that she wasn't doing that thing where she waited for a gap so she could escape. She was just… there. Letting the chatter exist around her like it wasn't a threat. Mira's gaze stayed on her for a moment longer than it needed to, then Mira looked away like nothing had happened.

Zoey kept talking, because Zoey always did. Jinu complained, because Jinu always did. The lunch bell eventually rang and none of them moved immediately, like the table had become a small stubborn island.

Zoey finally stood, stretching. "After school, we're getting snacks. I don't care what anyone says, I deserve it after existing in this institution for another day."

Jinu grabbed his bag. "I'm in. Abby might meet us, which means I'll be showing off my PDA skills."

Zoey made a face. "I hate you."

"You'll survive," Jinu sang, then turned to Rumi with a grin. "Ru. You coming, or are you going to vanish like a ghost the second the bell goes?"

Rumi hesitated for a fraction of a second out of old habit. Mira didn't say anything. She just looked at Rumi and waited.

Rumi nodded once. "Yeah. I'll come."

After school, the four of them ended up at the corner store down the road, because it was cheap and loud and smelled like fryer oil and sugar, which meant nobody expected you to be cool.

Zoey narrated the walk there of course. She talked about a teacher she'd overheard, a poster she hated, a Year 12 couple who were walking too slowly earlier in the day, and a dog she'd seen that morning that just had the wrong vibes. Jinu interrupted her constantly, mostly to be annoying, and Mira threw in the occasional one-liner that made Zoey snicker.

Rumi walked beside Mira more often than she walked beside anyone else. It wasn't a decision she'd made. It just kept happening. Mira matched her pace without looking like she was doing it on purpose. When the footpath narrowed, Mira shifted closer rather than letting Rumi fall behind. When a group of kids from their year spilled out of the convenience store and crowded the path, Mira angled her shoulder so Rumi didn't have to squeeze past strangers.

Rumi noticed. She pretended she didn't.

Inside, Zoey launched into ordering like it was a performance. "I want fries, but I don't want the sad fries that taste like they've been sitting there since dawn. I want fresh ones. And I want that soft-serve with the swirl, but make it extra tall, and I want sprinkles, but not the gross crunchy ones that taste like plastic—"

The guy behind the counter stared at her with the weary look of someone who had seen teenagers before. "So… fries and a soft-serve."

"Yes," Zoey said brightly.

Jinu was texting as he leaned against the drink fridge. Rumi caught Abby's name on the screen and a photo of something in Jinu's hand.

Jinu:
at the dairy
zoey is bullying a minimum wage worker
mira is being silently judgmental
rumi is pretending she's not having fun
business as usual :p

A reply appeared a second later.

Abby:
tell zoey to stop talking to the worker

Jinu:
she can't
it's biological

Zoey turned, eyes narrowing. "Are you texting Abby about me?"

Jinu didn't look up. "Yes."

Zoey pointed at him. "Tell him I'm a delight."

Jinu typed, then showed her the screen.

Abby:
she's a lot.

Zoey gasped theatrically. "I'm going to fight him."

Rumi drifted toward the counter, then stopped beside Mira without thinking about it. Mira was looking at the menu board with the seriousness of someone choosing a weapon.

"So you're actually going to get a rabbit?" Rumi asked, mostly because the idea had stuck in her head since lunch.

Mira shrugged, still staring at the board. "Maybe. I've been thinking about it for a while."

"What kind?" Rumi asked, and then realised she'd said it too eagerly.

Mira glanced at her, amused. "You care."

Rumi's face warmed. "I'm just asking."

Mira's mouth twitched. "Probably a lop. Something small."

Zoey called from the other end of the counter, "If you get a rabbit and it's not obsessed with me, I'm gonna cry."

Jinu's phone rang—Abby calling. Jinu answered with immediate warmth, voice dropping into something softer that he never bothered to hide around Abby. "Hi," Jinu said, grinning. He wandered toward the doorway to keep talking, still smiling like an idiot.

Zoey got her fries and immediately started complaining about the salt level, because it was her religion to. She turned toward the napkin dispenser and attacked it with both hands, muttering to herself about how they never gave you enough.

That left Rumi and Mira at the counter in a pocket of quiet that felt rare.

Mira's order arrived—soft-serve in a cup, the kind with chocolate drizzle that was already starting to slide down the side. Mira took it and licked the drip off the rim without thinking. A smear of chocolate caught at the corner of her mouth.

Rumi saw it.

Rumi reached up and wiped it away with her thumb like she'd done it a hundred times, like it was the most normal thing in the world, and kept talking as if she hadn't imploded Mira.

"So… you know you'd have to bunny-proof your room," Rumi said, voice steady. "Because they chew a lot, and you're going to lose your mind if something eats your hair."

Mira didn't answer right away. Rumi didn't notice, because she was already shifting her focus back to the menu board and the napkin dispenser and anything that wasn't Mira's face. Mira's breath hitched once, subtle.

When Mira spoke, her voice was slightly different—lower, like she'd had to clear her throat without actually clearing it.

"Yeah," Mira said. "I'd… probably lose it."

Rumi finally glanced over, just to check, and saw Mira staring at her like she'd been caught off guard by something she didn't know how to put quite into words. Mira's ears were a little more pink.

Rumi blinked, confused, and then Zoey barrelled back into the space between them with a fistful of napkins and a triumphant expression, breaking the moment before Rumi could understand it.

"This dispenser hates me," Zoey announced, slapping napkins down with far too much enthusiasm, but hey, it's Zoey, that's her thing.

Mira looked away quickly and took a spoon from the counter like she needed something to do with her hands.Rumi watched her for a second, then looked down at her own drink and pretended she hadn't just done something that made Mira glitch.

Jinu returned a minute later, still on his call, cheeks flushed from laughing. "Abby says he'll be coming to the house later," he announced, then leaned toward Rumi and stage-whispered, "He's bringing me snacks because he loves me."

Zoey gagged loudly.

They sat on a low wall outside the dairy with their food, Zoey talking and talking and talking, Jinu chiming in, Mira occasionally nudging the conversation with an ease that made everything feel softer. Rumi ate and listened and answered when she was pulled in, and the strange part was that she didn't feel like she was performing. She didn't feel like she was waiting for the moment she could disappear.

When it was time to leave, they split naturally at the corner—Zoey and Jinu heading one way, Rumi and Mira the other. Zoey adjusted her bag on her shoulder and started walking backwards for a few steps, still talking, because of course she was.

"Okay, if either of you decide to do something stupid without warning me first, I want it noted that I deserve hazard pay for being the only responsible person in this group. Also, Jinu, don't forget Mum told you to actually come home on time today because she's making dinner and she'll start texting me."

Jinu made a face. "Why do you always say it like you're my manager?"

"Because you always act like you need one."

Mira snorted softly beside Rumi, and Rumi felt it more than she should have.

Jinu glanced at his phone, thumbs moving fast. "Abby's leaving now and if I'm not home soon he's going to show up at my house and charm Mum and Appa into loving him more than they love me."

Zoey's eyes widened with immediate interest. "Oh, let him. I want to see Mum's face when she realises you're dating someone with manners."

They kept bickering as they turned down their street, voices overlapping, the sound of them fading as they went. Rumi watched them go for a second, then remembered herself and looked away.

Mira was still beside her, walking at the same easy pace, hands tucked into her pockets, hair catching the last of the afternoon light. The crowd noise from the dairy was behind them now. The footpath had thinned into quiet, the kind that made every small sound feel louder—the scuff of shoes, a bird calling from a fence line, the distant hum of a car.

Mira didn't say anything for a moment.

Then she glanced at Rumi, eyes amused. "Ruru. Did I ever tell you about when Jinu texted me a paragraph once because Zoey stole his hoodie?"

Rumi blinked. "He did what?"

Mira's smile widened slightly. "He started it with 'I hope you understand the gravity of this situation.'"

Rumi huffed a laugh before she could stop it. "That sounds like him."

Mira watched her for a beat, the way she always did when Rumi forgot to guard her reactions. The look wasn't teasing. It was quieter than that. Rumi's throat went a little tight. She stared straight ahead like the footpath required all her focus. Mira slowed a fraction. Rumi slowed too, because her body had apparently decided it liked matching Mira's pace.

Mira cleared her throat, subtle, like she was smoothing over something. "About the pet thing."

Rumi glanced at her. "Yeah?"

Mira shrugged. "If I do it, I'm blaming you."

"Why me?"

Mira's gaze flicked to her, steady. "Because you looked like you were picturing it."

Rumi's face warmed. They stopped near the gate to Rumi's house, both of them lingering a second longer than they needed to.

Mira looked down the street toward her house, then back at Rumi. "See you tomorrow?"

Rumi nodded, then hesitated before she could stop herself. "Yeah. See you."

Mira's eyes held hers for a fraction, and something about her expression shifted—soft, contained, like she wanted to say something else and decided against it. Instead, she lifted two fingers in a small wave and turned toward her house.

Rumi watched her go, just for a second, until Mira disappeared up her driveway.

Then Rumi turned toward her own, walking the last stretch home with her hands still smelling faintly like sugar and fries and the weird, impossible awareness that she hadn't spent the afternoon searching for a way out. She'd stayed. And somehow, in some spectacularly bizarre turn of events, the world hadn't ended.

A Little Over A Month Later

Mira's text came through at 9:47 p.m.

Rumi was in her room, half in pyjama shorts, half in denial about how late it was, trying to convince herself that reorganising her desk counted as studying. The tiger plush sat on her bed like it owned the room, lopsided and judgemental, watching her make the same pile of papers twice.

Her phone buzzed.

Mira:
u up?

Rumi stared at it, then typed back with one thumb.

Rumi:
yes

Mira:
come over

Rumi:
why

The reply came fast enough that it felt like Mira had been staring at her screen.

Mira:
parents are out
so you can't get distracted

Rumi:
get distracted by what

Mira:
by anything
hurryhurryhurry

Rumi's pulse jumped. She tried to tell herself it was annoyance.

Rumi:
i'm not just going to "hurry" for no reason

Mira:
i waited a whole week to show you this
you can walk for two minutes

Rumi paused, thumb hovering.

Rumi:
a week for what

Mira:
come and i'll show you

Rumi stared at the message until the screen dimmed, then looked down at the tiger on her bed like it might give her advice.

Downstairs, the house was quiet in that late-night way that made every sound feel too loud. Celine and Mi-yeong had gone to an early bed an hour ago. The hallway light was off. The kitchen was dark. The only glow was the faint spill of Rumi's desk lamp under her door.

She slipped on her hoodie, grabbed her phone, and padded downstairs on soft feet. The front door clicked gently behind her.

Next door, Mira's porch light was on.

Rumi crossed the short stretch of path like she was trying not to be seen by the entire neighbourhood, which was ridiculous, because it was Saturday and nearly ten and nobody cared. Still, her heart thumped as she reached Mira's door.

She knocked once.

The door swung open almost immediately.

Mira was barefoot, hair half-up, in a loose long-sleeve top and shorts. Her face was bare of the barely-heavier school makeup, but her eyes were still sharp, still the kind that made Rumi feel like she'd been spotted even when she wasn't trying to hide.

"Finally," Mira said.

Rumi blinked. "You just texted me—"

"Took too long," Mira cut in, and then her mouth twitched as if she was trying very hard not to smile too much. She stepped back to let Rumi in. "Come on."

Rumi toed her shoes off at the door out of habit. Mira watched her do it, expression softening slightly, like she liked that Rumi didn't need to be told where to put herself.

Rumi straightened. "Okay. What's happening?"

Mira didn't answer immediately. She walked backward down the hallway like she was leading Rumi into a trap, eyes fixed on her.

Rumi followed, suspicious. "Mira."

Mira stopped outside her bedroom door. Rumi's stomach flipped for no good reason. Mira's hand hovered on the handle for a beat, then she looked at Rumi with a seriousness that didn't match the late-night sneaking vibe at all.

"I didn't tell Zoey yet," Mira said.

Rumi blinked. "Why are you telling me that? About what?"

"Because if Zoey knew, she'd have been screaming in your face for a week," Mira replied, like that was a completely normal sentence, which it kind of was. "And I didn't want… anyone stressing him out."

"Him?" Rumi repeated, catching on. "You—"

Mira opened the door.

Inside, Mira's room was lit softly by a lamp on her desk. Against one wall, a neat pen sat set up with a hide-y house, hay, a water bowl, and a little litter tray. Everything looked new but carefully arranged, like someone (Mira) had watched too many videos and refused to make a single mistake.

And inside the pen, curled in a loaf like he'd invented the whole concept of relaxation, was a small rabbit with floppy ears. Rumi stopped dead in the doorway.

"Allow me to introduce you to…" Mira's voice dropped, quiet and proud. "Cottage Pie."

Rumi stared. "What?"

"I asked Zoey for a name a while back for whenever I got one. I made hte mistake of asking her when she was hungry."

The rabbit lifted his head slowly, ears lolling to the sides, and blinked at them like he'd been mildly inconvenienced by their existence.

Rumi's throat tightened in a way that surprised her. "You actually did it."

Mira's mouth finally curved into a real smile. "I did."

Rumi took one step forward, then stopped again, hands lifting uselessly. "He's… tiny."

"He's a dwarf lop."

Rumi looked at Mira. "You've had him…?"

"Just over a week." Mira nodded, eyes flicking to the rabbit like she couldn't help it. "I wanted to show you sooner. Well, honestly I wanted to show you the second I brought him home. But he was nervous, and I didn't want him freaking out because I couldn't wait."

Rumi stared at her. "You kept it a secret for a week?"

Mira's gaze held hers, steady. "Yeah."

Rumi's chest did something strange at that. Mira, who never waited for anything, who always pushed, who always pressed buttons and forced reactions, had waited. For the rabbit. For the sake of something small and soft and vulnerable.

Rumi swallowed. "That's… actually responsible of you."

Mira rolled her eyes, but there was a faint relief in it, like she'd been holding her breath waiting for approval. "Don't make it weird. Come meet him."

Rumi took another step and crouched near the pen, slow and careful like she was approaching a sacred animal. "Hi," she said quietly, the way you talked to babies and puppies and anything you didn't want to spook.

Cot stared at her. Then he shifted, nose twitching.

Mira crouched beside her with less hesitation. "Okay. Listen. There are some rules."

Rumi glanced sideways. "Rules."

"Yes," Mira said, and the seriousness in her tone made it clear she was not kidding. "You move slow. You don't hover over him like you're about to pick him up. You don't grab. You let him come to you, and if he decides you're suspicious, you accept it and you don't take it personally."

Rumi nodded solemnly. "Understood."

Mira's eyes narrowed. "Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not," Rumi said, and it came out too sincere to be a joke. "I don't want to scare him."

Mira blinked once, and something in her face softened. "Okay," she said, quieter. "Good."

She reached into the pen and held out the back of her fingers. Cot leaned forward, sniffed, then nudged her knuckle lightly. Mira glanced at Rumi like she was checking whether she'd seen it. "He's friendly. He just… needs to be sure."

Rumi's mouth curved without her permission. "So he's like you?"

Mira scoffed. "Excuse you. But yes."

Rumi stayed crouched, hands folded loosely in her lap, trying very hard not to be too loud or too fast or too much. Cot shifted closer, nose twitching harder now.

Mira reached to the side and picked up a small container of chopped greens. "Okay. Try a little food."

Rumi's eyes widened. "Already?"

"Yes," Mira said. "This is the bribery stage. It's normal."

Rumi didn't judge. She watched Mira pinch a small piece of lettuce between her fingers, then glance at Rumi with that careful, instructive focus she rarely used on people.

"Flat hand," Mira said. "Palm up. Don't curl your fingers. And don't move it toward him. You stay still and let him decide."

Rumi hesitated, then held her hand out, palm open like she was offering her life. Mira placed the piece of green on the centre of her palm. Her fingertips brushed Rumi's skin by accident, quick and light. Rumi's stomach flipped. She ignored it, because she was determined not to ruin this.

Cot leaned forward. He sniffed her hand. Rumi held her breath, completely still. Then Cot's mouth closed around the green, teeth grazing her palm with a soft tickle. Rumi let out a tiny laugh before she could stop it. A bright little giggle that escaped her like it had been hiding.

"Tickles," Rumi whispered, eyes wide, like she couldn't believe it.

Mira's head turned sharply toward her, and Rumi caught the look on her face—pleased and startled all at once, like she'd been waiting for that sound and didn't know what to do with it now that she had it. Cot kept nibbling, completely unbothered by the fact he was stealing Rumi's dignity one tiny bite at a time.

Rumi laughed again, even quieter. "Oh my god."

Mira's mouth opened, then closed. She looked away too quickly, as if she'd been caught staring.

"Again," Mira said, voice slightly rougher than before.

Rumi blinked. "What?"

"Feed him again," Mira said, still not looking directly at her. "Little less this time though."

Rumi held her hand out again, obedient now, and Mira placed another piece of green on her palm.

Cot leaned in, nibbled, tickled, and Rumi's shoulders shook with another little giggle. "It's like… tiny little kisses," she murmured, and immediately regretted the words because they sounded insane.

Mira made a small sound that might have been a laugh if she'd let it be. "Don't romanticise the rabbit."

Rumi looked at her, eyes bright. "He's so cute."

