Now, in the dark space of her own thoughts, Cecilia exhaled.
That was hours ago. Or maybe minutes. Time didn't exist here.
Just a floor she couldn't see and a weight pressing down on her knees. She sat with her arms folded around them, head buried, breath shallow. Somewhere above, or below — she couldn't tell — faint echoes of voices drifted in and out like memories dissolving in water.
Why does everything have to happen in a single day?
But the words did.
Her own voice, small, frayed. The words fell apart before they reached the edges of this place.
They kept looping.
"Do you think you deserve to know me?"
Cold, precise, and far too heavy for a student's mouth. She tried to dismiss it, telling herself he was just another troubled boy, another case of teenage detachment wrapped in arrogance. But that voice… it lingered.
"Then why are you still here?"
Her hands gripped her knees tighter.
Her heart still hurt from the way he'd said deserve, like it was something she'd stolen from the world.
Her thoughts shifted to Brian. His voice, that tremble of anger and protectiveness. "You gonna apologise to her right now." He meant well, she knew that. He always did. But the way he looked at her — she'd noticed it before, even if she'd pretended not to. The long glances when she entered the classroom. The way his voice brightened when she called on him.
He's young, she told herself. He'll forget it soon enough.
But she was wrong.
"Are you alright, Miss Cecilia?" he'd asked, his hand still trembling from the fight. "Don't mind that bastard. You're kind. You don't deserve that."
He kept talking as they walked toward the gates — words tumbling over each other, trying to prove something. She'd smiled and said she was fine, but inside, she wasn't sure what that even meant anymore.
Now, as she remembered it, the whole thing blurred together — Paul's cold voice, Brian's warm one.
Two sides of something she didn't quite understand.
When they reached the gate, Brian stopped walking. His face was flushed, his eyes fixed on her like he'd already decided something.
"Miss Cecilia," he said, his voice low, nervous. "You're… beautiful. And you're the kindest person I've ever met."
She blinked. The world paused.
He looked down, swallowed hard. "I know you're out of my league… but could you maybe consider going out with me?"
For a long second, she didn't move. Couldn't.
It was all too sudden — from Paul's bitterness to Brian's confession — like her day was spinning without warning.
Do you think you deserve to know me?
She exhaled, carefully. "Brian… I can't give you what you want."
He looked up, eyes wide, hurt but hopeful. "You mean… you already have someone?"
"No," she said. "And I don't want anyone. Not right now. There's too much I need to fix first."
She hesitated — then, almost out of guilt, added, "But if I ever think I need someone… you'll be there. Will that be alright?"
His face lit up with boyish joy. "Yes ma'am!" he said.
That moment — his relief, his excitement — burned inside her like something fragile she couldn't hold.
Now, sitting in the dark, she hugged her knees tighter.
Paul's warning.
Brian's confession.
Her own smile.
They circled her like ghosts.
She wanted to move.
But her strings wouldn't.
Then somewhere, she thought she heard her own name.
"Hey, Cecilia—"
The illusion shattered like glass.
Cecilia blinked. The world returned — pale light, a half-empty bottle beside her, the distant hum of a fan. She wasn't in the classroom anymore. Just a chair, cold beneath her palms, knees bent, elbows on them. The abyss wasn't black — it was white and too quiet.
"Still zoning out, huh?"
She turned. Stanley stood at the doorway, hands in his pockets, wearing that usual half-grin.
"I'm your teacher," she said, trying to sound firm. "Show some respect, will you?"
He raised a brow. "Says the one who's been staring into space for five minutes straight."
Her cheeks colored faintly. "Was it that long?"
"Long enough," he said, stepping closer and perching on the edge of the next desk. "What were you thinking, Miss Cecilia? About your genius brother again?"
"Yeah—no," she stumbled. "And even if I was, why should I tell you?"
Stanley made a small hum, tapping his fingers on the table. "Something happened at school today, didn't it?"
She took the bottle, drinking too fast. The water hit like static. "Why do you say that?"
"Call it intuition." Stanley studied her for a beat, then said, too casually, "Did someone… confess to you or something?"
She choked, coughing hard. "W-what—?"
"So that's it." He chuckled, eyes glinting. "Ain't you one lucky girl? Getting confessions from your students. They probably worship you like a goddess, don't they?"
"There's nothing lucky about it," she said, more sharply than she intended. "I turned him down. Clearly. I already have too much to handle right now."
Stanley nodded, tone softening. "Fair enough. You're still new there, right? First month's always rough."
She gave a tired little smile. "Rough's one word for it."
He smirked. "Then maybe you should stop thinking about other people's feelings and take a nap instead."
Cecilia sighed, leaning back in her chair. "And maybe you should stop trying to read my mind and finish your assignments."
He grinned. "Can't help it. You're easy to read. Like an open book in an empty library."
"Oh really, Mr. Genius?" She crossed her arms. "Then how about reading the one right in front of you?"
Stanley tilted his head. "Sure. Check the clock first."
She unlocked her phone. The time blinked back at her.
Her face fell.
Time's up.
The front door creaked open, and Cecilia stepped in with a long sigh. The air inside was warm, scented faintly with garlic, soy sauce, and the buttery edge of something frying. Her heels clicked once against the tiles before she kicked them off lazily.
Her bag hit the dining table with a soft thud. She loosened her hair tie and rubbed her neck, then stopped mid-step—eyes landing on the figure moving around in the kitchen.
Her brother.
