The automatic glass doors slid open with a gentle hiss, and Sevira stepped into the brightly lit supermarket.
Her hair was pulled into a sleek, twisted high bun, a few curled tendrils softly escaping to frame her delicate face. Her skin, smooth and bronzed like warm honey, glowed under the fluorescent lights. She wore a fitted beige top tucked into high-waisted jeans, her hourglass figure hugging the denim with effortless confidence. On her feet—clean, white sneakers. Understated, sharp. Just like her.
Her eyes scanned the aisles slowly.
She wasn't just here to shop. She had a craving. A deep, unexplainable hunger for spicy chicken stew. Not the bland type. No—her kind had taste. She wanted flavor, depth, layers. The kind that simmered for hours and made your neighbors knock.
She glided to the meat section, picked out a fresh tray of chicken thighs, and gently examined them like she was handling silk. Then she moved toward the produce aisle—ripe red tomatoes, fresh ginger, scotch bonnet peppers, onions, garlic, and cilantro. One by one, she dropped them into her basket, her manicured fingers dancing over textures and colors.
By the spice rack, she paused, biting her bottom lip in thought.
"Should I go for curry or just thyme and paprika?" she murmured to herself, letting the scent of the dried herbs wrap around her nose.
She reached for a jar of thyme and—
A twist in her belly.
A sharp one.
Ugh. She needed to pee.
She clutched the basket tighter, turned toward the direction of the restrooms, and was just about to take her first step when—
"HELP! SOMEBODY! HELP ME! MY PURSE!"
The scream shattered the calm. Sevira's head snapped toward the exit. A woman, just minutes ago behind her in the checkout line, now stood outside the supermarket entrance, her face pale with panic, fingers trembling.
"My purse was just stolen! He ran that way—he took everything! My cards, my ID!"
People turned, confused. A few gasped. Others simply stared.
Sevira moved.
In one sharp motion, she dropped her basket at the side of the aisle and dashed toward the entrance. Her snickers pounded the tiles. Through the glass, she caught a blur of motion—a slim young man, hoodie up, sprinting across the parking lot, the stolen purse clutched tightly to his side.
Sevira's eyes narrowed. Her pupils glimmered gold.
Power hummed.
She stepped outside. Her chest rose once. She focused.
With a single flick of her gaze—left, then right—then sharp forward…
BOOM.
The thief collapsed mid-run. His knees buckled. He hit the pavement hard, face-first, groaning. His limbs shook. He tried to get up—but something invisible held him there, like gravity had tripled its grip on his body.
People screamed. Someone pulled out their phone.
Sevira walked toward him slowly, her hands calm, her face unreadable.
She knelt beside him, slid the purse effortlessly from under his arm, and turned away without a word.
By the time he could even roll over, she was gone. She used her powers on him.
She reached the woman, who stood frozen, shocked, her jaw slack.
"Here," Sevira said simply, handing her the purse.
The woman blinked, clutching it with both hands. She fumbled it open, quickly checking for her wallet, her cards, her everything. It was all there.
"You—how—what—" the woman stammered.
That's when two men in sharp black suits came rushing over, their jackets fluttering, their eyes scanning the crowd like hawks. Bodyguards. Well-trained. Clean-cut. And clearly hers.
They surrounded her instantly.
Sevira stepped back.
Her eyes scanned the woman now—mid-forties, tall, elegant, glowing with that type of money that whispered instead of screamed.
Her skin was golden olive, smooth. Long, jet-black hair curled in soft waves down her back. She wore a white designer trench coat cinched at the waist with a gold belt, and her heels alone looked like they cost someone's rent. A Rolex shimmered on her wrist, and a diamond choker rested just above her collarbone.
She stared at Sevira like she'd just seen an angel step out of a movie.
"You—how did you catch him?" she asked, breathless.
Sevira simply smiled. "Just lucky, I guess."
"No… no one's that fast," the woman muttered. Then she took a breath, opened her purse, pulled out her wallet—and took out $5,000 in crisp bills.
"Please. This is for you. I insist. You saved me."
Sevira held up a hand, shaking her head gently. "I can't accept that. I only helped because you were in danger."
The woman blinked again. Then smiled—a long, stunned, curious smile.
"My God," she whispered. "You're beautiful… I mean that in every sense. Inside and out."
Sevira didn't answer. She just smiled softly again, her eyes holding the woman's gaze with quiet warmth.
"I wish you will become my daughter in-law," the woman blurted. "Or… someone close. Someone mine."
She felt something move in her chest. An affection she couldn't place.
She stepped closer and touched Sevira's arm gently. "What's your name?"
"Sevira Snow," she said.
"Sevira," the woman repeated like it was a jewel. "I'm Fiona. Fiona Briggs."
The name sounded expensive.
They exchanged one last smile, then Sevira stepped back, turned, and walked away.
Fiona watched her go—watched the sway of her hips, the grace in every step, the calm of someone who was clearly not ordinary.
Back inside the store, Sevira picked up her basket where she'd left it, added the last of the seasoning cubes and coconut oil, and headed for the checkout.
Paid.
No fuss.
No spotlight.
She stepped out into the evening light, her shopping bag full of flavor, her heart still strangely warm.
The stew would be delicious.
—————————-
The golden afternoon sun hung lazily over the football field, casting soft shadows over the players wrapping up their final drills. The coach's whistle pierced the air, and the boys scattered like wind-touched leaves, sweaty, exhausted, and loud with laughter.
From the bleachers, Sevira sat with Alex and Emma, the girls sipping iced drinks as they watched the boys jog off the field. The air was warm, breezy, and smelled like cut grass and fresh sweat. Laughter echoed across the grounds, students milling around the sidelines, some practicing, some just watching.