Mira's gaze flicked to her again, softer. "Yeah," she said. "He is."

They stayed there for a while, crouched on the floor beside the pen, talking quietly. Mira explained what Cot ate, what he didn't, what he liked. Rumi asked questions and Mira answered them without teasing her for once. Cot hopped around with the slow confidence of an animal who had decided this was his room and they were simply guests.

Eventually, Mira reached into the pen and unlatched it.

Rumi's head snapped up. "You're letting him out?"

"Yeah," Mira nodded. "He's been roaming in here all week. I bunny-proofed the room for when he was ready."

Cot hopped out, slow and deliberate. He did a tiny lap of the floor like he was checking his territory, then stopped and looked at the bed. Rumi watched him, enchanted. Cot hopped up onto the bed with a small spring that looked ridiculous considering his size. He landed on the blanket like he owned it, then turned in a tight circle and flopped down, ears splaying.

Rumi's eyes stayed on Cot. "Can I—?"

"Get on the bed?" Mira guessed, amused now. "Yes. He's not fragile. Just… be gentle."

Rumi climbed up carefully, like she was entering a museum exhibit. She sat cross-legged near the edge, leaning forward slightly to watch Cot's nose twitch. Cot stared back at her, then shifted closer in two small hops. Rumi held perfectly still. Cot sniffed her knee, then nudged it, then settled beside her leg like he'd decided she was acceptable furniture.

Rumi's face lit up. "Mira."

Mira climbed onto the bed too, sprawling on the far side like it was nothing, propped on her elbows. The bed was wide enough there was a comfortable ocean of space between them, but still, the intimacy of being on it together hit Rumi in the ribs like a quiet shock.

"What?" Mira said, eyes on Cot.

"He likes me."

"Males sense…" Mira's mouth twitched. She turned her head slightly, watching Rumi with that calm, intent gaze. "You're easy to like."

Rumi reached out slowly and stroked Cot's back with two fingers, barely touching. Cot didn't move. He stayed, eyes half-lidded, trying to become one with the blanket.

Rumi's voice dropped without her noticing. "He's warm."

Mira's voice dropped too. "Yeah."

Cot shifted again, then hopped over Rumi's thigh and made his way toward the middle of the bed. He paused, sniffed at Mira's sleeve, and then—like he was blessing them—settled between them. Rumi stared down at him like she'd been handed a miracle. Mira's gaze stayed on Cot, but her attention kept flicking to Rumi, catching her expressions like they were something worth collecting.

Rumi found herself leaning back a little, hands resting on her thighs, watching Cot's chest rise and fall. Mira reached out and scratched Cot gently between the ears. Cot melted further into the blanket. Rumi's eyelids started to feel heavier in a way she didn't expect. The room was warm. The lamp light was soft. Mira's voice was low, explaining something about how Cot had a favourite corner of the pen and how he did a little hop when he got excited about herbs. It was the kind of talk that didn't demand anything from Rumi. She could just listen.

She shifted, sliding down slightly, propping herself against a pile of pillows without thinking about it. Cot didn't move. He stayed between them, warm and steady.

Mira kept talking, quieter now. Rumi tried to respond, but her words came slower. Her body felt heavy in a good way, like the tension had finally drained out of her muscles. Cot's fur brushed her wrist when he moved, and she smiled at the sensation like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Mira's voice softened. "You're going to fall asleep."

Rumi made a small sound that was supposed to be a denial. It came out like a sleepy "mmnot".

Mira went quiet. Rumi blinked slowly, trying to focus. Cot was still there, a warm little weight on the bed. Mira was a soft shape at the edge of her vision. The room felt safe in a way Rumi hadn't realised she needed. Her eyes closed for a second.

When she opened them again, Mira was watching her.

Rumi's mouth opened. "I'm not—"

Her sentence dissolved into another soft sound, a tiny honk of a breath that embarrassed her even though she wasn't fully awake enough to care. Mira's expression changed. It wasn't teasing. It was something so open and fond it made Rumi's chest ache, even through the fog.

Rumi tried to say Mira's name. Her tongue didn't cooperate. Her eyes closed again. This time, they didn't open. Cot shifted once, then settled, perfectly content. Mira stayed very still for a moment, as if she was afraid the world might break if she moved too fast.

Then she reached over carefully, lifting a corner of the blanket and drawing it up over Rumi's waist, then her chest. She tucked it around her with gentle precision, like she was wrapping something valuable to her.

Rumi made another small sleepy sound, not words, just a soft hum that vibrated in her throat.

Mira's breath caught quietly.

She leaned closer, slow, and brushed a lock of hair away from Rumi's face with two fingers. Her touch was light enough that Rumi didn't stir, but deliberate enough that it felt like a confession anyway.

Mira's eyes searched Rumi's face like she was trying to memorise it in this soft, unguarded state—lashes resting against her cheeks, mouth slightly parted, the faint crease between her brows gone.

Cot's ear flopped against the blanket between them.

Mira's voice dropped to almost nothing.

"Good night, Rumi," she whispered.

Rumi answered with another tiny hum, a little honk of breath like her body was trying to reply even asleep. Mira's mouth curved into the smallest smile, the kind she didn't show anyone else. She stayed there a few more seconds, just watching, like she couldn't quite convince herself this was real.

Then she shifted carefully to her side of the bed, keeping a respectful distance, leaving enough space that Rumi could have rolled over twice without touching her. She reached for her phone, screen dimmed low, and typed with careful quiet.

Mira:
hi rumis mums
rumi fell asleep here
she's warm and safe
is it okay if i let her sleep and bring her home in the morning?

The reply came a minute later.

Celine:
Thank you for letting us know. Let her sleep. We'll see you in the morning.
Make sure she is warm. And thank you, Mira.

Mira exhaled slowly, something easing in her chest.

She set the phone face-down, then leaned over the edge of the bed to check Cot's pen—water full, hay topped up, latch secure. Cot stayed on the bed anyway, stubbornly wedged between them. Mira turned off the main light and left the bedside lamp on low, warm enough to keep the room from going fully dark.

Rumi made another tiny sleepy sound, soft and content. Mira lay back on her side of the bed, hands folded loosely on her stomach, staring up at the ceiling for a moment like she was trying to calm her own heart down. Then her gaze drifted back to Rumi.

Rumi didn't move. She slept like she trusted the room to hold her.

Mira stayed awake longer than she needed to, watching the slow rise and fall of Rumi's breathing, listening to the occasional little hum that escaped her.

Cot shifted once, ears flopping, and went still again.

In the quiet, with the house empty and the bed too big and the rabbit tucked between them like a warm boundary, Mira let herself look at Rumi like she'd been wanting to all week. Like she'd been waiting for this moment since the day she brought Cot home and had to keep it a secret, hands itching to text Rumi immediately, heart insisting she could be patient for once if it meant the rabbit felt safe.

Mira's throat tightened. She swallowed it down, because she always did. Then, very softly, so quiet it was more breath than sound, she said it even though Rumi couldn't hear. Thankful that Rumi couldn't hear. "I love you, Rumi..."

Later In The Week

By lunch, Rumi had already used the word busy three times, and she hadn't done anything except exist in hallways and avoid looking directly at the person she kept accidentally looking for.

The cafeteria was loud in the normal way, plastic chairs scraping on the ground as someone either sat down or got up too fast, people yelling across tables, a teacher on duty pretending not to hear students calling out the word "penis" disguised under coughs (quick author interruption to ask if anyone else ever had that game in school, where you've gotta say the word 'penis' as loud as you can without getting caught by a teacher…). The air smelled like fried food and deodorant and whatever energy drink had spilled onto the floor.

Zoey's voice cut through it all like a lighthouse in a storm.

"I'm telling you, if we get one more email about a ‘Reminder' and ends with ‘thank you for your understanding,' I'm going to throw my laptop into the sea. I swear. They love that phrase. They love it. They think it's a spell. Like they can say it and suddenly we're all calm and reasonable about the fact we have three deadlines and a group project where someone has vanished off the face of the earth again."

Jinu made a sympathetic noise and bit into a sandwich like he was fuelling up for combat. "Who vanished this time?"

Zoey didn't even need a beat. "Min-seo. And I'm not even mad she vanished, I'm mad she vanished after swearing on her life she was doing the bibliography, and then she sent me a thumbs-up emoji at 1am."

Mira, sitting beside Zoey, didn't look up from her lunch. "Thumbs-up emoji?"

Zoey pointed at her with fierce validation. "Exactly. It's disrespectful."

Jinu's eyes flicked toward the cafeteria doors as Rumi entered. He clocked her instantly, because he always did. Zoey did too, mid-rant, but she didn't stop talking. That had become her new thing—no awkward pauses, no "oh, hi" performance, just inclusion like it was obvious.

"—and then Mr. Han goes, ‘Have you tried talking with her?' like I haven't sent three messages and—" flailing her hands for emphasis, "—a carrier pigeon," Zoey continued, then jerked her chin at the seat. "Sit down, Rumi."

Rumi paused because she always paused. The part of her that used to hover until she found an exit route was still alive and kicking.

Then she sat.

She chose the end seat. The one closest to the aisle. The easiest to leave from. She told herself it was practical. Mira's gaze flicked up, quick and quiet, tracking that choice. Rumi unfolded her napkin with unnecessary care and opened her lunch container, because if her hands were busy, her face might behave.

Zoey kept going. "Anyway, I'm going to do the bibliography myself because I trust no one, and if I fail, I'm going to commit a crime. That's not a joke."

Jinu swallowed and leaned back. "You say stuff like that and then wonder why teachers look scared when you walk into class."

"That's their problem."

Mira's eyes slid to Rumi again. "You okay?"

Rumi nodded too fast. "Yeah."

Mira didn't look convinced, but she didn't push. Not here. Not with Zoey talking and Jinu watching and the whole cafeteria full of ears. Rumi took a bite of her food. Chewed. Swallowed. Tried to make her shoulders un-tense by force.

Across the table, a group of Year 12s were talking about formal outfits. Someone mentioned a dress shop. Someone else complained about prices. The word prom floated past like smoke, casual and inevitable.

Rumi kept her eyes on her rice.

Zoey's rant veered, as it always did. "Also—unrelated but related—if someone asks me one more time what my ‘plans' are after graduation, I'm going to start telling them I'm running away to become a nomad and live in the mountains or something. Like, I'm sorry, I didn't realise being seventeen means that I have to present a ten-year business plan at lunch."

Jinu snorted. "You'd never survive. You'd miss people too much."

Zoey blinked, then scoffed, but she looked weirdly touched. "That's the nicest thing you've said to me today."

Mira, deadpan: "He's manipulating you."

Zoey leaned her elbow on the table and pointed her fork at Rumi. "What about you? Anyone asked you about your plans yet?"

Rumi's stomach tightened. "Yeah. People ask."

"And you do the whole mysterious thing where you give them a two-word answer?"

Rumi shot her a look. "I don't."

Zoey's mouth twitched. "You so do."

Jinu looked up from his sandwich, eyes narrowing slightly. "Okay. Are you okay? You've got the vibe today."

Rumi didn't look at him. "What vibe?"

"The ‘I'm here but I'm not actually here' vibe," Jinu said, like he was stating the weather.

Zoey made a quiet noise of agreement, then immediately filled the space again because she couldn't help it. "I mean, I wasn't going to say it because I'm trying this new thing where I mind my business, but yeah. You're kind of… off."

Rumi stabbed a piece of cucumber hard enough that it slid.

"I'm fine," she said.

Jinu's eyes stayed on her. "Rumi."

Rumi finally looked up, irritation flaring because it was safer than panic. "What?"

Jinu didn't back down. He rarely did when it mattered. "Did someone say something? Are you stressed? Are you sick? You don't have to tell me the whole story, but at least tell me if I'm supposed to be mad at someone."

Rumi's throat tightened. "No. No one… said anything."

Zoey, quieter, "Okay."

Mira hadn't said a word through that whole exchange. Her attention had sharpened in a way Rumi could feel without looking directly at her. When Rumi did glance up, Mira was watching her like she was trying to read fine print.

Rumi dropped her gaze again.

Jinu exhaled through his nose. "Alright. Cool. Love being shut out."

"I'm not shutting you out," Rumi said, too quick.

Jinu lifted a brow. "You are. You're being politely about it, but you're doing it."

Rumi's phone buzzed. She checked it even though she didn't need to. There was no message. Just a notification about something stupid.

Zoey launched back into safer territory with the speed of someone steering a car away from black ice. "Anyway, I'm done talking about feelings because it makes my skin crawl. New topic. I saw a couple fight in the hallway this morning—"

Jinu groaned. "Here we go. What happened to 'minding my business'?"

Zoey ignored him, delighted. "No, because tell me why he was just standing there and she was like, ‘If you don't stop liking all my posts, I'm blocking you.'"

Mira's mouth twitched. "That's a real sentence?"

"It was," Zoey insisted. "I was so stunned I stopped walking. Which is dangerous, because the hallway is basically a highway and I almost got shoulder-checked by a trumpet."

Rumi ate and let Zoey's voice wash over her, half listening, half counting down to the bell. She didn't mean to. It just… happened. Her body had decided that if she stayed too long in one place, someone might notice how fragile she felt.

And Mira kept glancing at her, and each glance felt like a hand at the back of her neck.

When the lunch bell finally rang, Rumi stood too fast.

Zoey blinked up at her. "Where are you going?"

"Library," Rumi said, because it sounded responsible.

Jinu frowned. "You don't go to the library."

Rumi shrugged, already turning. "I do now."

Mira's voice cut in, low. "Rumi."

Rumi didn't stop. She left the table while Zoey was still mid-sentence and pretended she couldn't feel the way Mira's attention followed her out like a shadow.

The corridor outside the cafeteria was crowded with students drifting toward afternoon classes. Rumi moved through them on autopilot, head down, shoulders tucked in, trying to become small enough to slip between everyone's noise without being touched by it.

She made it halfway down the hall before someone caught her sleeve. Not a grab. Just a brief, firm hold. Rumi stopped.

Mira stepped into her path like she'd decided Rumi wasn't allowed to vanish today.

Her face was controlled, but there was something raw under the control that Rumi didn't want to look at too closely. Mira had her bag slung over one shoulder, hair half-up, eyes sharp.

"You're actually leaving?"

Rumi blinked, as if this was a confusing observation. "Yeah. I said I'm going to the library."

Mira's jaw tightened slightly. Her mouth twitched once, humourless. "I'm not asking where you're going. I just wanna know why you're running."

Rumi's stomach dropped. That hit harder than it should have.

"I'm not running," Rumi said, voice flat.

Mira held her gaze without blinking.

"What?" Rumi snapped. "What do you want me to say?"

Mira leaned in slightly, just enough to make the space between them feel smaller. "Something honest would be a start."

Rumi's hands curled around her bag strap. "I'm tired."

Mira's eyes narrowed. "That's not what this is."

Rumi's throat went tight. "You're making it a thing."

Mira's voice dropped even lower. "You made it a thing when you started acting like you can hardly stand being near us."

Rumi flinched, because that was too direct and too close to the part of her she was trying not to touch. "I'm not acting like that," She said.

Mira's expression stayed steady, but her eyes sharpened. "You are. You've been doing it all week. You sit as far away as you can, you answer like you're trying to end the conversation, and you looked at me like I was annoying you when I asked if you were okay."

Rumi's face heated. "I did not."

Mira didn't budge. "You did."

Rumi swallowed. The hallway noise seemed louder now, like it was pressing in. People were walking past them, glancing, then looking away again. No one stopped. No one cared. It still felt like being watched.

Rumi lowered her voice. "Can we not do this here?"

Mira's mouth tightened. "Fine. Where do you want to do it, then?"

"I was going to the library," Rumi repeated, stubborn because she didn't have anything else.

Mira's eyes flicked over her face like she was trying to decide how hard to push. When she spoke again, the calm in her voice had teeth.

"Look… did I do something?" Mira asked. "Because if I did, can you just tell me? If you want space, tell me. If you're embarrassed about whatever's going on in your head, tell me. But don't punish me with silence and then act like I'm crazy for noticing."

Rumi's pulse thudded. "I'm not punishing you."

Mira let out a breath, sharp and quiet. "Kinda feels like it."

Rumi stared at the floor between their shoes. The tiled pattern blurred slightly because her eyes were doing that annoying thing where they wanted to sting. She forced herself to look back up.

"It's not about you," she said, because it was the closest thing she could offer without unravelling.

Mira's gaze didn't soften. "Then talk to me. Maybe I can help."

Rumi swallowed again, mouth dry. "I'm just… dealing with stuff."

Mira's laugh came out small and flat. "Great. You and your mysterious stuff."

Rumi's irritation flared, defensive. "What do you want?"

Mira's eyes flashed. "I want you to stop lying to my face." She kept going, voice still controlled, but sharper now. "You don't get to act like this and then tell me it's nothing. You don't get to make me feel like I'm stupid for caring. If you want to pull away, fine, pull away. Just don't do it like this."

Rumi's chest tightened so hard she almost couldn't breathe. The panic rose fast, because Mira had just named the thing she'd been trying to pretend wasn't happening.

Pulling away.

