Everyone has something or someone constant in their life. My constants are Papa, my best friend- Aratrika and my skincare routine. They're like three corners of a wobbly table keeping me balanced.

Maybe the fourth corner's just out there somewhere, still finding its way to me. And when it does, I think everything will finally stop wobbling and start feeling like home.

My morning serum is halfway absorbed when Aratrika's voice booms through the speaker of my phone full of that effortless sweetness that follows her everywhere.

"There are shoots lined up, and fashion week's around the corner. Before everything turns hectic, I really want to catch up with you," she says, voice bouncing with excitement.

"But I'm in New York," I mumble, patting moisturizer into my cheeks.

"Bitch, so am I!"

I blink at my reflection. "No way. When did you come? Where are you staying? Is that lousy boyfriend of yours also with you?"

She laughs, a sound like champagne fizzing over glass. "Wait, wait. I landed last night. I'm at Abhay's place. He refused me at first, but you know me, I emotionally guilt-tripped him. So, no, my boyfriend isn't here."

Abhay Akkineni and Aratrika Akkineni are my high school's walking Greek god twins. Both blessed with cheekbones that could cut steel, height of models and personalities that could charm anyone.

Aratrika actually went ahead and became one, a literal model.

"You can come over," Aratrika says cheerily. "We'll have fun, just like old times."

At Abhay's place? Over my dead fucking body. He was my high school crush who ruined my whole college life to get over that stupid feeling.

It's not even that I still like him. When he left for art school in New York and I went to law school in New Haven, just like that, life split us into parallel lines.

Now, the only thread still connecting us is Aratrika. But it would be strange, standing across from someone who used to be your crush, especially when you suspect that the feeling might not have entirely died on their end.

And that thought alone makes everything ten times worse. Yeah! I'm not dealing with that.

"Umm... maybe we can hang out somewhere else," I say, pretending to be very invested in massaging my moisturizer.

"Where?"

I pause. I can't invite her here. Alonzo is still not over me invading his space in this mansion. One more female? He will have a stroke.

Then an idea sparks. "We could go to Phantom."

There's a pause, and then she lets out a scream so loud my poor serum bottle trembles. "It's been a year! The last time we went, it was wild!"

"Yeah, wild until you ditched me for your lousy boyfriend and the great unsolved mystery of how my drunk self ended up in New Haven, which, by the way, is a two-hour drive from Phantom."

Last year we got drunk and her boyfriend took her in the middle of a party which left me alone in the swarm of strangers in the club. I vividly remember the ground spinning and a stranger's voice asking if I was okay. Then darkness.

Next thing I knew, I woke up in my apartment near the law school with no bruises, my dress intact to my body, untouched and alive. Just a headache and a gnawing question: who the hell brought me there?

And on my nightstand, a glass of water, two painkillers. A sticky note, neat handwriting of mystery man that said:

I drove you home and didn't touch you in any way that would betray you. But when I tucked you in, you cried. I don't know what or who did that to you, but I swear, one day, I'll find out and kill the very reason for it.

She groans. "Stop making me feel guilty, I'm still sorry for that."

"Good. You should be, although you were equally wasted."

"So you're up for clubbing tonight?" she chirps, dragging me out of my thoughts.

"Abso-fucking-lutely."

We talk a little more, about clothes, plans, and how I'll finally stop acting like a retired nun after I'm over with exam, before hanging up.

The room goes quiet again with excitement and anticipation of being drunk again after so long. Just the faint hum of wind outside my window and the soft scent of my toner in the air.

Tonight, I need to remember what it feels like to be me again, messy, alive and not always drowning in insomnia and nightmares.

My slippers scuff lightly against the marble, the air is faintly cold against my skin today, despite the hot, humid, sticky summer of everyday as I descend the stairs.

Halfway down, I stop, looking at someone sitting in the living room couch, on my usual seat, a plush leather couch I had silently claimed as the only soft thing in this cold mansion.

A dark-brown curly hair girl is perched like she's posing for a magazine cover. Black leather jacket, boots hugging her knees, a confidence too natural to fake.

His girlfriend? The thought hits before logic can interfere, leaving me irritated at myself for even thinking about it. It's not like I care.

Then she glances up, her brown eyes seemingly familiar.

She smiles, the corners of her lips lifting in a polite smile. "You must be Iraanya."

I blink, schooling my face into a fake smile. "Yes and you are?"

"Ella Amoretto."

