Aryans POV
Dawn crept in like a thief, pale light stealing across my pillow—only to find me already awake, cheeks damp with the ghosts of another sleepless night. Two years. Two years of hollow mornings and restless evenings, of reaching for a phone that never lit up with her name.
I'd traced every digital footprint Sam had ever left—every tagged photo, every forgotten post—as if the pixels could conjure her back to life. My messages piled up in her inbox, unread, a one-sided archive of hope. Did you eat today? Remember that last time you cook for me? I still wait for you. Silence was the only reply.
Her social media was a graveyard. No last login, no fleeting "online" status—just stillness, as if she'd stepped out of the world itself.
Sometimes, in the brittle hours before sunrise, I'd imagine terrible truths: Had her mother erased her? Had she chosen this vanishing? Or worse—had something stolen her away before she could choose at all?
The worst part wasn't the missing. It was the not knowing if she still remembered how to miss me too.
The kitchen light flickered as I entered, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch like grasping fingers across the worn linoleum. My brother sat hunched at the table, his silence louder than any cry.
I gripped the counter's edge, steadying myself. We were all each other had now—just two fragile souls clinging to the wreckage. If I broke, he would drown in it.
The knife felt heavy in my hand as I began chopping vegetables, the rhythmic thud-thud-thud a desperate attempt to drown out the memories: Father's booming laugh echoing through the house, Mother's gentle hands braiding my hair. A lifetime ago.
Then, the reckoning.
Whispers circulate that my father exploits his authority at the school; a student's tragic suicide is laid at his door.
After the tragedy, my mother suddenly ran away, abandoning my brother and me to go with another man.
The sizzle of onions brought me back. I blinked away the sting in my eyes and turned up the flame.
"Sister," my brother mumbled between eager bites, a playful glint in his eye, "this is delicious. Truly. You could get married on this alone."
A small laugh bubbled up despite myself. "Eat your food and stop joking around," I chided, trying to hide my smile.
After the meal, my brother gathered his schoolbooks, the weight seeming too heavy for his small frame. I still walk him to school each morning, I reflected, adjusting his collar. Young as he is, the streets feel treacherous alone. And when I see him pass through those gates... it's the sign I need to turn toward my own work.
Arriving at Wright Hospital's accounting office, the extravagant roses on my desk were impossible to miss. He followed swiftly, words dripping honeyed admiration. Around us, colleagues exchanged thrilled glances; whispers hung like gauze. My own reaction was pure terror—a visceral recoil from advances I could never reciprocate. Friendship was the only harbor I offered.
Because Sam... Sam existed in another realm entirely. Her presence hadn't been a choice. It was a revelation, proving I could feel... but only for a resonance as unique as her. This man's attentions felt like a costume I was forced to wear.
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Bun's POV
The echo of my sister's departure hung in the air when the soccer ball connected—a jarring blow. Their collective laugh felt like stones pelting my skin. "Bonita! Show us your kick!"
I pushed the ball forward but held it trapped beneath my sneaker. Edjay's hand landed on my shoulder, claiming territory. ",portable meals with money" he sneered, leaning in too close. "You'll deliver it after class. Back of the school, mango tree, that rusty chair. Be there."
A quiet sigh escaped me . There they were—Edjay already eyeing the steaming plate my sister had left for me, his fingers twitching with familiar greed. And beside him, Sheg.
My grip tightened on the doorknob.
I liked her, in some inexplicable, frustrating way. But she was a storm in human form—all sharp edges and careless cruelty. Her favorite pastime? Plucking my favorite pen from my grasp with a smirk, claiming temporary amnesia. "Oops, forgot mine again," she'd say, twirling the stolen prize between her fingers like a trophy.
Today was no different. She leaned against my desk, the very pen—my pen—dangling from her fingertips. Her grin was a challenge.
I bowed my head, the weight of their stares like stones. Beneath the desk, my fists tightened, nails biting crescents into my palms.
"Oh-ho!" a classmate sang out, malice dripping from every syllable. "Check Bun's fists! Ready to throw down 'cause we touched a nerve? Admit it—you're gay and you've got it bad for Edjay!"
Laughter erupted, a jagged sound scraping against the classroom walls. Heat flooded my neck, shame and fury warring beneath my skin.
Sheg grabbed the bag. "Mmm, looks good,portable meals" she taunted, yanking hard. "Give."My heart hammered. But Edjay's threat hung like a blade—mango tree, after school, no bag = pain. The last beating had left me trembling for hours. I released the strap. Survival over pride. Always.