Rumi's voice came out thin. "I'm not pulling away…"

Mira stared at her for a beat, and something in her expression shifted—hurt sliding under the surface, contained so hard it looked like anger.

"Okay," Mira said. Then added, quiet, "Then stop taking whatever it is out on me." She stepped back half a pace, releasing her sleeve. Her posture stayed loose, but her eyes didn't. "Go to the library," Mira said. "Do your 'thing.'"

Rumi stood there, heart punching at her ribs, feeling like she'd lost a fight she hadn't realised she'd started. Mira turned and walked away. Rumi watched her disappear into the crowd and felt the stupid, immediate urge to call her back. She didn't.

Because if she did, she'd have to explain why her body still remembered the weight of a blanket being pulled up over her chest. Why she could still hear Mira's voice in the dark saying good night like it meant something. Why the thought of Mira being hurt by her made her stomach twist.

Rumi turned and walked toward the library anyway, even though she didn't need it, even though her books were in her bag untouched, even though she knew she'd sit in a corner and stare at the same paragraph until the bell went.

After last period, Zoey and Jinu found her near the front gate like they'd planned it. Zoey had her bag strap twisted around her wrist. Jinu was chewing gum like he was trying to weaponise it.

"You dipped," Zoey said, not accusing, just stating.

Rumi adjusted her bag higher on her shoulder. "I went to the library."

Jinu narrowed his eyes. "Sure, but you never go to the library."

Rumi's mouth tightened. "I… did today."

Zoey watched her face for a second, and her expression shifted into something more careful. She didn't do her usual big ramble. She didn't joke.

"Do you want to come get food?" Zoey asked. "Like, proper food. Not cafeteria food. We were going to anyway."

Rumi shook her head too fast. "I've got stuff."

Jinu sighed like he was trying not to explode. "There it is again. The stuff."

Rumi glanced at him. "Drop it."

Jinu didn't. "Rumi, I'm not trying to be annoying. I'm trying to be your friend. You've been weird all day."

Rumi's throat tightened. "I'm tired."

Zoey's gaze flicked briefly over Rumi's shoulder, toward the path that led out of school. Mira wasn't there yet. Or she was, and she was avoiding the gate. Or she was standing somewhere Rumi couldn't see.

Zoey looked back at Rumi, and her voice stayed gentle. "Okay. Just… text me later, yeah?"

Rumi nodded, because it was easier than arguing.

Jinu still looked unconvinced, but he sighed and let it go. "Fine. But if you ghost us, I'm coming over and I'm annoying your mums."

Rumi's stomach dropped a fraction. "Don't."

"You know I will," Jinu said.

Zoey looped her arm through his and started steering him away. "Come on. Mum's going to yell at us if we're late again."

Jinu let himself be dragged, but he looked back at Rumi once, eyes sharp with concern. Rumi lifted her hand in a small wave. A promise she wasn't sure she could keep. Zoey and Jinu headed down the path together, talking over each other, the sound of them fading into the late afternoon.

Rumi stood by the gate alone. For a second, she thought Mira might appear. She half-expected her to walk up like she always did and fall into step like the last few weeks had never happened. Mira didn't. Rumi's chest went hollow in a way she didn't want to examine.

She turned and walked home. The route felt longer when she did it alone. The streetlights were starting to flicker on one by one. Somewhere down the road, someone's dog barked, apparently angry at the concept of evening.

When she reached her street, she saw Mira's house first, because it was impossible not to (especially since she was looking for it first). The porch light wasn't on yet. The curtains were drawn in the front room. Everything looked ordinary.

Rumi kept walking.

Her own house came into view, warm and familiar. The kitchen light was on. The smell of dinner drifted faintly into the air when she got close enough. Rumi went inside, kicked off her shoes, and tried to move through the hallway quietly like she could outrun the day.

Upstairs, in her room, the tiger plush sat on her bed.

Rumi dropped her bag to the floor and sat on the edge of the mattress, staring at her hands. Her body felt like it wanted two opposite things at once: to go next door, tell Mira she'd heard her that night and fix it, and to never look Mira in the eye again.

Rumi came home like she was trying to pass as a normal person. Shoes off at the door. Bag dropped by the stairs. A quiet "Hi," aimed toward the kitchen light, as if that proved she was fine.

Mi-yeong's voice floated out first. "You're home."

"Mm," Rumi answered, already moving toward the stairs like her bedroom was an emergency exit.

Celine's voice followed, calm and too casual. "Wash your hands. Dinner's almost ready."

Rumi paused on the first step. Her fingers tightened around her bag strap.

"Okay," she said.

She did wash her hands. She stood at the sink longer than she needed to, letting the water run a little too hot and focusing on the sensation like it was a task. The mirror above the sink caught her face in the corner of her vision—tired eyes, hair falling forward, mouth set in that stubborn line she made when she didn't want to be readable.

She turned away from it.

By the time she got upstairs, she was already reaching for the tiger.

It was ridiculous. It was a stuffed toy. It was the kind of thing she would have mocked other people for keeping on their bed. And yet the moment her fingers closed around the plush's soft fur, her shoulders lowered a fraction. Like her body recognised the weight.

Mira's ridiculous gift, pressed against her ribs.

It smelled faintly like her own laundry detergent now. The tiger's stitched eyes stared up at her, permanently wide, permanently cheerful. Rumi sat on the edge of her bed, held it in her lap, and stared at her hands.

She stayed there until the call came again.

"Rumi-ah," Mi-yeong called from downstairs. "Dinner."

Rumi squeezed the tiger once, hard enough that it almost squeaked, then stood and carried it with her like she didn't care what anyone thought.

Downstairs, Mi-yeong had set the table. Celine was already seated with a glass of water in front of her, sleeves rolled, hair pulled back. The rice bowl sat steaming at the centre. Banchan were arranged neatly like they always were: kimchi, cucumber, something pickled, and a pan of beef that smelled so good it made Rumi's stomach grumble despite herself.

Mi-yeong glanced up as Rumi entered, and her eyes flicked immediately to the tiger in Rumi's arms. She didn't say anything. Celine's gaze followed a second later. She paused for half a beat, then returned to the table with the calm of someone who had chosen not to comment out loud.

Rumi sat and pulled the tiger into her lap, arms around it like she was bracing. She tried to make it look casual. It wasn't.

Mi-yeong served her rice without asking and slid the bowl in front of her. "Eat."

"I will," Rumi muttered.

Celine watched her for a moment over the rim of her glass. "Long day?"

Rumi nodded, because it was safer than speaking. She picked up her chopsticks, stared at the food, and took a bite without really tasting it. Mi-yeong sat down last, smoothing her apron as she did. She ate a bite, then another, like she was giving the room time to settle.

Rumi managed three bites before she felt Celine's attention again, steady and quiet.

"You've been quiet," Celine said.

Rumi's grip tightened around the tiger. "I'm always quiet."

"You're quiet in a different way," Celine replied.

Rumi swallowed. Her throat felt too tight for the amount of food she'd just forced down.

Mi-yeong reached for her water and took a sip. "Did something happen at school?"

Rumi shook her head automatically. "No."

Mi-yeong looked at her over the top of her glasses. "Mm."

Rumi hated that sound. Both of them did it now.

"I'm tired," Rumi added, because she needed something.

Celine didn't move. "Tired from school, or tired from something else?"

Rumi stared at her bowl.

The tiger sat heavy in her lap, soft fur under her fingers. Mira's gift. Mira's stupid, thoughtful gift. The tiger she'd chosen like it meant something. Rumi couldn't make her hands let go of it.

Mi-yeong set her chopsticks down gently. "Rumi-ah."

Rumi flinched at the softness. It made her feel six years old.

Mi-yeong's voice stayed calm. "You don't have to tell us everything. But you do have to stop carrying it alone when it's making you hurt."

Rumi stared at the rice, then blinked harder than she needed to.

Celine's tone was practical, but not cold. "If it's something we can help with, we'll help. If it's something we can't fix, we can still sit with you."

Rumi's mouth opened. Closed. The words didn't want to come out in order. She took another bite she didn't need, then set her chopsticks down because her hands were shaking enough that she could feel it in her fingers. She hugged the tiger closer, face heating with embarrassment.

Mi-yeong didn't comment. Celine didn't comment. The silence stretched, patient. Rumi stared at the tiger's stupid stitched face and felt her own voice finally scrape its way up.

"I heard… something," she said.

Both of them went still. Attentive. Mi-yeong didn't ask what. She waited. Rumi swallowed again. Her throat hurt.

"It was… at Mira's," she said, and her voice sounded wrong in the quiet dining room. "That night."

Celine's eyes narrowed slightly—not in suspicion, in focus. "The night you accidentally stayed over?"

Rumi's face burned. She nodded once.

Mi-yeong's expression didn't change. "Okay."

Rumi's fingers flexed against the tiger's fur. She could feel the memory in her skin like a bruise: the lamp light, the bed too big, Cot between them, Mira's voice in the dark.

"I don't… I wasn't supposed to hear it," Rumi said, and her voice cracked a little on the last word. She cleared her throat and tried again. "She thought I was asleep."

Celine's gaze stayed steady. "What did she say?"

Rumi's lungs felt too full. She exhaled slowly, then said it quickly like ripping a bandage.

"She said… she loves me."

The sentence landed and stayed there.

Rumi's heart hammered in her ears. Her cheeks were hot. Her fingers were gripping the tiger so hard she could feel the stuffing compress under her hands.

Mi-yeong's eyes softened first. Not with teasing. With something careful and warm. "Oh."

Celine's expression didn't soften, exactly. It sharpened into something protective. "Did she say it… like a joke?"

Rumi shook her head fast. "No."

"Did she sound like she meant it?" Mi-yeong asked gently.

Rumi nodded, smaller this time. "Yes. I… I think so."

A silence followed. Not awkward. Not heavy in a cruel way. It felt like the room had made space around the truth. Rumi forced herself to keep going before she lost nerve.

"I don't know what to do," she blurted. "I don't know what I'm supposed to say. I don't even know what I... I just—" She stopped and looked down, voice turning rough. "I just know how she makes me feel."

Mi-yeong's hand moved across the table, not touching Rumi yet, just offering. "Tell us that."

Rumi stared at her for a beat, then shook her head. "I can't."

Celine's voice stayed even. "You can. You just don't want to, because it makes it feel real."

Rumi looked at Celine, startled. "It is real."

"Yes," Celine agreed. "And that's why you're scared."

Rumi's throat tightened hard. She hugged the tiger closer, as if it could hold her together.

Mi-yeong spoke softly, not pushing. "Rumi-ah. You don't need to label anything tonight."

Rumi blinked. "I don't even know what label I'd end up with."

"Which is why you don't have to pick one," Mi-yeong said.

Celine nodded once. "You're allowed to take time. You're allowed to not know."

Rumi's eyes stung again, and she hated it. She was not a crier. Not unless she was cornered. "I didn't even…" She tried to find the words and failed, frustration bleeding into her voice. "I didn't even think about it like that before. It was just Mira. She's just… Mira. She's always been Mira. And then suddenly she's… she's looking at me like I'm—" Rumi cut herself off because she couldn't say it.

Mi-yeong's gaze stayed steady, inviting rather than demanding. "Like you matter to her."

Rumi's throat bobbed. She nodded.

Celine spoke quietly. "When you're with her, what happens inside you?"

Rumi stared at the table, at the steam rising from the food, at her own hands white-knuckled around a plush tiger.

"It's stupid," she muttered.

Celine's tone didn't change. "Say it anyway."

Rumi exhaled. "I feel… normal. But also not. I don't know." She frowned, frustrated. "I feel like I'm paying attention to everything. I hear her door, and I'm already—ready. And when she talks to me, it feels like she's doing it on purpose, like she's choosing me."

Mi-yeong's mouth twitched, but not in a teasing way. More like recognition.

Rumi's voice got quieter. "And when she's nice, it's worse."

Celine lifted an eyebrow. "Worse?"

Rumi nodded, embarrassed. "Because then I can't pretend she's just messing with me."

Mi-yeong's hand reached farther across the table and rested gently on Rumi's wrist. The touch was warm, grounding.

Rumi swallowed. "And she makes me want to be brave," she admitted, like it was a confession. "Which is annoying."

Celine's mouth twitched slightly. "Annoying."

"Yeah." Rumi's eyes dropped to the tiger. "Because I don't want to be brave. I want to—" She stopped, jaw tight. "I want to stay where it's safe."

Mi-yeong's thumb stroked lightly over her wrist, a small repetitive motion. "Safe is good. Safe is important." Her voice softened further. "Did you talk to Mira today?"

Rumi shook her head. "I… not really… I kinda… avoided her."

Celine didn't look impressed. "And I'm sure she noticed." Her gaze stayed on Rumi's face. "Rumi, you can't use safe as a reason to hurt someone who cares about you."

Rumi flinched, because it was exactly what she'd done.

"I know," she whispered.

Mi-yeong's hand tightened slightly around her wrist. "Rumi-ah."

Rumi's voice cracked. "I don't know what to say to her. I heard her. I heard it and it felt like… like she put something in my hands and I don't know how to hold it."

Celine leaned back slightly, thinking. When she spoke, her tone was practical in the way it always was when she wanted to protect Rumi without smothering her.

"You don't have to answer her feelings tonight," Celine said. "You do have to stop pretending you didn't hear her."

Rumi's eyes snapped up. "I can't just—"

"You can," Celine cut in gently. "You can say you heard her. You can say you don't know what to do with it yet. You can say you're scared. That is still an answer."

Mi-yeong nodded. "Honesty doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to be."

Rumi stared at them, chest tight, the tiger heavy in her lap.

Celine's gaze flicked briefly to the plush. "And if you can't say it face-to-face yet, maybe you can start with a message."

Rumi swallowed. "Like what?"

Celine didn't miss a beat. "Something like: ‘Can we talk?'"

Mi-yeong's tone was softer. "Or: ‘I'm sorry I've been distant. I don't know what to do, but I heard you that night.'"

Rumi's throat tightened again. She looked down at her food like it might rescue her from having to make a decision.

Mi-yeong released her wrist and picked up her chopsticks again, deliberately returning the moment to normal so Rumi wouldn't feel trapped. "Eat a little more first," she said. "Thinking is worse when you haven't eaten."

Rumi gave a weak, breathy laugh. "That's not scientific."

Mi-yeong's eyes crinkled. "It's true."

Celine took a sip of water. "And Rumi?"

Rumi looked up.

Celine's voice stayed calm. "You don't have to figure it out on someone else's timeline."

Rumi's eyes stung again. She blinked hard and nodded.

Mi-yeong added, matter-of-fact, "But you should try to be kind."

Rumi swallowed. "I'm trying."

"I know," Mi-yeong said.

Celine's gaze was steady. "Are you going to message her tonight?"

Rumi stared at the tiger. Her phone sat on the table beside her plate, screen dark, suddenly feeling heavier than it should. Rumi's fingers flexed against the plush fur. Mira's gift. Mira's stupid, thoughtful gift.

She exhaled slowly. "I don't know."

Celine didn't push. She nodded once. "Then you'll do it tomorrow."

Rumi's mouth tightened. "Maybe."

Mi-yeong gave her a look that said don't make me be scary and returned to her food.

Dinner continued, smaller now. The room had shifted. The secret wasn't only inside Rumi's chest anymore, rattling around and bruising her from the inside. It had been put down on the table like a fragile object. Seen. Held.

After they ate, Rumi helped clear plates without being asked. She washed dishes with her sleeves rolled up, hands in warm water, head empty for the first time all day.

Celine dried and stacked, efficient and quiet. Mi-yeong hummed softly under her breath while she wiped down the counter. Normal things. Anchors.

When the kitchen was clean, Mi-yeong kissed Rumi's temple on her way past, the way she'd done since Rumi was small. "Sleep," she said simply.

Rumi nodded. "Okay."

Upstairs, she sat on her bed again with the tiger in her lap.

Her body still wanted two opposite things. That hadn't gone away.

But now there was a third thing, quieter and steadier: the knowledge that she didn't have to carry it alone, and she didn't have to solve it in one night.

Rumi opened her messages, thumb hovering over Mira's name.

The screen felt too bright in the dim room. The tiger sat tucked under her left arm like a brace, its stitched face pressed against her ribs, and she could feel her pulse in her thumb as it floated over the contact.

Mira.

Rumi tapped it before she could talk herself out of it.

Rumi typed.

Deleted.

Typed again.

Deleted again.

Her breathing went shallow, annoyed at herself for even being nervous over a box on a screen.

She tried a third time.

Rumi:
hey

She stared at the single word until it looked as stupid as she felt.

She added more.

Rumi:
hey
sorry i was weird today

She hovered over send, then backspaced "weird" because it sounded like she was making it a joke when it wasn't.

Rumi:
hey
sorry i was off today

Better. Still not enough.

She sat there for a minute, thumb resting on the edge of the phone, tiger wedged tight against her side, trying to find a sentence that didn't feel like stepping onto a stage. She didn't have one. Her mind started doing its usual cowardly thing—offering exits. Send nothing. Go to sleep. Deal with it later. Mira will get over it. Mira gets over everything.

Her stomach twisted at that, sharp and immediate.

Rumi typed again, slower this time, forcing her hands to keep moving.

Rumi:
can we talk tomorrow?