Amoretto. The name rings a bell in my head.

"Ah! Carlo's and Meenakshi's daughter." I tilt my head, looking once again at striking similarities between her and her parents. She has equally soft and stern features on her face. No wonder she looked familiar. "Your mom talks about you all the time."

"Oh. She also warned me not to disturb you," she says, wrapping her arms across her chest. "Apparently, you're Alonzo's star pupil."

Alonzo? Alonzo? Are they on a first name basis? But why? Does she spend enough time here to be that casual with him? I've been here for a month and I still feel he hates when I refer to him by his first name.

"Star pupil? More like his personal torture subject."

We share a laugh, though mine's a touch too forced. Because something settles wrong in my stomach, a cold, prickly feeling. Because maybe she does know him. Maybe she's met the version of him I'm still trying to understand.

It's not like I care.

"So," I ask, pretending casual curiosity, "you visit often?"

"Not really. Dad's usually the one who comes by. But as they're both staying for a while, Mom asked me to spend the weekend here with them."

Before I can decide whether I like her confidence or envy it, a voice cuts through the air, smooth and commanding.

"Iraanya."

My spine straightens instinctively. What now?!

Alonzo strides past us, sleeves rolled, damp hair. "Tutoring starts in an hour." he says, walking past me, the scent of aftershave trailing him. His hairs are damp from shower, beard neatly trim, adorning his face which has the permanent lines of disapproval.

I roll my eyes. "Good morning to you too," I mutter under my breath, then mouth, 'Elders' when his gaze finally meets mine, just to needle him.

He stares for a second too long, a look that says "Shut up or I will fail you today in the test." And I flash him a grin, playful and wicked. The movement drags his gaze to my mouth and his jaw locks so hard I almost hear his molars grinding.

"Bring case files along with you," he adds, giving Ella a curt nod before walking out, leaving that faint scent of his cologne clinging to the air.

I can't help but notice Ella's gaze following him, her lips curving slightly, soft and genuine.

Are they really a thing? But if they were, Alonzo would have passed more than a nod to her. But we are talking about Alonzo Accardi here. He would die before wasting time in hugs and kisses.

"Are you two... close?" The words tumble out before my brain can stop my mouth.

Fucking fuck.

She sizes me up, analysing me as if measuring how much truth to give away. "He's a family friend."

Family. That's a connection I can't compete with.

Jane arrives, with coffees and grins. I exhale the breath that's been sitting in my chest too long.

I love Jane. She doesn't say anything, just places the cup near me like she already knows what I need. That's the thing about her, she doesn't pry, but somehow always senses when I'm stressed.

Ella takes a sip of her coffee, a smile playing on her lips. "You looked disappointed for a second."

I try to hide behind the rim of my cup, but I can feel her gaze linger, searching for an emotion. A moment stretches, too long until I look away first.

"Just surprised. He doesn't really do the whole human connection thing."

She hums. "Right. But he's been close with Dad ever since I came to my senses."

And with you? Is he close with you too? The question screams in my head, but I bite it back. Don't give her the satisfaction of seeing the.... insecurity and jealousy.

Huh...I, Iraanya Kashyap- insecure? jealous? For a species (called men) that survives only because women keep lowering their standards.

No. Never.

I'm a strong, independent woman with a perfectly functional brain.

I don't compete. I don't chase. I don't beg.

I simply exist, beautifully, intelligently, unbothered.

If a man looks elsewhere, that's his eyesight problem, not my emotional one.

I don't need to fight over men, I would rather let men fight over me.

We both fall quiet, that strange female tension coiling in the air. Two girls playing nice while quietly measuring how much trust can be put on table.

"So," I say, changing the topic to a safer ground, "What are your plans for today?"

She sighs dramatically. "Avoiding my parents. They're probably kissing in the garden. Trying to re-create their teenage days."

Cute.

"What about you?" she asks, chin propped on her palm, watching me with that open, sunny interest that makes it hard to dislike her.

And maybe it's silly, but for a heartbeat, the prickling feeling fades away.

"I'm going to a club tonight," I say. "You could come."

She chuckles. "Tempting, but I'm not twenty-one yet."

Ah. Gotcha. A small, mean victory flickers in my chest, quick and guilty. She's too young for Alonzo. The thought warms me, shamefully so.

The rest of conversation creates an atmosphere of calmness filled with soft laughter. We talk about her university, that she's graduating in Neuroscience and her last year's vacation to India to her maternal grandparents home.