I Snatching the bag back from sheg , I fled. Skip class. Hide. Anything but this. The bullies' faces swam in my mind—Edjay's cold eyes, Sheg's mocking smile—a relentless tide eroding my resolve.
The gate was freedom. I lunged for it. Fingers bit into my elbow, hauling me against Edjay's side. Before I could twist free, the shout tore through the air: "There they go! Edjay and Bonita—ditching like always!" Heads turned. My cheeks burned.
One of Edjay's shadows wrenched the bag from my grip, hurling it across their jeering circle. I scrambled, heart hammering against my ribs—just reach it—but hands shoved me back. Edjay snagged it mid-air. Our eyes locked for a frozen second; his held only cold amusement. Then he flipped it upside down.
Pages fluttered, pens clattered, and the sickening crunch of my lunchbox hitting concrete echoed louder than any taunt. Sister's meal. Gone.
There it lay: every sunrise my sister woke early to steam rice, every peso saved for meat, every note she tucked beside the fork—ground into dirt. The world tunneled. My body moved without me. The punch landed, jarring my wrist.
My vision plunged into sudden darkness. Acting on pure, panicked instinct, my fist lashed out and connected with Edjay. Then, cowardice flooding me, I turned and fled into the shadows.
I darted into the empty, book-choked room, pressing myself against the spines. As Edjay's footsteps neared the threshold, I dropped like a stone behind a towering shelf, breath held tight against discovery.
A sudden prickle surged in my sinuses—the warning sting of a sneeze. As I turned, I found the source: a cat, silent and watchful, perched on the windowsill behind me. I stifled the sneeze with a sharp gasp, my throat burning.
Eyes locked on the creature, I moved slowly, deliberately. My fingers dug into its scruff, feeling the fragile bones beneath its fur. Before it could twist or cry out, I wrenched open the classroom window and hurled it into the downpour. Glass rattled, rain lashed the sill, and the cat vanished into the gray sheets .
Edjay's scream tore through the classroom—raw, animal. I whirled to see him clutching his face, blood welling between his fingers. The cat. It had flown true as a thrown dagger when I'd cast it out, and found its mark in his startled eyes. He stumbled backward into the room, a specter of rage and pain.
Our gazes locked—his wide with betrayal, mine frozen in mute horror. Before I could speak, before I could breathe, the creature was upon us again. A streak of damp fur launched from the shadows. Claws raked the air.
I recoiled, heel slipping on wet tile. The world tilted. My skull struck the edge of the teacher's desk with a sickening crack. As darkness swallowed me, I tasted copper, felt the warm slide of blood matting my hair... and heard the faintest chime of a cat's bell fading into rain.
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Aryangs POV
The whisper cut through the sterile hum of fluorescent lights. "Aryang...?"
Kemei's knuckles whitened where she gripped the cubicle divider, a documents folder trembling in her other hand. i did not look immediately .
Im finished typing the line of code—a precise, deliberate tap of the enter key—before swiveling her chair. Kemei's eyes held that familiar blend of desperation and awe.
Another favor.
The words hung unspoken, thick as the office coffee no one dared drink past ten. Im gaze dropped to the folder. Director Ray's name glared from the label in aggressive block letters.
"Please," Kemeis breathed, pushing the documents forward like a sacrificial offering. "The Whatahaya merger files. Ray needs them before lunch." A nervous laugh escaped her. "You're the only one he doesn't... well." She didn't finish. Didn't need to.
Am remembered the last time Kemeis delivered reports to Ray. How she'd returned fifteen minutes later, mascara smudged, whispering about volcanic tempers and tossed paperwork. The entire accounting floor had moved quieter that afternoon, keyboards clicking like cautious crickets.
Kemeis leaned closer, lowering her voice further. "It's the budget discrepancies on page ten. He'll notice. He always does. Just... maybe don't mention it was Pheng's oversight? Unless he asks. Directly."
Am traced the edge of the folder, the cool surface a stark contrast to the tension coiling inside me. That single revelation was enough to steel his resolve.
Sam was missing. And if anyone knew where she was, it would be Ray.
Swallowing the tightness of my throat, Am tightened a grip. Sam and Ray were brothers and sisters, bound by blood and something deeper—something that made their absence cut like a blade. If Ray held the answers, then i would drag them out of him, one way or another.
Am took a slow breath, then stepped forward.
"Sure," am said. Kemei's shoulders sagged with palpable relief.