The words sat small and plain, like a hand extended without a speech attached. Rumi could live with that. It didn't ask Mira to guess. It didn't pretend nothing happened.

It was still terrifying. She held her breath and pressed send. The message jumped up the screen. Rumi's chest tightened, then eased slightly, like she'd been carrying a weight in her mouth and finally set it down.

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

Rumi's heart lurched anyway.

Mira:
yeah

A beat later:

Mira:
u okay?

Rumi stared at the question.

It was the kind of question that usually made her want to lie just to keep the world stable. Tonight, she could feel Celine's voice in her head—honesty doesn't have to be perfect.

She typed carefully.

Rumi:
i'm okay
just
idk
overwhelmed

She almost added more. The words hovered, crowded behind her teeth. She didn't let them out yet.

Mira's dots appeared again. Disappeared. Appeared.

Mira:
okay
tomorrow then

Then, after a pause that felt like Mira holding back too:

Mira:
hey
i'm sorry if i pushed you today

Rumi swallowed.

She hugged the tiger tighter, the plush fur warm under her fingers, and stared at Mira's apology until something in her chest softened and stung at the same time.

Rumi:
you didn't

She hesitated, then added:

Rumi:
i just didn't know how to say anything

Mira took longer to answer this time.

When the reply came, it was shorter than Rumi expected.

Mira:
i'd rather you say that than disappear on me

Rumi's throat tightened again, but it didn't feel like panic this time. It felt like being understood and hating how much she needed it.

Rumi:
i'll try

Mira:
good :)

Rumi could almost hear the tone in that single word: firm, not teasing, like Mira was holding her to it.

A moment later:

Mira:
get some sleep

Rumi's eyes flicked to the time at the top of the screen. It was later than she'd realised. Of course it was. Time always did weird things when Mira was involved, even when Mira wasn't physically here.

Rumi:
you too

Mira:
mm

Rumi could picture the exact face Mira would make while typing that, like she didn't want to admit she was tired. Rumi's mouth twitched, a small almost-smile she didn't bother to fight.

Rumi:
goodnight

The dots appeared again.

Mira:
goodnight ruru

She locked her phone and let it fall onto her bed, then sat there in the quiet for a second longer, tiger still in her arms, feeling her pulse slow down. Outside, the neighbourhood had gone still in that late-night way where even cars sounded distant. Rumi shifted and got up, moving toward her window without thinking too hard about it.

She didn't pull the curtain all the way back. She didn't need to. Next door, Mira's porch light was on. Not blazing. Just a soft glow by the door, like someone had left it that way out of habit. One of Mira's upstairs curtains was open a sliver, and a faint square of light spilled onto the inside of the glass.

Rumi watched it for a moment.

Then, because she was apparently determined to make her own life difficult, she imagined Mira in her room: hair down, Cot settled, phone in hand, reading Rumi's messages with that hard-to-read expression that could mean nothing or everything.

Rumi pressed her forehead lightly to the cool edge of the window frame.

She hadn't fixed anything. Not really. Mira's feelings were still there, heavy and real, and Rumi's own were still a mess she didn't have labels for. She still didn't know what she was, or what she wanted, or how to hold something as delicate as "I love you" without crushing it.

But she'd stopped running long enough to send a message.

It counted.

Rumi turned away from the window, climbed into bed, and pulled the tiger closer like it was an anchor. She lay there for a while listening to the quiet house—the faint settling sounds, the distant rush of plumbing, Mi-yeong's soft footsteps once in the hall before they faded.

Her phone buzzed once more.

Rumi flinched and grabbed it.

A new message from Mira.

Mira:
btw
cot says goodnight too :p

Rumi stared at it, then let out a small, involuntary laugh into the tiger's fur.

She typed back without thinking too hard, because if she thought about it, she'd freeze.

Rumi:
dork
tell him I said goodnight back

Then she put the phone down again, face-up this time, and let her eyes close.

Her chest still felt tight. The fear was still there.

So was the steadier thing underneath it.

Rumi drifted off with the tiger pressed to her side and the knowledge, for once, that tomorrow didn't have to be perfect. It just had to be honest enough.

Rumi didn't sleep in.

She lay there for ages anyway, staring at the ceiling while her phone sat face-up on the bed like it might start screaming if she looked away. The tiger plush was wedged under her arm, its stupid stitched eyes staring into the room as if it could judge her choices.

Outside, Saturday sounded different. Less traffic. Less urgency. A neighbour mowing a lawn somewhere down the street, the sound rising and fading. Birds too loud in the trees like they had nothing better to do.

She got up, showered, changed into soft clothes that didn't feel like a cage, and spent half an hour pretending she had tasks. Folded laundry. Refilled her water bottle. Rearranged her desk again. Everything except the one thing she needed to do.

By late afternoon, Mi-yeong found her hovering in the kitchen with the fridge door open.

"What are you looking for?" Mi-yeong asked, wiping her hands on a dish towel.

Rumi stared at the shelves like they'd personally offended her. "Nothing."

Mi-yeong's eyes flicked to the tiger tucked awkwardly under Rumi's arm. She didn't smile. She didn't tease. She just raised her brows slightly.

Rumi cleared her throat. "I'm going next door."

Mi-yeong nodded once, like that was the most normal sentence in the world. "Okay."

Rumi waited for more.

Mi-yeong didn't give her a speech. She just stepped closer and smoothed Rumi's hair off her forehead the way she used to when Rumi was little and sulking over scraped knees.

"Be kind," Mi-yeong said quietly. "To her, and to you."

Rumi swallowed. "Yeah."

"And eat something," Mi-yeong added, because she couldn't not.

Rumi managed a weak huff of laughter. "I will."

Mi-yeong pointed toward the counter where a plate sat under cling wrap—cut pineapple, because of course it was. "Then take that. For later."

Rumi stared. "I'm not bringing fruit to her."

Mi-yeong's expression stayed mild. "You can eat it in her room if you want."

Rumi hesitated, then peeled the wrap back and stole a piece of pineapple purely out of spite. It was sweet enough to be annoying.

Mi-yeong watched her chew. "Good. Now go."

Rumi left before she could change her mind. The walk next door was still only a few steps. It felt longer when she counted each one. Mira's house looked quiet, curtains half drawn against the afternoon glare. Rumi knocked once, then immediately regretted being a person who knocked.

The door opened fast. Mira stood there like she'd been waiting close enough to hear the wood creak. She wasn't dressed up. Just a loose T-shirt and shorts, hair half-up, face bare except for a little lip balm sheen. She looked softer in daylight, in a way that made Rumi's chest tighten for entirely unhelpful reasons. Mira's eyes went straight to Rumi's face. Then to the tiger under her arm. Then back up.

"Hey," Mira said, voice carefully normal.

"Hey," Rumi echoed, equally careful.

Mira stepped back. "Come in."

Rumi slipped inside, toes automatically finding the edge of the doormat. Mira closed the door behind her and didn't lock it, as if this wasn't a big moment. As if Rumi could leave at any second and Mira wasn't thinking about it. Rumi followed Mira down the hall.

Mira glanced back at her as they reached her bedroom door. "Cot's awake."

Rumi's stomach did something stupidly relieved. Mira pushed the door open. Cot was in his pen, loafed on a blanket. His ears flopped out to either side, and he blinked slowly at the intrusion as though he was deciding whether to allow it to disturb his peace.

Rumi exhaled without meaning to.

Mira noticed. Of course.

"Water?" Mira asked, already moving toward her desk.

"I'm fine."

Mira grabbed a bottle anyway and tossed it lightly onto the bed. "Drink. You look like you're about to faint."

"I'm not," Rumi muttered.

Mira's mouth twitched. "Okay."

There was a pause where neither of them moved, like they were waiting for the other to start.

Rumi set the tiger on the bed like it was a third person they could hide behind. She hovered beside it for half a second, then sat near the edge, hands braced on her thighs. Mira stayed standing a moment longer, then crouched by Cot's pen and unlatched it. Cot hopped out at his own pace, sniffed the air, then made a slow, confident hop toward the bed.

Mira climbed up onto the other side of the bed, far enough away that the space between them still existed, close enough that Rumi could hear her breathe. Mira sat cross-legged, hands resting loosely in her lap, posture controlled like she was trying not to scare Rumi off.

Rumi stared at Cot's nose twitching. It was easier than looking at Mira.

Mira spoke first.

"So," Mira said. One word, and it held everything.

Rumi swallowed. "Yeah."

Mira waited. Rumi could feel the weight of Mira's gaze without looking up. The tiger sat by her hip like a witness. Cot shifted slightly, ears flopping, then went still again. Rumi took a breath and forced the words out before she lost them.

"I… heard you," she said.

Mira didn't move.

Rumi's voice got rougher. "That night. You probably thought I was asleep, but I heard you."

Mira's face stayed still, but something in her eyes changed—like the room sharpened around that sentence.

"How… how much did you hear?" Mira asked quietly.

Rumi's mouth went dry. "Enough."

Mira's throat bobbed once as she swallowed. She looked down at Cot for half a second, as if the rabbit was safer than Rumi's face, then looked back up.

"Okay," Mira said.

Rumi's fingers curled into the blanket. "I didn't… I don't… know what to do..." Rumi finally glanced up, because she needed to see whether Mira was angry. Mira wasn't angry. Mira looked like she was holding herself together with both hands. Rumi's chest tightened. "Did… did you mean it?"

Mira's eyes held hers. There was no teasing in them. No smirk. No escape route. "Yes," Mira said. Simple. Certain. "I meant it." A breath. "I wasn't trying to…" Mira whispered, voice low. "I said it because it's true, and… a little because I thought you couldn't hear me."

Rumi nodded and let out a soft chuckle, small and helpless.

Mira's mouth tightened briefly. "I'm not going to pretend it didn't happen. I'm not going to say I didn't mean it."

Rumi's throat stung. "Okay."

Mira's gaze flicked to the tiger beside Rumi, then back. "Is that why you've been… like that?"

Rumi hesitated. The answer was yes, but there were too many layers under it.

"I don't know," Rumi admitted, and hated that it sounded like a lie. "I mean—yes. Sort of. I just… I didn't know what I was supposed to do."

Mira's voice softened, just slightly. "You could've just told me."

Rumi's stomach twisted. "I know."

Cot shifted, then stretched out between them with total peace, like he hadn't just become the centre of an emotional crisis. Rumi watched his fur ripple as he breathed and tried to steal some calm from it.

"I'm not—" Rumi started, then stopped because the sentence was too big.

Mira stayed quiet. Waiting. Rumi took another breath, forcing herself to keep going even though her chest felt tight.

"I know I like you," Rumi said finally, the truth scraping out of her. "I'm not confused about that. I'm confused about… what I'm supposed to do with it. I'm confused about what it means. I've never… thought about it... about me like that… I've never had to."

Mira's gaze didn't soften into pity. It stayed steady.

Rumi's hands gripped the blanket. "I don't even know what I am," she admitted, voice thinner now. "I just know how you make me feel, and it's… a lot."

Mira swallowed. "Okay."

Rumi looked at her, frustrated and scared. "I'm not trying to be annoying. I'm saying it because I don't want to lie to you. And I don't want to—" Her voice caught. "I don't want to hurt you."

Mira's jaw tightened. The hurt was there, but it wasn't sharp. It was quieter than that.

"Then don't disappear," Mira said.

Rumi flinched, because it was fair.

Mira leaned forward slightly, elbows on her knees, still not crowding. "I can wait," she said, and it sounded like a decision, not a bargaining chip. "I can give you time. But I need you to tell me what time looks like, because I'm not doing this guessing thing again."

Rumi stared. "I don't know what it looks like."

Mira's eyes narrowed slightly. "Okay. Start smaller, then. What can you do."

Rumi's throat tightened. She hadn't expected Mira to be this… calm about it. She'd expected anger or teasing or a slammed door. She'd expected punishment. Instead Mira was sitting there asking her to be honest in manageable pieces.

Rumi swallowed. "I can… not avoid you."

Mira's mouth twitched faintly, like she appreciated the bluntness. "Good start."

"I can tell you if I'm overwhelmed," Rumi added, forcing the words out like they were weights. "Instead of just… going quiet."

Mira nodded once. "Thank you."

Rumi stared at Cot, then at Mira. "And you… you don't have to keep asking me every day. I can't handle that."

Mira's gaze stayed on her face. "I wasn't going to."

Rumi huffed a small breath. "You say that…"

Mira's eyes flickered. "Rumi, I'm not trying to trap you into saying something back. I'm not asking you to give me an answer you don't have."

Rumi's eyes stung again. She blinked hard. "Okay."

Mira's voice dropped, softer now. "I just want you near me. I want you to stop looking at me like you regret being in the same room."

Rumi's chest tightened so sharply she had to look away.

"I don't regret it," she said, and it came out too honest to take back. Rumi kept going because stopping would be worse. "It… I felt safe. That night. And then I freaked out because it felt safe. I don't want to mess it up. I… don't want to lose you."

Mira stared at her for a long beat.

Then she exhaled, slow. "Okay."

Rumi glanced up, wary.

Mira's eyes were glossy in a way that made Rumi's stomach drop. Mira didn't cry. She looked like she might, and that was worse.

"I can do safe," Mira said quietly. "I can do slow. I can do you figuring it out. I just need you to not shut me out while you do."

Rumi nodded, throat too tight for words. Cot shifted again, then pressed his nose against Rumi's knee, like he was checking in. Rumi's mouth twitched despite herself. She lifted her fingers and stroked his head lightly. Cot accepted it like a king being served.

Mira watched her do it, something soft flickering over her face.

Rumi's voice came out rough. "I'm sorry."

Mira shook her head once, small. "Don't apologise for not having it figured out."

Rumi looked at her. "I'm apologising for being mean…"

Mira's mouth tightened, then eased. "Fair."

Rumi swallowed. "I'll stop."

Mira nodded. "Good."

There was a pause where the air changed shape. Not solved. Not fixed. But less sharp.

Rumi looked down at her hands. Then, because she was apparently trying to be brave in tiny, painful increments, she asked, "Does it… make you feel stupid?"

Mira blinked. "What?"

Rumi's face heated. "Me. The… you liking me thing. Does it make you feel stupid?"

Mira stared at her for a beat, then let out a quiet breath that might've been a laugh if she'd allowed it.

"Yeah," Mira admitted. "Sometimes. Can't help it though, like I said, you're easy to like..."

Rumi's shoulders eased a fraction, relief stupidly sharp. "Good."

Mira's eyes narrowed. "Good?"

Rumi glanced up, flustered. "Not good good. I mean—at least it's not just me feeling stupid."

Mira's mouth twitched. "It's not just you." Mira shifted slightly on her side of the bed, still not crossing the space too quickly. "So," she said, carefully, "we're… okay?"

Rumi hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I think so."

Mira watched her for a beat longer, then nodded back. "Okay."

Rumi's fingers tightened around the blanket. "And… if I need time, I'll say it."

Mira's gaze stayed steady. "And if you need me to shut up for a bit, you'll say that too."

Rumi huffed a quiet laugh. "Okay."

Cot flopped suddenly and full-bodied, like he'd decided the emotional crisis was over and it was time for a nap. Rumi stared, then laughed properly—small, involuntary andwarm. Mira's face softened at the sound, the edge easing from her shoulders. Rumi reached automatically for the tiger and pulled it closer, as if she was allowed to.

Mira glanced at it, then at her, eyes gentler now. "You really brought him."

Rumi's face heated. "It helps."

Mira nodded, like she understood more than she said. "Okay."

Rumi's throat tightened again, but it didn't feel like panic this time. It felt like something settling.

She looked at Mira, held her gaze for a second longer than she usually could, and said quietly, "Thank you for not… making me feel stupid."

Mira's eyes softened. "Thank you for talking to me."

Rumi nodded. "I didn't want to… keep doing it wrong."

Mira's mouth twitched. "Then don't."

Cot shifted in his sleep, ears flopping, then went still.

The room stayed quiet for a while after that. Not awkward. Just quiet in the way it got when nothing needed to be defended for a minute.

Rumi didn't say it back. Not yet.

Mira didn't ask her to.

Later Next Week

By lunchtime, prom had become one of those topics that behaved like weather.

It didn't matter what you were doing. It didn't matter what you cared about. It drifted into every conversation anyway—tickets, outfits, plans, who was going with who, who was pretending they didn't care, who was pretending they did.

Rumi had been managing it the same way she managed most things that made her skin crawl: by keeping her head down and hoping it passed.

It wasn't passing.

Zoey's table was already loud when Rumi got there. It always was. Zoey was seated with her lunch open, talking with both hands like she was arguing her case in court. Jinu was across from her, looking like he'd been personally wronged by the universe. Mira sat beside Zoey, posture relaxed, expression half-amused, eyes doing that quiet tracking thing that had become painfully familiar lately.

Rumi dropped into her usual spot without hovering. That was progress, apparently. Her body still held tension like it was a job, but she didn't leave.

Zoey didn't pause her sentence to acknowledge her. She just kept going and slid an apple juice box across the table with her elbow like it was automatic.

"I'm telling you, it's insane," Zoey was saying, voice pitched just loud enough to cut through the cafeteria. "I've had three people ask me if the tickets are ‘actually running out' like I'm lying for fun. Like, yes. They're running out. We're not a stadium. We're a school gym with cheap fairy lights."