She laughs, a warm, easy sound, and I find myself smiling back for real this time. She's the kind of girl people orbit around having a strange magnetic pull. And she listens, genuinely. There's a thing about good listeners: they are either good souls or psychopaths, observing their next target. I can't tell which one she is yet. And maybe that's what makes her so dangerously interesting.

For the rest of conversation, I forget the gnawing questions about her and Alonzo. Instead, I see someone who could've been my friend, if life had placed us somewhere simpler.

But nothing about this place, or about Alonzo is simple.

"So," I say, pretending to have yet another, harmless conversation. "Have you ever been inside the left wing?"

Her gaze flicks to me sharply and for a split second, she doesn't smile.

"That's off-limits," she says, her voice dropping. "Some say that's just a storage area," she completes.

I shrug. "Off-limits just sounds like an invitation to me. And storage doesn't need guards outside."

Her lips twitch, giving way to a slow, knowing smirk. "You noticed it."

The silence that follows this time isn't awkward, it's loaded with unspoken bad ideas and possible outcomes of those. It feels like one of those moments where you either walk away or fall right into the pit you created. Anyways, I've never been good at walking away.

"Have you ever tried going there?" I ask, my voice quieter now.

"Dad threw a fit the one time I mentioned it," she says. But then the next words so fast that I almost missed, "I'm curious."

The word hangs between us like a dare.

I shouldn't grin at that. I shouldn't feel this reckless pull tightening inside me. But the truth is, since coming here, I've felt like I'm walking on eggshells that belong to someone else's life. Maybe I want to break something just to hear the sound.

"Alright then, curious girl," I say, tone teasing but laced with warning. "Let's go see what happens when curiosity misbehaves."

The plan isn't perfect. It's impulsive. Suicidal, even.

But that's the point, isn't it? The thrill doesn't lie in being safe, it lies in almost getting caught.

She distracts the guard while I enter the wing.

Yeah. That's all.

Except it's not. Because beneath that stupidly simple plan lies a pit in my stomach and a voice whispering, "this is a terrible idea."

Ella adjusts her leather jacket, chin lifted with that fearless ease that borders on arrogance. The late afternoon light glances off her brown wild curled hair, her eyes glinting with mischief.

"I will go now," she whispers, her voice low and gleaming with adrenaline.

I nod, though my stomach flips. My palms are clammy, heart pacing to an uneven rhythm that matches the sharp tap of her boots against the marble.

She flashes me a grin before sauntering toward the wing, her confident boots clicking against the cobblestone path. I hover behind one of the pine trees, my pulse thrumming, watching her approaching the guard.

Now, seeing the guard's back turned, I realize how much I'm betting on Ella's acting skills and my own fleeting courage of sneaking in.

He nods at her politely. "Miss Amoretto?"

"Hey." Her tone turns like a damsel in distress. "You're new. I was looking for Mr. Brown. He's usually posted here. He promised, he will help with unloading my luggage from the car."

"Don't worry ma'am, he will be there in a few minutes."

Ella sighs dramatically, tossing her hair like a diva in a perfume ad. "You know, my father always says a real man never leaves a woman waiting."

He panics. "Yes, I agree. But, right now, nobody is here to fill-in for my duty."

She pouts her lips, toying with her zipper, a worried look in her face. "So you're just going to let a lady lift her own luggage?"

"I- I. Miss-"

"Of course not," she interrupts, wide-eyed. "Because you seem like a gentleman."

I clutch my stomach tightly, biting my fist to control the laugh from Ella's oscar-worthy acting.

When the guard, after debating for a good few minutes, moves down to the stairs beside the fountain, I slip past the corner, pulse hammering in my throat. Ella's faint laughter echoing somewhere down the stairs. That laughter means I'm doing my part. Don't mess up yours.

My pulse quickens when I reach the front door.

For a moment, it feels like victory. The guard's gone, empty front door. I can almost taste the thrill of getting away with this.

But then....

My stomach drops.

There's a digital screen lock glowing on the door. Fuck. We didn't think about this. Why didn't we think about this?

Horror crawls up my spine. I should go back. It's too risky to try.

"Okay, okay, breathe, Iraanya," I whisper to myself. "Just try it once. What's the worst that could happen?" Alarm would ring, you stupid.

I reach out, fingers trembling slightly.

"Miss. Kashyap." A calm voice interrupts. "What exactly are you doing here?"

Happy reading <3