As am walked toward the corner office—a path others avoided like cursed ground— cataloged the subtle shifts:
Jhong very suddenly needing a refill at the water cooler.
Fena's screen flicking from social media to spreadsheets.
The unnatural hush that fell, broken only by the rhythmic thud of Ray's antique glass cradle clacking behind his closed door.
When am open a doors ,Ray's eyes narrowed as they landed on me, his lips twisting into a frown. "Where's Kemie?" His voice was edged with annoyance, sharp enough to make the air between us feel charged.
I opened my mouth, but he cut me off before I could speak.
"You're going to ask me where Sam is." A cold smirk flickered across his face. "I don't know. And even if I did... I wouldn't tell you."
The words hung there, deliberate, a challenge. His gaze didn't waver—daring me to push further, to test just how far his patience would stretch.
But patience had never been my strong suit. And Ray? He knew that better than anyone.
Do you know I loved her? Truly loved her?
Ray, the ache of his absence is a constant weight, a hollow space nothing fills. Two years... two endless years vanished like smoke, and not a single sign.
No letter bearing her hand, no call echoing her voice in the dead of night, not even a rumour carried on the wind.
Where did she go? What cruel silence swallowed her whole? The not knowing... it gnaws at me, relentless.
"What the soul first offers freely, it may later seal forever. Abandon thoughts of Sam. Chase no ghost—what kinship remains between you is already dust.You've obligations enough. Away now; 'tis a call I must heed.",Rays Said
I strode from Ray's office once more, the hollow echo of unanswered questions about Sam's whereabouts clinging to me like cobwebs.
The sterile corridor felt suffocating. Then—the jarring trill of my phone. Glancing at the screen: Brother's School. A cold dread, sudden and sharp, pricked my spine. I answered; the voice on the line was calm, clinical, delivering words that turned my blood to ice.
My hand convulsed—the phone slipped, a dead weight plummeting towards the tiled floor. I caught it by instinct, fingers numb.
"I'm coming. Now." The words rasped from a throat gone tight. Without a word to anyone, without retrieving my coat, I plunged towards the exit, the sterile world of work dissolving into a blur of panic .
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Rays POV
I quickly called Sam because her girlfriend—the one she'd asked me to keep an eye on—was having problems. But Sam couldn't simply leave; her fiancé, Brandon, was keeping a very close eye on her. Then I saw Aryang's brother; he seemed lifeless, so we rushed him straight to the emergency room.
I every crisis, my Sister Sam is the only one I can truly lean on. That's why I never let these headphones leave my pocket—a lifeline tucked against denim. Funny, isn't it? I head up finance for a whole hospital, yet the sight of blood—like Aryang's brother, drenched in crimson—still turns my stomach to ice.
Aryang was desperately poor—what could I really do? I went to her and explained the hospital expenses would be covered by the company. A half-truth; Sam would be footing every bill. Aryang's thanks were swift and raw before she rushed to the doctor, demanding news of her brother. I hung back, my old fear of blood coiling tight in my chest. Relief washed over me: her brother was stable.
Aryang's relentless spirit leaves me awed. For almost two solid years, not a single day has passed without demanding to know where Sam is—and I've never had an answer. The truth about my sister stays locked inside me. It's still... too messy. Our family life is a tangle of wounds and silences I can't begin to explain.
If Aryang uncovered the truth, it would be disastrous. She could get pulled into our family's orbit—a place where freedom's a ghost, and blind obedience is the only currency left.
I gave Aryang a hurried goodbye, the image of her injured brother sharp in my mind, and made straight for the school.
I marched into the principal's office, my purpose cold and clear: confront the attack on Aryang's brother and ensure it never happened again. The scene that greeted me froze my blood. Sister Sam stood like an avenging fury, her hand cracking against a bully's shoulder—raw, uncontrolled violence radiating from her. I lunged forward, grabbing her wrist mid-swing.
'Enough, Sam!' The word cracked like a whip. Turning to the pale-faced teachers huddled nearby, my voice dropped to an icy calm. 'Document this. One more incident—one more bruise on that boy—and I guarantee every one of you will be seeking new employment by sundown.
Sister Sam's glare snapped to me—a whip-crack of pure irritation for halting her fury. Her gaze, still simmering, then sliced towards the principal, who shrank back, fingers knotting the edge of his desk like a lifeline.
She froze mid-stride, a sudden stillness seizing her. As I followed her arrested gaze, I turned—and there stood Aryang.