Jinu stabbed at his food. "It's because everyone waits until the last second. It's a sickness."

"It's not a sickness," Zoey replied. "It's a personality defect."

Rumi glanced down at her own lunch, then up again, because it was safer to listen than to think.

Jinu leaned back and looked at Mira. "You're going, right? Like… you're going-going. Not just showing up for ten minutes and leaving once you've collected enough compliments to sustain you through the winter."

Mira didn't even blink. "I don't collect compliments."

Zoey made a noise that was halfway laughter, halfway choking. "That's so embarrassing for you to say out loud."

Mira rolled her eyes. "I'm going because Zoey would make it my problem if I didn't."

Zoey nodded, satisfied. "Correct."

Jinu's phone buzzed on the table. He checked it and his face did that stupid soft thing it always did when Abby's name was on his screen. He tried to hide it by taking a drink. It didn't work.

Zoey leaned over. "Is Abby telling you what colour to wear?"

Jinu bristled. "No."

Mira glanced at him. "Yes."

Jinu looked personally offended. "He just said… he's deciding whether he wants a tie or no tie."

Zoey's eyes narrowed. "You know that's still him telling you what to wear."

"How?"

"Because he's gonna make you match with him."

Jinu's mouth bobbed open and closed, then after a beat: "Yeah. That's fair."

Rumi's mouth twitched at the edge of a smile. She caught Mira watching her for half a second—quick, quiet—and then Mira looked away like she hadn't.

Zoey kept rolling. "Anyway, I'm excited to see everyone pretend they're not nervous. I want to watch the boys who swear they don't care suddenly develop stage fright because they have to take one photo with a boutonniere and not look like they're about to cry."

Jinu raised his chin. "I will not cry."

Zoey looked at him with polite disbelief.

Mira's gaze slid to Rumi. "You okay?"

It was casual. It still made Rumi's stomach tighten in the way it always did when Mira asked anything that could be interpreted as care.

Rumi nodded once. "Yeah."

Mira's mouth softened a fraction, like she believed her enough to let it sit. Zoey was halfway through another sentence when someone stopped beside their table. Rumi didn't recognise him immediately by name—one of those people who lived in the same year level like background noise. Tall, neat uniform, slightly too much confidence for someone standing in front of Kang Mira.

He cleared his throat. "Mira."

Mira looked up, neutral. "Hey."

The guy's gaze flicked briefly to the rest of them, then back to Mira. "Uh. Are you going to prom?"

Mira's expression didn't change. "Yeah. Maybe."

He shifted his weight. "Cool. I was wondering if you wanted to go together."

The table went still. That uncomfortable second where you can feel everyone's attention lock onto one point. Rumi's throat went dry. She stared at the edge of her lunch container like it had become fascinating. Mira didn't look at Rumi. She didn't look at Zoey. She didn't look at Jinu. She kept her eyes on the guy and answered like a normal human being.

"That's really nice," Mira said. "But no."

The guy blinked. "Oh."

Mira softened her tone, just a touch, not cruel. "I'm flattered. I'm just… not doing it like that."

His cheeks went a little pink. "Right. Yeah. Okay."

Zoey, because she couldn't help herself, offered him an out without making it worse. "You can still go with friends…"

The guy gave her a grateful look. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll… yeah."

He backed away and disappeared into the cafeteria crowd with the kind of speed that suggested he'd be replaying this moment in his head for the next week. The table breathed again.

Jinu stared at Mira like she'd performed a magic trick. "That was… polite."

Mira glanced at him. "What did you want me to do?"

"I don't know," Jinu said honestly. "I just assumed you'd bite his head off. You seem like you could unhinge your jaw if you needed to."

Zoey laughed. "She only bites people who deserve it."

Mira leaned back in her chair. "He didn't do anything wrong."

Rumi kept chewing, slow and careful, pretending her hands weren't a little shaky for some unknown reason. Zoey watched Mira for a beat longer than normal, then went right back to the conversation like she hadn't just witnessed a social event.

"Okay," Zoey said briskly, "now that we've established Mira is capable of being a decent person, we're moving on. Jinu, are you doing dinner before prom or are you letting Abby feed you crackers and calling it a meal?"

Jinu scoffed. "First of all, Abby would never."

Mira's mouth twitched. "He would."

Zoey nodded solemnly. "He would. He's a 'chicken and rice is a full meal' kinda guy."

"You're all against me."

Rumi finally spoke, because the moment had opened up a gap and she needed to put something in it that wasn't her own thoughts.

"Are you going with Abby?" she asked, aiming for casual.

Jinu's face brightened, immediate and obvious. "Yes."

Zoey pointed at him. "He's been waiting for you to actually ask. Better get on it."

Jinu kicked her shin under the table. Zoey didn't flinch. She was probably immune. Rumi glanced toward Mira again without meaning to. Mira was watching Zoey with the same quiet amusement she always had when Zoey went off like a firework.

The guy who'd asked Mira was already gone, swallowed by the noise. Rumi's chest felt tight in a way she couldn't sort. Not jealousy. Something closer to… relief, maybe? The fact that Mira had said no so calmly, so easily, like it wasn't something she needed to perform.

Rumi didn't know what it meant. She didn't let herself dig.

Zoey's voice shifted again, inevitably back to the centre of the universe. "Okay, now that we're on the topic, Rumi—are you going?"

Rumi's chopsticks paused.

Mira's attention flicked to her so fast it almost felt physical.

Rumi forced herself to keep her voice steady. "I… don't know."

Zoey raised an eyebrow. "That's not an answer."

"Probably not." Rumi exhaled slowly. "It's not really my thing."

Zoey's expression softened in the smallest way. She didn't argue. She didn't lecture. "Okay."

Rumi kept going because Mira was watching her and she didn't want Mira having to guess.

"I'd rather just stay home," Rumi added, then, after a beat, "It's not… It's just the whole event. It's loud. It's a lot."

Jinu nodded like that made sense. "Fair."

Zoey shrugged. "I mean, I get it."

Mira didn't jump in with a joke. She didn't do the sly smile. She just nodded once, slow, and said, "Okay."

Rumi hated how much a single word made her stomach twist. Mira's gaze held hers for a second, steady and quiet. Then Mira looked down at her food and took a bite like she hadn't just swallowed something heavy.

Zoey—bless her rambunctious heart—immediately filled the space before it could become awkward.

"Anyway," she said, bright and relentless, "if anyone wants to know my prom plan, it's survival. That's it. I'm wearing shoes I can actually walk in, I'm eating before I go so I don't faint, and when I get bored, I'm leaving."

Mira snorted quietly, and Rumi caught the sound with her chest before she caught it with her ears. Rumi's fingers loosened around her chopsticks.

Lunch rolled forward. The conversation stayed loud and normal. Jinu complained about photos. Zoey threatened to reorganise the entire prom committee "for everyone's safety." Mira made dry comments that kept the table grounded. Rumi stayed present, even when her brain tried to drift.

At one point Mira mentioned Cot chewing through a cardboard tunnel like it was an escape mission and Rumi laughed once, brief and real. Mira glanced at her, and the look in her eyes softened for half a heartbeat.

Rumi pretended she hadn't seen it. When the bell rang, they all stood in that messy shuffle of bags and containers and last bites. Zoey was still talking as she walked, because Zoey didn't believe in silence.

Mira bumped Zoey's shoulder lightly. "Go to class."

Zoey groaned but obeyed, dragging Jinu with her like she owned him. Rumi was about to follow when Mira fell into step beside her without making a big thing of it. They walked down the corridor together.

It wasn't until they were outside after the last period, with the crowd spilling out of the gates and the afternoon air cooler than it had been at lunch, that Mira found her again.

"You alright?" Mira asked, quieter now, like the question had more room to be honest out here.

Rumi glanced sideways. "Yeah."

Mira hummed like she accepted it, then asked, "You're sure about staying home? Duirng prom, I mean."

Rumi hesitated just long enough to annoy herself. "I think so. I just don't… like all that."

Mira nodded. Her hands were in her pockets. Her posture was loose, but her voice stayed careful.

"Okay," Mira said. "I'm not going to try and talk you into it."

Rumi's chest loosened a fraction. She hadn't realised she was bracing for that.

They kept walking, shoulder to shoulder, the school fading behind them. They passed groups of students talking too loudly about weekend plans. Someone laughed. Someone shouted a name across the road.

Mira didn't add pressure. Mira didn't go quiet. Mira stayed there, walking beside her like she belonged right by her side. After a minute, Mira spoke again, like she'd chosen her words.

"But… if you change your mind," Mira said, "tell me."

Rumi swallowed. "Okay."

Mira glanced at her. "I mean it."

Rumi nodded, slower this time. "I will."

Mira's mouth twitched faintly. Not a smirk. Something smaller. "Good."

They turned onto their street together, the familiar houses lining the road like they always had. Their houses were already visible—their driveways, their shared fence line, the same stretch of pavement Rumi had walked a thousand times without thinking.

Now she thought about every step.

They slowed as they reached the point where their paths finally split—not at some dramatic corner, just the natural divide of two driveways side by side.

Mira stopped at her gate and looked over, one hand resting lightly on the latch. Rumi paused on her own side, bag strap biting into her shoulder. For a second, it felt like Mira might say something further. She didn't.

She just said, "See you later."

Rumi's throat tightened. "Yeah. See you."

Mira held her gaze for a beat, then nodded once and pushed her gate open.

Rumi watched her disappear toward her front door, and only then did she move again, walking into her own yard with Mira's words sitting in her chest like a small, steady weight.

If you change your mind, tell me.

That Weekend

The plant was, at least by now, in every measurable way, not alive.

Rumi knew that. She'd known it for a while. She'd known it the same way she knew she was running low on shampoo—as something she kept refusing to acknowledge because if she acknowledged it, she'd have to do something about it.

So she stood on the back step with the hose anyway, watering a pot of dirt and stubbornness like sunlight and effort could perform necromancy.

The afternoon was warm in that lazy weekend way, air thick with the smell of someone's barbecue two houses down and freshly cut grass from a lawn mower that had given up halfway through the street. The concrete under her bare feet held onto heat. The water arced out in a steady stream, darkening the soil that immediately drank it and stayed depressing.

Rumi was, if nothing else, still committed to the bit.

From next door, the sliding door rattled at the end of its track.

Rumi's hand tightened on the hose before her brain caught up. It was ridiculous that she still knew it was Mira without looking. The sound was the same as it had been four years ago. The exact little jolt at the end. The tiny pause like whoever was closing it couldn't be bothered to do it properly.

Rumi looked anyway.

Mira stepped out onto her deck with a drink in one hand and her phone in the other, hair half-up like she'd thrown it back without thinking. She was in a loose shirt and shorts, barefoot, shoulders relaxed like she wasn't carrying the kind of feelings that made Rumi's chest tighten if she thought about them too long.

Mira saw her immediately. Rumi hated that. Loved it. Both at once. Mira's eyes flicked to the hose, then to the pot. One eyebrow lifted.

"You're back on your nonsense," Mira called.

Rumi aimed the water at the pot harder, like the plant had betrayed her by not flourishing. "It's not nonsense."

Mira wandered closer to the fence line, stopping with her forearms resting along the top rail like it belonged to her. "Is it thriving?"

Rumi stared at the soil. "It's… trying."

Mira's mouth twitched.

"It's not dead," Rumi said automatically, because apparently her body hadn't updated its scripts.

Mira made a soft, unimpressed sound. "Rumi."

Rumi kept watering for another second out of sheer stubbornness, then finally shut the hose off and let it drop onto the step with a wet slap. She stared at the pot as if it might defend itself. Then she exhaled, slow, and said, very carefully, like the truth was something fragile.

"Okay," Rumi admitted. "It might be dead."

Mira's eyebrows shot up.

Rumi's face heated. "I said might."

Mira stared at her for half a beat, then laughed. It wasn't mean. It was that real, surprised laugh that seemed to come from somewhere behind Mira's usual sharpness, like she'd been waiting all year for Rumi to stop arguing with reality and couldn't believe it had finally happened.

Rumi glared at her while her stomach flipped in the stupidest way, because hearing Mira laugh at anything Rumi said still made her feel like she'd done something right.

"You're enjoying this," Rumi accused.

"Ruru." Mira wiped at the corner of her eye like she'd actually teared up from laughing. "You've been watering dirt for months."

"It was green once."

Mira's grin widened. "Rumi. No."

"It was," Rumi insisted, because she had dignity and she would die defending it.

Mira shook her head like she couldn't believe her. "I'm proud of you."

Rumi narrowed her eyes. "For what?"

"For finally joining the world the rest of us live in," Mira said, still amused.

Rumi snorted despite herself and looked away, because if she looked at Mira's face too long she'd start smiling and then she'd be doomed.

Mira leaned farther into the fence, relaxed now. "How was your week?"

Rumi's shoulders eased a fraction at the normal question. "Fine."

Mira's eyes narrowed slightly. "Actual fine or ‘fine'."

"Actual fine," Rumi said, then added, quieter, because she'd promised herself she'd stop doing the coward thing, "Just… a lot."

Mira's gaze softened. "Yeah."

The space between them went quiet in a way that wasn't quite awkward... just different. A bird chirped somewhere above them. In the distance, a car door slammed and someone shouted a name. The street kept existing.

Mira lifted her drink and took a sip, then glanced back at Rumi like she was checking whether she was still there. Rumi was. Unfortunately.

"What are you doing today?" Rumi asked, mostly because she needed to keep the conversation moving before her brain decided to panic.

Mira shrugged. "Nothing. Zoey tried to start a group chat about prom and I told her I'd rather eat glass then chug a litre of salt water."

"She would," Rumi muttered.

Mira huffed a quiet laugh. "She's acting like she's organising a wedding."

Rumi's mouth twitched. "She'd be good at that."

"She'd be terrifying," Mira corrected, then looked at her more carefully. "You still dead-set on staying home?"

Rumi's throat bobbed. She kept her eyes on the dead plant like it was safe.

"It's still not really my thing," she said, then, because honesty had started tasting like something she could swallow if she didn't chew too long, she added, "I'm staying home."

Mira didn't pounce on the hesitation. She didn't ask why. She didn't turn it into a debate.

She just nodded once.

"Okay," Mira said simply. "Still not going to pressure you."

Rumi exhaled without meaning to. Relief hit first, then something messier right behind it. Mira's gaze stayed on her face, steady in that way that made Rumi feel seen even when she wanted to hide.

Then Mira said, direct as a blade and somehow gentler for it, "But just so you know. If you ask me, I'd say yes."

Rumi froze.

The heat rushed up her neck so fast it felt like a physical thing. It probably was. She stared at Mira like she hadn't heard correctly, like Mira had accidentally dropped a live wire between them and was just standing there waiting to see if Rumi would touch it.

Rumi managed, thinly, "Why would you—?"

Mira tilted her head, eyes sharp and soft at the same time. "I'm not asking," she said.

Rumi's stomach flipped again.

Mira's voice stayed steady. "I'm just telling you I'd say yes."

Rumi's face burned. She hated that she couldn't control it. Hated that Mira could say one sentence and Rumi's whole body betrayed her like it had a separate set of loyalties.

She tightened her grip on the fence rail, knuckles whitening.

"Even if I hate it?" Rumi blurted, because she couldn't say the real thing, not yet. She couldn't say I want you there without it turning into something she didn't know how to hold.

Mira's mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Then I'll hate it with you."

Rumi swallowed. "That's not a good sell."

"I'm not trying to sell it," Mira said, like it was obvious.

Rumi stared at her, heart punching hard enough to make her ribs ache.

Mira's gaze didn't move. "You don't have to decide on anything right now," she added, voice quieter. "I'm not going to stand over you waiting for an answer."

Rumi's throat tightened. "Okay."

Mira lifted one shoulder in a small shrug, as if she could make something huge sound casual. "Just don't decide out of fear and call it your preference."

Rumi flinched, because it landed too close to the truth.

She looked back at the plant, suddenly furious with it for being the only safe thing to stare at.

"It's not fear," she muttered, stubborn even when it was pointless.

Mira didn't argue. She just watched her, and somehow that felt worse than being called out.

Rumi swallowed hard and tried again, softer this time. "I just… don't like being looked at."

Mira's expression eased, a fraction. "I know."

Rumi glanced up, caught by the gentleness. "You do?"

Mira's eyes held hers. "Yeah."

Rumi's chest tightened so sharply she had to look away again. Her fingers dug into the fence rail like it might keep her upright.

Mira let the silence sit for a moment, then shifted her weight and glanced toward the pot with a faint return of amusement. "So… what are we doing with the corpse? D'you need a place to hide a body?"

Rumi blinked, grateful for the escape hatch. "It's not—"

Mira lifted her brows. Rumi stopped.

Rumi exhaled through her nose. "Fine. It's dead."

Mira's laugh came back, softer this time. "Thank you."

Rumi rolled her eyes, but she couldn't stop the small smile tugging at her mouth. It slipped out anyway, traitorous. Mira caught it immediately. Of course she did. Her gaze warmed, and for half a second she looked… openly pleased, like she'd just been handed something she'd wanted without asking.

Rumi's face heated again.

She hated her life.