Knives.
He stood in his usual spot, sleeves rolled up, his dark hair slightly disheveled, a wooden spatula in hand. The faint reflection of the overhead light bounced off his round glasses. The rhythm of the spatula against the pan was steady, unhurried, like a quiet heartbeat.
Cecilia's lips curved into a small grin. Without making a sound, she crept up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning her head on his shoulder.
"What you making, brother?" she murmured into his ear, voice laced with that familiar teasing tone she always used when she wanted attention.
Knives didn't flinch, didn't even pause his movements."You again." He simply tilted his head a little, sighing as though this scene had already replayed a hundred times before. "Get off me. You smell like you ran a marathon."
"Whaaat?" she whined, dragging the word with mock offense. "I don't wanna. I'm tired. You're supposed to comfort me, not complain."
"Comfort yourself in the shower," he said calmly. "Hot water's free."
She puffed her cheeks, still clinging to him. "You used to be nicer."
"No," he replied, deadpan. "You used to shower before hugging me."
She smacked his arm lightly, laughing under her breath. "You're impossible."
He shrugged, unmoved. "I learned from the best."
She loosened her hold just enough to look at the pan. "Lot of things happened in the school today," she mumbled, tone dropping—like she hadn't decided yet if she wanted to talk about it or not.
"Like?" He finally glanced at her from the corner of his eye, tone casual but curious.
"..After taking a shower," she said finally, brushing off the weight in her words. Her arms slipped away, and she slouched toward the doorway.
Knives watched her go, eyes following her reflection in the glass panel of the cabinet—her small frame, her tired steps, the slump of her shoulders.
Same as always.
Same routine.
But this time… the silence lingered a little longer after she left.
Steam trailed faintly from Cecilia's damp hair as she walked out of the bathroom, towel slung around her shoulders. The living room light was dim, cozy. Knives sat on the dining chair, one leg bent, phone in hand, scrolling through something with lazy focus.
The smell of chicken curry and garlic butter still lingered thick in the air.
"Smells amazing," she said, pulling the chair across from him and sitting down. "You're improving, chef."
He didn't look up. "Didn't take much effort. Just followed my instincts."
She scooped a bite, chewed, and smiled. "Not bad. Almost makes up for the noodles week."
"Almost?" He raised a brow.
She leaned forward, playful. "Yeah, almost."
They ate in silence for a minute—comfortable silence, the kind that only siblings could have.
Then Cecilia broke it with a sudden thought.
"How'd you even get the money to buy chicken?"
Knives didn't answer immediately. He put down his spoon, leaned back slightly. "I have my ways."
"Hnn…" Her eyes narrowed, suspicion playful but sharp. "You didn't steal or anything, right?"
He sighed. "Oh, chezzz, sis…" He dragged the words out. "How low-life do you think I am?"
"Low enough to borrow and forget to return."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Relax. Mrs. Lana called me over. Her computer was acting up. I fixed it. She paid me."
"Oh?" she said, voice lifting, teasing now. "Mrs. Lana, huh? Her husband still working out of town?"
Knives shot her a look. "You really wanna go there?"
Cecilia smirked, lowering her voice like she was gossiping with herself. "I don't know… she gives me weird vibes. You should keep your distance."
He tilted his head, mock serious. "Sis, wait—are you jealous?"
Her eyes widened. "What—no! Don't be ridiculous. I'm serious."
He laughed under his breath. "If you say so."
Cecilia shook her head, smiling despite herself. Then the smile faded a bit—her thoughts drifting elsewhere.
Knives noticed. "So… what happened at school?"
She paused mid-bite, considering. "Hmm. One of my students proposed to me."
The spoon froze in Knives' hand. His eyes flicked up briefly, unreadable behind the faint glare of his glasses. "And then?"
"I turned him down, obviously."
"Why?"
Cecilia looked at him incredulously. "Why? You really asking that?"
He tilted his head, expression neutral.
"Well…" she exhaled, stirring her food with the spoon. "I don't have time to think about that kind of stuff. And he'll forget about it soon anyway."
Knives nodded quietly. "...I see."
The silence returned. Only the faint clink of utensils against plates filled the space.
"This doesn't sound like a lot," he said eventually.
"Yeah." She leaned back. "There's another one."
"Another one?"
She sighed, eyes moving to the window. "A different student. Paul—something. Pretty weird kid, honestly. I tried to help him out earlier, but…"
Her brows furrowed. "He said something like—'Do you think you deserve to know me?'"
Knives looked thoughtful. "Hm. Harsh."
"I mean, what's that even supposed to mean?" she said, voice rising slightly. "I was just trying to help him, you know?"
Knives hummed softly, eyes lowering to his plate.
"He also said something else…" she continued, the words slow, uncertain. "'If you wanna live more, do your job and stop meddling with strangers. Don't you already have your own problems?'"
Knives' spoon tapped once against his bowl before going still.
"Doesn't sound wrong," he thought—but didn't say it.
Instead, he nodded faintly. "You sure know how to attract drama."
She groaned. "Don't joke."
Knives chuckled lightly, pushing his chair back. "Fine, fine. I'm gonna grab something from my room."
She blinked. "Where are you going now?"
"Just a second," he said, heading down the hallway.
Cecilia watched him disappear around the corner. Her spoon circled slowly in the empty bowl, making a faint scraping sound.
Outside, the wind brushed lightly against the windowpane.
The house was warm—almost too warm.