"I'll help you pick a new one," Mira said, voice lighter now. "Something that can survive you."

Rumi scoffed. "Nothing can survive me."

"Oh I don't know about that." Mira's eyes flicked over her face with that quiet attention again. "You kept me alive through committee season."

Rumi blinked. Her throat tightened on reflex.

"That doesn't count," Rumi muttered, because she had to say something.

Mira's smile turned small. "It counts."

They lingered in the afternoon quiet, both of them leaning toward the fence like it wasn't really a barrier at all. The street noise drifted around them. Somewhere, someone's dog barked once, then stopped, as if it had decided it had made its point. Rumi stared at the dead plant and felt her heart doing stupid, stupid things.

She didn't ask Mira to prom. She could. Not yet. But the sentence Mira had dropped so calmly—I'd say yes—sat in her chest like a warm weight she couldn't shake. Rumi turned the hose nozzle in her hands, then set it down carefully like she was done pretending.

"Okay," Rumi said, more to herself than to Mira.

Mira's gaze sharpened slightly. "Okay what?"

Rumi's cheeks flared hot again. "I don't… know. Just—okay."

Mira's mouth twitched. She didn't push. She didn't ask for clarity. She just nodded once, like she'd accept that for now.

"See you," Mira said softly.

Rumi nodded, unable to find the right words. "Yeah."

Mira pushed off the fence and stepped back toward her deck, drink in hand. Halfway there she glanced over her shoulder and held Rumi's gaze for a beat, quiet and steady. Then she went inside, the sliding door rattling closed behind her like a familiar punctuation mark.

Rumi stood on her own back step with the sun on her skin and a dead plant at her feet, face still warm, hands still gripping the fence rail like she'd forgotten how to let go. She looked down at the pot again.

Dead.

Definitely dead.

The Night Before Prom

Rumi tried to make Friday night feel normal.

She really did.

She showered. She changed into soft clothes. She ate most of her dinner because Mi-yeong watched her like a hawk and Celine didn't even have to say anything for Rumi to feel judged by the silence. She sat at the table and nodded at the right places while Mi-yeong talked about groceries and Celine mentioned something on the news. She even laughed once when Mi-yeong made a dry comment about how teenagers treated deadlines like urban legends.

Then she went upstairs and immediately fell apart in the quiet.

Her room was dim except for the desk lamp. The tiger plush sat on her bed where she'd left it, slightly lopsided, as if it had slumped in disappointment.

Rumi grabbed it anyway.

She sat on the edge of the mattress with the tiger in her lap and her phone in her hand, scrolling through messages she wasn't processing. Zoey's group chat spam. Jinu sending photos of suit options. Abby replying with one-word opinions that somewhat sounded like affection.

Zoey:
tomorrow photos at 5:30
if you're late i will kill you
(affectionately)

Jinu:
abbs says tie
i say no tie
this is awful

Abby:
tie.

Jinu:
>:(

Rumi stared at the screen until the acreen blurred.

She could picture it all too clearly without even trying. Fairy lights in the gym. A photo booth. People she'd known for years acting like this night mattered enough to survive it. Mira somewhere in the middle of it all, looking like herself and too much and exactly the kind of person other people wanted to stand next to. Rumi squeezed the tiger until the stitching dug into her fingers.

Her phone buzzed again.

Zoey:
final headcount for dinner
r u in or not

Rumi's thumb hovered over the keyboard.

She could lie. She could stall. She could say "maybe" and keep the door half open like she always did with scary things. But the truth was sitting right there, sharp enough to hurt: if she said "maybe" now, she would spend tomorrow panicking until it was too late anyway.

Rumi typed.

Rumi:
no i'm staying home

She hit send before she could backspace.

A second later, the little "seen" tick appeared. Zoey's reply came fast.

Zoey:
ok
love u
don't rot in your room
text me so i know you're alive

Jinu:
respect
also send pics of u in pajamas if you're staying home
i want to compare it to my suffering in a tie

Abby:
Leave her alone.

Jinu:
no ❤️

She locked her phone and dropped it onto the bed.

For a moment she just sat there, listening to the quiet house. The faint murmur of the TV downstairs. The clink of a dish. Celine's low voice responding to something Mi-yeong said.

Normal.

Rumi tried to hold onto it.

A knock landed on her door.

Rumi froze, tiger in her arms.

"Rumi?" Mi-yeong's voice, muffled through the wood. "You have a visitor."

Rumi's stomach dropped. "Who?"

"Mira."

Rumi's mouth went dry so fast it felt like her body was trying to protect itself.

She stood too quickly, knees knocking the bed frame, and for half a second she had no idea what to do with her hands. The tiger stayed clutched to her chest like an anchor. Rumi made herself move.

She opened her door, stepped into the hallway, and walked down the stairs like each step was a decision. The house was warm with light—kitchen bright, lounge lamp on, the front hall dimmer by comparison. Mi-yeong stood near the doorway with a dish towel over her shoulder. Celine was in the lounge armchair with a book open, eyes up and attentive.

And Mira was there.

She stood in the entryway like she didn't know what to do with her height in the small space, shoulders squared but tense. She was wearing a hoodie and shorts, hair half-up, face bare of makeup, but she looked more put together than Rumi felt. Not because of clothes. Because Mira looked… contained. Like she'd packed everything she was feeling into a small box and taped it shut.

Her eyes went straight to Rumi.

Then to the tiger in Rumi's arms.

Then back.

Mi-yeong gave Mira a small nod. "You can go up if you want. Or you can talk here."

Mira's voice came out steady. "Up is fine."

Celine closed her book gently and didn't stand, but her gaze stayed on Mira in a way that felt protective without being invasive. "Tea?"

Mira shook her head. "No, thank you."

Mi-yeong's eyes flicked to Rumi, then away, like she'd decided to trust her to handle this. "I'll be in the kitchen," she said simply.

Celine turned a page she wasn't reading. "We're here."

Rumi's throat tightened. She nodded once, then turned toward the stairs again.

Mira followed without speaking.

Upstairs, Rumi's room felt too small for both of them. The lamp made the corners warmer than they deserved to be. The tiger was still trapped in Rumi's arms, and now it felt stupidly obvious that she needed it.

Mira stood near the door at first, like she was giving Rumi the option of escape. Rumi set the tiger on the bed and sat on the edge like she'd done a thousand times.

Mira didn't sit. She stayed standing, hands in the front pocket of her hoodie, gaze fixed on the carpet for a beat like she was choosing her words carefully.

Rumi's pulse hammered.

Mira looked up.

"You told Zoey you're staying home," Mira said.

Rumi's throat went tight. "Yeah."

Mira's eyes sharpened. "Is that final?"

Rumi hesitated, and the hesitation was answer enough.

"I don't know," Rumi said, even though she did. "It's just… not my thing."

Mira's mouth twitched. Not a smile. Something harsher.

"You keep saying that," Mira said quietly.

Rumi swallowed. "Because it's true."

Mira took one step into the room, then stopped like she was forcing herself not to pace. Her voice stayed calm. That calm had teeth.

"You know I'd go with you," Mira said.

Rumi's stomach dropped.

Mira continued, eyes locked on hers. "You know I'd say yes."

Rumi's fingers curled around the edge of the mattress. "Mira—"

"So why won't you ask me?" Mira cut in, still controlled, still quiet. The question landed like a punch. "You don't have to love prom. You don't have to suddenly become someone who likes crowds. It's one night."

Rumi's heart thudded so hard it made her ears ring.

Mira's voice dipped slightly, raw leaking through the control. "Is it really that hard to choose me for one night?"

Rumi flinched. "It's not—"

"It feels like it is," Mira said, and the honesty in it made Rumi's chest ache. Mira's eyes shone, not with tears, but with that glossy edge of someone trying not to let themselves crack. "Because you can be close with me when it's private. God. You can fall asleep in my bed. You can sit with me. You can laugh with me. You can look at me like you want to be there."

Rumi's throat closed. She couldn't breathe properly.

Mira's jaw tightened. "And then when it's something obvious, when it's something people will see, you'd rather stay home than just… ask."

Rumi's hands shook. "I'm not ashamed of you."

Mira's laugh came out small and sharp, like it surprised even her. "Okay. Then what is it, Rumi?" Mira's voice went flatter, hurt settling into it. "Because it's starting to feel like you just don't want to."

Rumi's stomach twisted. "That's not true."

Mira held her gaze. "Then why can't you do this."

Rumi's eyes stung. She blinked hard.

Mira's voice stayed low, but the edge sharpened. "You can't even suck it up for a night?"

The sentence hit like a slap. Rumi jerked back as if she'd been touched. Mira immediately looked like she regretted the exact wording, but she didn't take it back. She stood there, breathing shallow, waiting for Rumi to say something real.

Rumi's chest heaved once. "It's not… I'm not trying to make you feel like that."

Mira's shoulders lifted in a tense breath. "But you are."

Rumi swallowed. Her fingers dug into the blanket. The tiger stared up at her, stupid and wide-eyed, like it couldn't believe she'd gotten herself into this.

Rumi forced herself to look at Mira properly.

"I'm scared," she said.

Mira's eyes narrowed, like she didn't want to accept an easy answer.

Rumi's voice shook anyway. "I'm scared I'll mess it up."

Mira didn't move.

Rumi kept going, because if she stopped she'd lose it. "I'm scared I'll freeze, or I'll panic, or I'll say the wrong thing, or I'll look stupid, and then you'll look at me differently and—" Her voice caught. She swallowed hard. "And then I lose you."

Mira's expression changed. Not softened completely, but shifted into something more pained than angry.

Rumi's throat burned. "You're asking me to do a thing where everyone looks at you, and then they look at me next to you, and I don't know how to be that person."

Mira's lips parted like she wanted to argue, then closed again.

Rumi stared down at her own hands, furious with herself for shaking. "And I know that sounds pathetic. I know it does. But I can't pretend it doesn't feel like… like I'm stepping into something I don't have the right words for."

Mira's voice came quieter, and it wasn't as sharp now. "I'm not asking you for words."

Rumi looked up.

Mira's eyes held hers. "I'm asking you to stop letting your fear make decisions for you."

Rumi's throat tightened again. "I'm trying."

Mira nodded once, slow. "I know. I know you are."

Then Mira exhaled and some of the control in her posture slipped, just a fraction.

"I meant it when I said I'd give you time," Mira said. "I meant it when I said I wouldn't pressure you."

Rumi's chest squeezed. "Then—"

Mira cut her off, gentler than before but firmer. "But I can't keep standing in front of an open door while you stare at it and act like you don't care."

Rumi flinched, because it was true.

Mira's voice roughened slightly. "You say you're so scared of losing me you're pushing me away anyway."

Mira stared at her for a beat, eyes bright in a way that made Rumi want to crawl out of her own skin. Then Mira looked away first.

"I can't do this tonight," Mira said quietly.

Rumi's heart lurched. "Mira—"

Mira shook her head once. "No. Don't."

Her voice stayed calm, but her hands were tight in her hoodie pocket like she was gripping the seams.

"I'm going tomorrow," Mira said. "With Zoey, with whoever. I'll do the stupid photos. I'll smile. I'll survive it."

Rumi's chest felt hollow.

Mira looked back at her, the hurt in her eyes sharp and bare now. "And I'm not going to stand outside your door waiting for you to decide whether I'm worth asking." Mira's mouth tightened. "Goodnight, Rumi."

She turned toward the door.

Rumi stood up on instinct, like she might stop her, but her feet didn't move fast enough and her pride tangled with her fear and kept her rooted.

"Mira," Rumi managed, voice broken.

Mira paused in the doorway with her hand on the knob, shoulders tense. She didn't look back. Rumi stood there staring at the closed door like it had slammed, even though it hadn't.

Downstairs, the front door opened and shut. Mi-yeong's voice murmured something low—soft enough Rumi couldn't hear. Mira's voice answered, equally low. Then the house went still again.

Rumi sank onto her bed, hands shaking, and pulled the tiger to her chest like it could hold her ribs together.

The fear in her was still there, loud and hot.

But underneath it was something else now, colder and clearer: consequence.

Mira had been right. Rumi had been so terrified of messing it up that she'd done the one thing guaranteed to. She stared at her phone on the bed, screen dark, and for the first time she didn't think about prom as an event.

She thought about tomorrow as a line in the sand. And she realised, with a sick twist in her stomach, that staying home wasn't going to keep her safe.

It was going to leave her alone.

Prom.

Rumi tried to treat prom night like any other night.

It was a lie she told herself with the kind of confidence that only worked if she didn't look at her phone, didn't look out the window, didn't think too hard about the fact that the whole year level was currently dressing up and pretending they weren't terrified.

Downstairs, the house was warm and quiet. Mi-yeong had put the dishwasher on. Celine had a book open in the lounge, feet tucked under her on the couch like she owned the place—which she did. The TV was on low, some show neither of them was actually watching, more ambience than entertainment.

Rumi was upstairs in her room, in an old T-shirt and shorts, hair still damp from a shower she'd taken out of habit. She sat on the edge of her bed with her phone in her hand and a hollow feeling in her chest like someone had scooped something out and left air behind.

The tiger plush stared at her.

Rumi ignored it.

Her screen was a mess of notifications.

Zoey posted a story—fairy lights strung around the gym, the caption something like surviving. Jinu sent a selfie in a suit jacket that looked like it had been wrestled onto him. Abby was behind him with one arm slung over his shoulder, looking infuriatingly calm. Jinu had scribbled help over the photo in bright text.

Another story popped up. A group photo by the entrance banner, people grinning too hard.

Then, halfway through the next one, Mira appeared. Laughing at something Zoey said, hair done, outfit chosen, eyeliner sharp enough to cut. She looked like herself and like someone else at the same time, the version of Mira the whole school was allowed to see.

It's fine. She's fine. She's going to have fun. She'll be surrounded by people. She won't miss you. You didn't ask. You don't get to feel this.

Her stomach twisted at the thought of Mira dancing with someone else, Mira taking photos with someone else, Mira being held by someone else because Rumi had been too scared to do it. The risk of Mira being loved by someone else.

The sentence that had been hovering around her for weeks finally landed with weight.

I love her.

The thought made her feel sick and relieved at the same time, like she'd finally admitted she'd been bleeding. Rumi looked down at her hands, then at the tiger plush, then back at the door. Her heartbeat sped up. She stood so fast the bed frame creaked.

Rumi crossed to the tiger and stared at it for a second, fingers twitching like she might grab it out of reflex. She didn't. She forced herself to step back.

She wasn't taking it of course. She wasn't bringing a comfort object to prom like some sort of cartoon. And if she was going to do this, she was going to do it as herself. Rumi grabbed her hoodie off the chair, shoved her feet into sneakers, and snatched her phone from the bed. No makeup. No dress. No plan.

She was halfway down the stairs before her brain caught up and tried to stop her.

Mi-yeong looked up from the kitchen doorway. "Rumi-ah?"

Rumi's voice came out too fast. "I'm going out."

Celine's book lowered slightly. "Now?"

Rumi didn't slow down. "Yeah."

Mi-yeong's eyes narrowed, reading everything in her posture. "Where?"

Rumi hesitated for half a second and hated herself for it. "School."

Mi-yeong blinked. Celine's expression didn't change, but her eyes sharpened.

"Do you need a ride?" Celine asked, already shifting like she'd stand.

"No," Rumi said, then immediately, because lying was a habit and she was bad at it when she was panicking, "Yes."

Mi-yeong was already reaching for her keys. "Shoes," she reminded Rumi, like Rumi hadn't just shoved hers on with no socks.

Rumi stared at her. "You're taking me?"

Mi-yeong gave her a look that said obviously. "Go get socks. Quickly."

Rumi ran back up the stairs, grabbed the first pair she could find, and was back down again in thirty seconds, jamming them on in the entryway like her life depended on it.

Celine had stood, book forgotten on the couch. She didn't ask questions. She just stepped into Rumi's space, adjusted the hoodie collar where it sat crooked on her neck, and looked at her with calm, steady eyes.

"Be honest," Celine said quietly.

Rumi's throat tightened. "I'm trying… I will."

Celine nodded once. "Good."

Mi-yeong opened the front door. The cold night air hit Rumi's face like a slap.

They drove in near silence.

Mi-yeong didn't ask why. Celine didn't fill the space. The road lights streaked past. Somewhere in the distance, a cluster of cars turned toward the school, headlights bright, music leaking faintly out of open windows.

Rumi's knee bounced the entire way. She pressed her palms flat to her thighs to stop it. It didn't work.

When they pulled up near the school, Rumi could already hear the music thumping through the gym walls. Fairy lights looped around the fence line and along the entrance to the hall. Teenagers in suits and dresses clustered outside taking photos under the banner, laughing too loudly, posing like the night was something they could hold still.

Mi-yeong parked and turned the engine off.

Rumi's hand hovered over the door handle.

Mi-yeong spoke softly. "If it's too much, you can leave."

Rumi swallowed. "I know."

Celine leaned slightly toward her from the back seat. "You don't have to do it perfectly."

Rumi nodded, then forced herself to open the door.

The cold air bit at her bare legs. She suddenly became painfully aware of her outfit: hoodie, shorts, sneakers, hair damp, no ticket. She looked like she'd wandered out to get milk and accidentally ended up at prom.

Rumi walked anyway.

The closer she got, the louder everything became. The music. The chatter. The click of cameras. A teacher's laughter. Someone yelling a name across the courtyard.

At the gym entrance, there were two teachers with clipboards and wristbands, checking tickets and scanning faces. People flashed printed slips, showed QR codes on phones, got waved through.

Rumi approached like she belonged.

She didn't belong.

A teacher she recognised from English glanced at her, then frowned. "Rumi?"

Rumi's mouth went dry. "Hi."

The teacher's eyes flicked over her hoodie and sneakers. "Do you have a ticket?"

Rumi hesitated. It was such a stupid question. Of course she didn't.

"I—" she started.

The teacher's expression softened, but only a little. "You need a ticket to come in."

"I'm just—" Rumi tried again, because her brain was still catching up to her body. "I just need to—"

"And dress code," the teacher added gently, as if she was trying not to embarrass her. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."

Rumi's ears burned. She nodded too fast and stepped back before she did something worse, like cry in front of the entrance banner. She moved away from the crowd and stood beside the wall near the side of the building, breathing hard like she'd run the whole way.

In her head, she could hear Mira's voice from last night. I'm not going to stand outside your door waiting for you to decide whether I'm worth asking.

Rumi pressed her forehead briefly to the cool brick. She could leave. Right now and pretend she hadn't tried. She could stay safe and lonely. Her stomach twisted.

No.

She wasn't doing that again.

Rumi pushed off the wall and started walking, circling the gym. The back of the building was darker, quieter, mostly empty except for stray fairy lights looping around a fence and a couple of teachers' cars parked crookedly in the staff lot. A side door was propped open a crack, held by a wedge of something dark.

Rumi stopped. Then she took one look at her own hands shaking and decided she could deal with ethics later. Rumi waited. Counted to three like that would make her braver. Then slipped through the door fast, squeezing herself inside and pulling it closed behind her as gently as she could.

The sound of the music hit her full in the chest. Heat, lights, bodies. The gym was transformed—fairy lights strung across the ceiling like a net, a cheap fog machine doing its best, a photo booth near the wall, tables set up with plastic cups and snacks. People clustered everywhere, laughing and filming and dancing.

Rumi stood in the shadow by the door for a second, heart galloping. She looked wrong. She knew she did. Hoodie among gowns. Sneakers among heels. She could feel eyes slide over her and slide away again, confused.

Someone brushed past her holding a tray of cups and said without looking, "Can you put these on table three?"

Rumi nodded like she'd been assigned a task and moved forward so she wouldn't be in the way. If she acted like she belonged, maybe the universe would go along with it. She scanned the room, searching for one dark pink head, one familiar jawline, one person who made her whole body feel like it was made of nerves.

Nothing.

Rumi moved again, weaving between clusters, ducking around a group taking selfies by the banner inside, past the edge of the dance floor where people were jumping to something loud and chaotic. She spotted Zoey first—of course she did—hair up, dress glittering under the lights, shouting over the music at someone who was filming. Zoey saw her and froze so hard it was almost comical.

Zoey's mouth dropped open.

Then her eyes widened and she slapped a hand over her lips like she was trying not to scream.

Rumi didn't stop. She couldn't. If she stopped, she'd lose momentum and then she'd run.

Zoey pointed, frantic, clearly saying something to someone beside her.

Jinu turned.

Jinu's face lit up like Christmas. He looked at Abby, then back at Rumi, and his grin turned feral. Abby's eyebrows lifted in surprise, then he watched Rumi with quiet, impressed attention like he already understood the whole story without being told.

Jinu brought two fingers to his lips and did the kind of sharp whistle that made half the gym glance over.

Rumi flipped him off without slowing down.

Jinu looked delighted.

Rumi finally saw Mira near the edge of the dance floor. She wasn't dancing at that moment. She was holding a drink, expression calm enough to pass, eyes scanning the room like she wasn't fully present.

Then Mira's gaze landed on Rumi. Mira went still. Like someone had turned the volume down inside her head. For a second, she looked like she couldn't process what she was seeing. Rumi's heart punched hard enough to hurt.

She kept walking.

Mira's drink lowered slowly. Her lips parted. She didn't move at first, as if her body needed permission. Then she stepped forward. The space between them closed in a handful of seconds that felt like the longest walk of Rumi's life.

Mira stopped right in front of her.

Rumi could see the details up close: eyeliner sharp, hair styled in a way Rumi had never seen outside of school events, dress dark and simple but devastating on her. Mira looked like prom in human form and Rumi looked like she'd escaped from a laundry room.

Mira's eyes flicked over Rumi's hoodie, her sneakers, the flush in her cheeks.

Then Mira looked at her face.

"What are you doing here?" Mira said, voice low, almost swallowed by the music.

Rumi swallowed. Her mouth was dry. Her hands were shaking and she didn't have the tiger to hide behind and she didn't have time to find a better sentence.

"I—" Rumi started, and her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and tried again, louder. "I couldn't stay home." Rumi's chest heaved. She took a breath and forced the words out before fear could choke them. "I'm sorry," she said, because she had to start somewhere. "About last night. About everything."

Mira's jaw tightened, but she didn't turn away. "You don't have a ticket."

"I know."

"You're… wearing a hoodie."

"I know," Rumi said again, and then, because she was done being managed by embarrassment, she added, quieter, "I didn't come to impress..."

Mira's mouth twitched, and it almost looked like a smile. Almost.

Rumi stared at her, heart pounding. "I came because I—" She stopped, swallowed hard, then said it anyway, blunt because she didn't have the skill for pretty. "I-I love you."

Mira's whole face changed. For a second she looked like she might shatter. Then she whispered, so quietly Rumi almost didn't hear it under the bass, "Are you sure?"

Rumi nodded once, sharp. "Yeah."

Mira stared at her like she was trying to make sure this wasn't a hallucination. Her eyes glistened in the gym light, and the sight made Rumi's chest ache so hard she wanted to take it back just so she could say it again in a calmer room.

"I didn't—" Rumi began, stumbling. " I just—" She breathed in, shaky. "It hit me. I love you. I've… been loving you. I just didn't know until... until I saw you tonight."

Mira's throat bobbed.

Rumi kept going, voice rushing now that the dam had cracked. "And I kept thinking if I asked you and I went and I panicked and I made it weird, you'd leave. But you leaving last night felt worse than every thing I invented. So I came. I don't have—" She gestured vaguely at herself. "I don't have any of this. I just have… you. If… If you'll let me…"

Mira's eyes stayed on her face, steady now, something fierce and soft wrapped together.

"You came," Mira said again, like she was still trying to believe it.

Rumi nodded, throat tight. "Yeah."

"Broke a lot of rules getting in here."

"Worth it."

Mira's hand lifted, hesitated, then settled on Rumi's wrist like she was anchoring her. The touch was warm and grounding and it made Rumi's eyes sting.

The music shifted—something slower bleeding in after the loud song ended. People groaned, then cheered, then rearranged themselves into couples and clusters like it was a scripted part of the night.

Mira glanced toward the dance floor, then back to Rumi. Her voice dropped even lower. "Do you want to dance."

Rumi blinked. "Here?"

Mira's mouth curved slightly. "Unless you'd prefer to do it in the hallway like a weirdo."

Rumi let out a breath that might have been a laugh if she wasn't shaking. "I'm already a weirdo."

"I know," Mira said, and the affection in it made Rumi's stomach flip. "But you're mine."

Mira held her hand out. Rumi stared at it like it was sacred. Then she took it.

Mira led her onto the dance floor like it was the most natural thing in the world, like Rumi didn't look out of place, like nobody could take this from them. Mira's other hand settled at Rumi's waist through the hoodie, firm and steady.

Rumi's hands didn't know where to go. She hovered for half a second, then set one hand on Mira's shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric like she needed proof Mira was real.

Mira leaned in just slightly, enough that her breath warmed Rumi's cheek. "Breathe," she murmured.

Rumi exhaled, shaky. "I am."

Mira snorted softly. "Not like that."

They swayed. Slow. Awkward for one beat, then less awkward as Rumi's body remembered what it felt like to be close to Mira without fighting it.

Rumi could hear the room around them—the chatter, the laughter, the squeak of shoes on polished gym floor, someone whisper-yelling "awww!" somewhere near the edge.

Mira's gaze held hers, unblinking.

"You're actually here," Mira said quietly.

Rumi nodded. "I'm actually here."

Mira's mouth tightened like she was holding back too much. "You scared the hell out of me."

Rumi swallowed. "I know."

Mira's eyes flicked to Rumi's mouth for a fraction, then back up. "Say it again."

Rumi's breath caught. "What?"

Mira's voice was almost rough. "The love part."

Rumi's face heated. She couldn't help it. "I love you," she said, softer this time, steadier.

Mira's eyes shone. Her hand at Rumi's waist tightened slightly, like she was bracing herself.

Then Mira kissed her. It wasn't a peck. It wasn't tentative. It was full and real and right there under fairy lights in the middle of a gym full of people.

Rumi made a small sound into the kiss that might've been surprise, might've been relief. Her hands slid up Mira's shoulders instinctively, gripping like she was afraid Mira would vanish if she didn't hold on.

Somewhere nearby, someone screamed like they'd just witnessed a sports victory.

Zoey's voice rose above the noise, loud and triumphant. "FINALLY!"

Rumi broke the kiss just enough to breathe, forehead almost touching Mira's.

Mira's mouth curved, trembling slightly. "Hi."

Rumi huffed a laugh, breathless. "Hi."

At the edge of the dance floor, Jinu was watching with his whole face lit up, Abby's arm snug around his waist. Zoey stood beside them with both hands over her mouth like she couldn't decide whether to cry or yell.

Jinu reached into his pocket and, without looking away from the dance floor, slid a crumpled ten-dollar note into Zoey's hand.

Zoey snatched it like she'd earned it on principle. "Told ya they'd kiss."

"I'm more surprised she even came…"

"Ye of little faith."

Abby leaned down and murmured something in Jinu's ear that made Jinu grin even wider, which should've been impossible. Rumi barely processed it. She was still trying to understand the fact that Mira's mouth had been on hers and the world hadn't ended.

Then the world remembered it had rules.

A hand touched Rumi's shoulder.

"Excuse me."

Rumi froze.

Mira's posture changed instantly, tension snapping back through her like a wire tightening. She turned slowly.

One of the teachers stood there—clipboard in hand, expression firm but not cruel. Another teacher hovered a step behind, eyes flicking over Rumi's hoodie and sneakers with the resigned look of someone who had already guessed what was happening.

The first teacher spoke again, voice raised just enough to be heard over the music. "Rumi, is it?"

Rumi's mouth went dry. "Yes."

"Do you have a ticket?" the teacher asked, and it wasn't really a question anymore.

Rumi's cheeks burned. "No."

"And you're not in dress code," the second teacher added, softer, like she didn't enjoy being the bad guy.

Rumi's throat tightened. "I just—"

The first teacher held up a hand, stopping her. "I understand. But you can't be in here without a ticket. We can't—" she glanced at the crowd, the dance floor, the attention starting to ripple, "—make exceptions."

Rumi's stomach dropped through the floor. Mira's hand tightened around hers. Rumi looked up at Mira, panic rising. Mira's expression was controlled, but her eyes were sharp with anger—not at Rumi. At the situation. At the timing. At the fact the world kept intruding.

Rumi swallowed. "I'll go."

The teacher nodded, relief flickering in her expression like she'd been hoping Rumi wouldn't make it harder. "Thank you. We'll walk you out."

Mira's voice cut in, low and steady. "No."

Both teachers blinked.

Mira stepped slightly closer to Rumi, shoulder angling as if she could block the whole staff body with her presence. Her voice didn't rise. She didn't swear. She didn't cause a scene.

She just made a choice.

"I'm leaving too," Mira said.

The first teacher looked startled. "You have a ticket."

Mira didn't look at her. She looked at Rumi. "I'm leaving."

Rumi's throat tightened. "Mira, you don't have to—"

"I want to," Mira said, so simple it stole Rumi's breath. Then, to the teachers, still calm: "She's not going out alone."

The second teacher sighed like she'd expected teenage drama but not this flavour of it. The first teacher hesitated, then nodded, resigned. "Alright. If you're leaving, you need to sign out. Both of you."

Mira didn't argue. She squeezed Rumi's hand once, firm, and started guiding her toward the edge of the dance floor.

Zoey's mouth opened, closed, then she looked at Rumi, and the expression she gave her was loud even without words: Go. Fix it. Don't waste it.

Jinu made a noise and flung his arms around Abby like he was about to faint. "This is the most romantic thing I've ever seen in my life."

Mira and Rumi moved through the gym toward the signing table, the music still playing behind them like the night didn't care. People watched as they passed. Some looked confused. Some looked amused. Some looked like they'd just witnessed a live soap opera.

Rumi's face burned the whole way. Mira held her hand like she didn't care who saw.

The teacher nodded toward the door. "Goodnight."

Mira's "Goodnight" came out polite and blank.

Rumi couldn't manage anything but a tight nod.

They stepped outside, and the cold air hit Rumi like a reset button. The bass from inside muffled behind the doors, replaced by distant laughter and the hum of cars and the squeak of someone's heels on the path.

Rumi stood there for a second, blinking fast, humiliation and adrenaline crashing together in her chest.

Mira didn't let go of her hand.

Rumi finally whispered, "I'm sorry."

Mira turned her head slightly. Her voice was quiet, edged with something fierce. "Don't."

Rumi swallowed. "But I—"

Mira's mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "I know."

Rumi stared at her. "You wanted to be there."

"I wanted to be there with you," Mira corrected, and the simplicity of it made Rumi's throat ache.

Rumi's eyes stung. "I ruined it."

Mira shook her head once. "You didn't. You showed up."

Rumi let out a shaky breath that sounded almost like a laugh. "And then got us kicked out."

Mira's eyes flicked to her hoodie, then back to her face. "Worth it."

Rumi blinked. "You're insane."

Mira's mouth finally curved properly. "I know."

Rumi's heart did that stupid flip again. Mira's car was parked in the lot under a streetlight. She unlocked it with her fob, opened the passenger door for Rumi like it was automatic, then walked around and got in.

The heater blew lukewarm air almost immediately. Mira turned it up without asking.

Rumi sat with her hands in her lap, still shaking slightly, staring at her own knees like they were safer than Mira's face.

They pulled out of the lot. The school fell behind them, fairy lights shrinking into a soft glow in the rearview mirror.

For a minute, neither of them spoke.

Then Rumi said quietly, "I really do."

Mira's hands tightened on the steering wheel for half a second. "What?"

Rumi swallowed. "Love you."

Mira didn't look at her, but her voice softened. "Yeah?"

Rumi nodded even though Mira couldn't see. "Yeah."

Mira exhaled slowly, like she'd been holding her breath for weeks. "Okay."

Rumi turned her head toward the window, watching streetlights pass. Her cheeks were still hot. Her mouth still tasted like Mira. The whole night felt unreal in the best and worst ways. Mira's house came into view, quiet and dark except for the porch light. Mira parked in the driveway and turned the engine off.

"My parents are out," Mira said, as if she needed to justify the quiet. "Date night. They won't be back for a while."

They went inside together, slipping shoes off by the door like it was just another evening. The house smelled faintly like clean laundry and whatever candle Soo-Yun always lit in the hallway. The living room was dim, lit only by a lamp in the corner.

Mira didn't turn the big lights on. She flicked the lamp brighter and set her keys down with a soft clack. Rumi stood near the doorway, suddenly unsure what to do with her hands again now that they weren't in a crisis.

Mira turned to look at her.

The prom makeup made Mira's eyes look darker. The soft light caught the shimmer on her eyelids. She looked unreal. Too much for a living room. Mira's gaze slid over Rumi's hoodie and messy hair, and instead of amusement, her expression softened.

"You're shaking," Mira said quietly.

Rumi swallowed. "Adrenaline."

Mira stepped closer. Close enough that Rumi could feel her warmth.

"Do you want to dance?" Mira asked, voice low.

Rumi blinked. "Here?"

Mira's mouth twitched. "Unless you'd prefer the kitchen."

Rumi huffed a small laugh. Mira nodded once like that was settled, then reached for her phone on the side table. She tapped the screen a few times, and soft music filled the room—something slow, not the prom DJ's bass-heavy chaos. Something that sounded like breathing.

Mira held her hand out again, exactly the same way she had in the gym. Rumi stared at it for half a second, then took it. Mira drew her in gently, one hand settling at Rumi's waist like it belonged there. Rumi's hands found Mira's shoulders, fingers curling into fabric the way they had before.

They swayed.

The living room was quiet except for the music and their breathing. No lights flashing. No teachers. No eyes. Rumi's body unclenched in tiny increments, like she was finally allowed to exist in the moment without bracing for consequence.

Mira's forehead dipped slightly, almost touching Rumi's. "Better?"

Rumi exhaled. "Yeah."

Mira's hand moved—slow, careful—up Rumi's back, fingers pressing lightly as if she was checking that Rumi was real.

Rumi swallowed, voice rough. "I'm sorry I didn't ask."

Mira's mouth tightened for a second, then eased. "I know."

Rumi looked up. "You do?"

Mira's eyes held hers. "Yeah. You were scared."

Rumi's throat tightened. "I still am."

Mira nodded once, like that was allowed. "Okay."

Rumi's fingers tightened on Mira's shoulders. "But I'm still here."

Mira's expression softened, and something bright flickered behind her eyes like relief trying to become joy.

"You're here," Mira echoed.

Rumi nodded. "Yeah."

Mira's mouth brushed Rumi's in a kiss. It was slower than the one under fairy lights. More certain. Like they were picking up the thread exactly where they'd been cut off. Rumi kissed her back with shaking hands and a steady heart for the first time in what felt like forever. When they pulled apart, they stayed close, still swaying, still breathing in the same pocket of air.

Mira's eyes searched hers. "Say it again."

Rumi's chest tightened, then eased, and she let the truth out like it belonged in the room. "I love you."

Mira's smile was small and wrecked and real. She pulled Rumi closer and held her like she wasn't letting go again. Outside, the world stayed the same—cars passing, distant music somewhere, the neighbour's dog barking once. Inside Mira's living room, under a single warm lamp, Rumi finally stopped running long enough to let love be what it was: terrifying, obvious, and hers.

Dinner With The Mums

Sunday evening felt like the first time Rumi had ever been aware of her own house. Rumi had lived here for years. But tonight it felt like a stage. She stood in her room with her hair half-dried and a clean shirt on, staring at herself in the mirror like she was waiting for her reflection to give her instructions.

Her phone buzzed on her bed.

Mira:
u home

Rumi's stomach flipped, immediate and stupid.

Rumi:
yeah

Three dots.

Mira:
good

Then:

Mira:
because you've been avoiding the question
u know i'm not gonna pressure you

Rumi stared at the screen until her ears went hot.

She wasn't avoiding—

Okay. She was.

Ever since last night, the words had been hovering in the air between them like something delicate they both kept walking around.

They'd said the big thing. They'd kissed. They'd left prom together. They'd slow danced in Mira's living room like the world couldn't reach them there.

And still, somehow, Rumi hadn't managed to ask the smallest thing.

Girlfriends?

Rumi picked up her phone with both hands like it might bite.

Rumi:
i'm not avoiding anything

Mira:
mm

Rumi could hear the exact tone in that single syllable and hated that she could. Rumi shoved the phone into her hoodie pocket and left her room before she could change her mind.

Downstairs, Mi-yeong was at the stove, the kitchen warm with sesame oil and garlic and something simmering that made Rumi's stomach growl even though her nerves were doing their best to turn her into dust. Celine was at the counter chopping spring onions with calm precision, the sort of calm that always made Rumi feel like she was the one being dramatic for having feelings at all.

Mi-yeong glanced over her shoulder. "You're stomping."

"I'm not stomping," Rumi muttered.

Celine didn't look up. "You are."

Rumi leaned against the fridge, arms folded. "Okay, well. I'm… walking with intention."

Mi-yeong's mouth twitched. "Where is that intention going?"

Rumi stared at the tiles. "Mira's coming for dinner."

Mi-yeong hummed like she'd known before the sentence finished. "Mm."

Celine kept chopping. "What time?"

"Soon," Rumi said. Then, because she wasn't going to survive the whole evening on half-truths, she added quickly, "And—"

Mi-yeong turned slightly, spoon still in hand. "And?"

Rumi's throat tightened. She felt fourteen years old for no reason. "And… hopefully she's… coming as my girlfriend."

Silence.

Mi-yeong's eyes softened. "Okay."

Celine finally looked up, and her expression was composed in the way it always was, but there was something warm in the corners. "Alright."

Rumi blinked. "That's… it?"

Mi-yeong turned back to the stove. "What did you want, a parade?"

Rumi stared. "I don't know."

Celine resumed chopping. "Do you want a parade?"

"No!"

Mi-yeong's shoulders shook once, like she'd laughed silently and refused to admit it. "Then eat the kimchi and stop hovering."

Rumi opened her mouth, then closed it, because she didn't have a good comeback. She stole a piece of cucumber from the side dish and chewed it for probably a bit too long.

Her phone buzzed again in her pocket.

Mira:
come outside

Rumi's heart jumped. She pulled it out and stared at the message.

Rumi:
why

Mira:
because i said so
:)

Rumi's mouth twitched despite herself.

Rumi:
bossy

Mira:
yes

Rumi shoved her phone back in her pocket and headed for the back door before she could overthink it.

Outside, the air was cooler than it had been yesterday. The light was fading toward evening, the sky bruising purple at the edges. The fence line between their yards sat there like it always had, simple wood and habit.

Mira was already on her side, sitting on the deck step with her elbows on her knees, hair half-up, a faint smudge of something—lip balm, maybe—catching the light when she turned her head.

She looked up when Rumi stepped out.

Rumi stopped automatically, as if her body still hadn't accepted that Mira was allowed to look at her like that.

Mira's eyes flicked over her once, slow and quiet, and then she said, "You look like you're about to run."

"I'm not," Rumi said, too fast.

Mira's mouth twitched. "Mm."

Rumi narrowed her eyes. "Stop doing that."

Mira didn't. She just patted the step beside her, the universal gesture for come here.

Rumi hesitated. The fence was between them. The step was on Mira's side. Rumi could just stay on her own deck and pretend she was fine.

Instead, she walked down her steps, crossed the short patch of grass, and leaned on the fence rail opposite Mira like she'd done a hundred times.

Mira tipped her head slightly. "So." Mira's voice stayed calm. "Are we doing the thing where we pretend we don't know what we are?"

Rumi's face heated. "We know what we are."

Mira's brows lifted. "Do we?"

Rumi glared at her. "Yes."

Mira's eyes held hers, steady. "Okay. Then say it."

Rumi's throat went dry. She tightened her hands on the fence.

"I—" she started, then stopped because her brain offered her ten different exits and she hated all of them.

Mira didn't look away. Didn't push closer. She just waited, the way she had in her room, letting Rumi find her own way to the words.

Rumi swallowed hard. "Are we… girlfriends?"

It came out like a question even though she meant it like a claim. Mira's expression softened so quickly it almost shocked Rumi.

"Yeah," Mira said. Simple. Certain. Then, because Mira could never help herself entirely, she added, "If you want that."

Rumi's face burned. "I do."

Mira's smile went small and real. "Good."

Rumi stared at her, suddenly overwhelmed by how easy Mira made it sound. Mira stood up, crossed the two steps to the fence, and leaned in close enough that Rumi could smell her shampoo.

"Hi, girlfriend," Mira murmured.

Rumi's heart did something stupid.

"Hi," Rumi managed.

Mira kissed her through the fence gap, quick and soft, like she couldn't help it. It wasn't like the prom kiss. It wasn't like the living room kiss. It was ordinary, perfect, a we're really doing this kiss.

When she pulled back, Mira's eyes glittered. "Dinner. Don't die."

Rumi huffed a breathy laugh. "No promises."

Mira's smile widened, then she stepped back and headed toward her own back door. "See you in five."

Rumi watched her go like she was still learning that Mira was allowed to leave and come back. She climbed her own steps slowly, palms warm, face still hot, and went inside.

Mi-yeong was plating food. Celine had set out extra chopsticks and two glasses like this was just another Sunday. Rumi hovered in the doorway.

Mi-yeong glanced up. "You're smiling."

"I'm not," Rumi said, immediately lying.

Celine's mouth twitched. "You are."

Rumi sighed and grabbed bowls from the cupboard just to give her hands a job. The knock at the front door came ten minutes later. Rumi's entire nervous system lit up. She moved toward the door too fast, then forced herself to slow down like a person who didn't want to break into a sprint at every hint of Mira's existence.

She opened it.

Mira stood there in a simple black top and jeans, hair neat, a paper bag in one hand and a plastic container in the other. She looked composed in a way that made Rumi suspicious—like she'd practised breathing in the mirror before walking over.

Mira lifted the bag slightly. "I brought dessert."

Mi-yeong appeared behind Rumi immediately. "Come in, come in."

Mira's shoulders eased a fraction as she stepped inside. "Hi, Mrs— Mi-yeong."

Mi-yeong waved a hand like titles were silly. "Hello, Mira. You can call me Mi-yeong."

Celine appeared too, calm as ever, but her gaze warmed when it landed on Mira. "Good evening."

Mira bowed her head slightly, polite. "Hi."

Rumi stood there like a glitching robot, suddenly unsure where to put her arms.

Mi-yeong took the container from Mira's hands. "What did you bring?"

"Cake," Mira said, then added quickly, "I didn't bake it. I'm not lying to you."

Mi-yeong laughed, delighted. "Honest. Good."

Celine took the paper bag and peered inside. "You didn't need to bring anything."

Mira's mouth twitched. "I wanted to."

Rumi's heart did that annoying soft thing again.

Mi-yeong clapped her hands once. "Okay. Sit. Eat."

They moved to the table in that familiar shuffle of plates and bowls. Rumi sat in her usual chair by instinct. Mira hovered for half a second, then sat in the seat Mi-yeong gestured toward—beside Rumi, not across.

Rumi's chest tightened.

Under the table, Mira's knee brushed hers lightly. Not a big move. Just enough to say I'm here.

Rumi looked down at her rice like it might save her from blushing.

Mi-yeong served Mira first, because Mi-yeong was like that. "Eat more. You're always thin."

Mira blinked, caught off guard, then nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Mi-yeong narrowed her eyes. "No ma'am. Eat."

Celine poured tea with precise calm. "How are your parents?"

Mira relaxed into conversation the way she always did around adults—polite, measured, but still herself. "Good. They're on a date tonight again, actually. Omma says they're making up for lost time."

Mi-yeong hummed, pleased. "Good."

Rumi ate with one ear on the conversation and one ear on her own heartbeat. It felt like being in a room where the furniture was the same but the meaning had changed. Like the table had always existed, but tonight it had a new centre of gravity.

Mi-yeong, of course, found it immediately.

"So," Mi-yeong said, tone casual as she reached for the side dishes, "prom was last night."

Rumi nearly choked on her rice.

Celine's eyes slid briefly to Rumi's face. "Yes."

Mi-yeong smiled like she was innocent. "Did you have fun?"

Rumi coughed once. "It—"

Mira, mercifully, answered first. "We got kicked out."

Mi-yeong blinked. "You got kicked out?"

Mira nodded. "Rumi didn't have a ticket."

Mi-yeong's eyes widened. "Rumi."

Rumi stared at her bowl. "I panicked."

Celine took a sip of tea like this confirmed a hypothesis. "Mm."

Mi-yeong looked between them, then shook her head slowly, amusement growing. "You snuck in."

Rumi groaned quietly. "Eomma."

Mi-yeong's eyes sparkled. "You never snuck anywhere as a child. You used to confess to everything before you even tried."

Rumi snapped her head up. "That's not true."

"It is," Mi-yeong said cheerfully. "You were four, and you took a cookie off the tray, then came to me crying and said, ‘Eomma, I stole.' It wasn't even stealing. It was your cookie."

Mira let out a laugh, quick and delighted, and Rumi's soul left her body.

"Stop," Rumi muttered, face on fire.

Celine added calmly, "You also tried to run away once."

Rumi's head whipped toward her. "I did not."

"You did," Celine said, perfectly composed. "You packed a bag. It had one pair of socks, a paperback, and three stickers."

Mi-yeong grinned. "She made a goodbye card."

Rumi stared at both of them, horrified. "Why are you telling her this?"

Mira's eyes were bright with joy. She leaned in slightly, elbows on the table like she was watching a movie she'd been waiting to see. "There was a goodbye card?"

Rumi made a pained sound. "No."

Mi-yeong nodded. "Yes. It said ‘I will miss you' and then she drew a princess."

Mira's gaze flicked to Rumi with instant, wicked fondness. "A princess, you say?"

Rumi's face went nuclear. "Eomma."

Celine, dry as ever, said, "It was very hopeful for someone who made it to the letterbox and then came back because she forgot her water bottle then got distracted by cartoons."

Mira laughed properly now, shoulders shaking.

Rumi slumped in her chair. "This is bullying."

Mi-yeong waved her chopsticks at her. "This is parenting."

Mira wiped at the corner of her eye as if she'd actually teared up from laughing. "I love this."

Rumi glared at her. "You would."

Mira's smile went soft, private. "I do."

Rumi's throat tightened. She looked down at her food because if she looked at Mira's face too long she'd get stupid.

Mi-yeong's tone gentled, but her eyes still sparkled. "And Mira, you were nice to leave with her."

Mira's smile faded into something more sincere. "I wanted to."

Celine's gaze stayed on Mira, calm and assessing in that protective way she had, but there was warmth in it. "Thank you."

Mira swallowed, then nodded once. "Of course."

Dinner carried on from there, less "interrogation" and more… normal. Mi-yeong asked Mira about school committee things and Mira answered with dry honesty. Celine asked what classes Mira was enjoying, what she wanted to do after graduation. Mira kept her tone respectful, but she didn't hide that she had wanted to know so many more embarrassing stories about a younger Rumi. Mi-yeong liked that. Celine liked that too, in her own, quiet way.

Rumi ate and listened, occasionally answering a question, occasionally getting dragged back into the conversation when Mi-yeong decided she was being too silent.

At one point Mi-yeong said, "Rumi used to cry at Beauty and the Beast every time," and Mira's eyes lit up again like Christmas.

Rumi's head snapped up.

Mira looked at Rumi with a grin that was almost unbearable. "Of course you did."

Rumi covered her face with both hands. "I hate all of you."

Mira's voice went warm. "No, you don't."

Rumi's stomach flipped.

When dinner ended, Mi-yeong stood and started stacking bowls immediately. Mira moved to help without being asked, then stopped when Mi-yeong gave her a look.

Mi-yeong pointed at the lounge. "Go sit. We can clean."

Mira hesitated. "I can—"

Celine cut in gently, "You can sit."

Mira blinked, then obeyed, glancing at Rumi like is this normal. Rumi followed her into the lounge like she'd been pulled by her orbit. Celine's book was still on the couch where she'd left it. The lamp cast warm light across the room. It felt calm in a way Rumi hadn't realised she needed.

Mira sat on the couch and exhaled hard, shoulders dropping. Rumi sat beside her, close enough that their thighs touched.

Mira turned her head slightly. "Your eommadeul are… intense."

Rumi huffed. "They like you."

Mira's eyes widened a fraction. "They do?"

Rumi glanced at her. "Yes."

Mira's mouth twitched. "That's terrifying." Mira leaned back and looked at the ceiling. "Am I doomed?"

"Yeah," Rumi said, then added quietly, "Sorry."

Mira looked at her again, and the teasing softened into something more tender. "Don't be."

Rumi's throat tightened. "It was weird. New."

Mira's gaze held hers. "Yeah."

Rumi swallowed. "But… a good weird."

Mira's mouth curved slightly. "Yeah."

From the kitchen, Mi-yeong's voice floated out. "Rumi, bring the tea!"

Rumi groaned. "She's summoning me."

Mira's eyes sparkled. "Go."

As Rumi stood, Mira took the short moment of solitude to give her a quick, soft kiss and a whispered "love you." Rumi couldn't help but grin all the way to the kitchen, she grabbed the tray of tea from the kitchen with Mi-yeong fussing over sugar and Celine silently reorganising the cups, then brought it back in and set it on the coffee table.

They all sat for a while like that—tea, warm light, the quiet hum of a house that had made space for something new.

Eventually Mi-yeong stood, stretching. "Okay. Mira, you should probably head home before it's too late."

Mira's eyes flicked to Rumi like she didn't want to move just yet. Rumi stood too, trying not to look like she didn't want her to leave just yet either. At the door, Mira slipped her shoes on slowly. Mi-yeong pressed leftovers into her hands because she couldn't not. Celine gave her a small nod that somehow felt like approval and warning at the same time.

Mira held the container awkwardly. "Thank you."

Mi-yeong smiled. "Come again."

Mira glanced at Rumi, then back at Mi-yeong. "I will."

Rumi walked her out onto the porch because her body chose it before her brain did.

Outside, the night air was cool. The street was quiet, only a few porch lights on. Mira's house was right there, the shortest walk in the world. But the distance felt immense. Mira stopped at the bottom step and looked back up at Rumi, face softer now that the audience was gone.

"So," Mira said, voice low.

Rumi's stomach flipped. "So."

Mira's eyes searched hers for a beat, then her mouth curved. "Girlfriend."

Rumi's face warmed again, but she didn't look away this time. "Yeah."

Mira stepped closer, just inside Rumi's space. "You okay?"

Rumi nodded. "Yeah."

Mira's gaze dropped briefly to Rumi's mouth, then back up. "Can I?"

Rumi's breath hitched. "Yeah."

Mira kissed her gently, slow and certain. When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against Rumi's for a second.

"See you next door," Mira murmured.

Rumi's throat tightened with something soft and stupid and happy. "Yeah. See you next door."

"I'll tell Cot you said hi…"

Rumi snorted. "Please do."

Mira turned and crossed the few steps to her own porch, glancing back once with a small smile like she couldn't help it. Rumi watched until Mira disappeared inside, then went back into her house with her cheeks warm, her chest lighter, and the faint, ridiculous feeling that the world didn't feel quite as scary anymore.

It just felt right.