"Ugh, finally," Emma groaned, tossing her curly hair over her shoulder. "That was the slowest hour of my life."
Just then, Alex joined them, waving her phone wildly. "Guys! Look what I found!" She grinned mischievously. "A picture of Sevira in fifth grade. Look—look at those glasses! She looked like a tiny librarian with chicken legs."
"What?!" Sevira's head snapped around, alarm sparking in her emerald eyes.
Emma leaned over, gasping dramatically. "Oh no, not the mushroom haircut!"
Emma was about to show it to the group, holding her phone like a trophy, when Sevira lunged forward in full panic mode. "Give me that, Emma!"
"No way!" Emma squealed, darting sideways.
The group burst into laughter, circling like excited kids at a playground.
Sky leaned in. "C'mon, Sevira. We just wanna see baby you."
Scott, curious, casually reached out and grabbed Emma's phone. "Let me see this masterpiece."
Sevira froze. "Scott, don't—!"
She ran toward him, her boots thudding against the soft grass. Scott held the phone out of reach, teasing, grinning wide. "Just a peek!"
Sevira made a dramatic leap to grab it—but her foot caught on Scott's, and suddenly the world tilted.
He stumbled backward. She tumbled forward.
Crash.
They landed in a heap—Sevira squarely on top of him.
Their lips touched accidentally.
For a second, there was silence.
It wasn't planned. It wasn't long. But it happened.
Her eyes widened as their lips met. His froze. Time paused.
A collective gasp erupted.
Sky: "What the—"
Emma: "Oh. My. God!"
Alex: "Did that just happen?!"
From one side. Lizzie's voice shrieked. "WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL?!"
Even Kira, who rarely got excited, stood up, mouth open. "Yo. Yo! Did you see that?"
Phones were out. Snapshots were being taken. Murmurs spread like wildfire. The word was already out: Scott kissed Sevira. Or did she kiss him? Either way—they kissed.
Sevira blinked, stunned, then rolled off him, cheeks flushed a furious red. She didn't say a word. Just stood, straightened her blouse, and dusted off her jeans like nothing happened.
The bell rang.
Perfect timing.
"I'm going," she muttered and stormed off toward the building.
Emma skipped after her, trying to hide her giggles. "That was epic! Sevira, you literally kissed Scott! You owe me dinner for life."
"Shut. Up," Sevira snapped, though a faint smile tugged her lips.
Back on the field, Guy was sprawled out in the grass, looking dazed, dreamy.
Kyle leaned over him. "You okay?"
He grinned like a man who just witnessed a miracle.
Kyle pulled him up by the arm. "Get up, lover boy. We've got math next."
Scott, still kneeling on the grass, touched his lips and blinked slowly. A pink flush crept into his cheeks.
"You okay, dude?" Alex nudged him.
Scott just smiled faintly, rubbing the back of his neck.
"…Yeah," he murmured.
And with that, the group laughed their way into the building, the gossip spread so fast that it became the lastest topic in school.
——————-
Sevira lay on her bed, one leg dangling off the side, her head buried halfway in her pillow. The light from the setting sun streamed in through the window, painting the walls a warm gold. Her phone rested against her chest, but her mind was far away.
She was thinking about him.
Scott.
His touch, the feel of his chest when she accidentally fell on him. The way their lips had met—quick, unplanned, but electric. She could still feel it. Her skin buzzed just remembering.
She closed her eyes.
In her mind, she saw the way he looked at her—those piercing blue eyes, soft but intense, focused only on her like she was the only girl that existed in the entire world. His breath brushing her cheek, his fingers brushing her waist when he helped her up. He had looked at her like he knew.
Like he felt it too.
And God, she wanted to kiss him for real this time not some accident kissing scene.
The need wasn't just in her mind; it had sunk deeper—down to her chest, to her spine, curling in her stomach like fire. Her heart beat faster just imagining his hands on her waist again, his mouth warm against hers.
She bit her lip and reached for her phone again, staring at her chat with Emma. Her thumb hovered over Scott's name. Should she text him?
Ping.
A new message popped up on the screen. Unknown number.
Stay away from Scott. I won't warn you again. His mine.– Lizzie
Sevira froze.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Lizzie?
Her eyes scanned the message three times over. What the hell? How did Lizzie even get her number? Her fingers trembled slightly as she gripped the phone. Her heart wasn't beating faster because of Scott now—it was because of her.
What was Lizzie playing at?
She needed a distraction.
She slipped her feet into her fuzzy slippers and padded downstairs.
The scent of spiced chicken stew wrapped around her like a warm hug. The house was alive with soft chatter, music playing faintly in the background, and the low rumble of a movie.
On the couch, Mark and Courtney were curled together, half-watching an action flick, half-talking romantically to themselves. They looked up as Sevira passed and smiled at her, she returned the smile.
In the dining room, Alex was seated cross-legged on the bench, a bowl of chicken stew in front of her. Her spoon paused mid-air, her eyes glued to her phone. A faint smile played on her lips, the kind that only a juicy YouTube drama or a flirty text could cause.
Sevira sat down across from her.
"You watching something?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light.
Alex nodded without looking up. "Mhm. This girl exposed her ex on YouTube. Savage." She grinned. "She even made a slideshow. Like—PowerPoint level pettiness."
Sevira forced a chuckle.
Alex finally looked up and narrowed her eyes. "Okay, wait. What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing."
"Liar. You look like you just got ghosted or haunted. Spill."
Sevira sighed and pushed her spoon around the rim of an empty bowl someone had left. "I just… got a weird message."
Alex raised an eyebrow.
Sevira hesitated, then showed her the phone.
Alex read the message. Her expression turned from amused to sharp. "Lizzie? Are you serious?"
Sevira gave a small nod.
Alex's voice dropped. "Wait—does that mean she knows something happened between you and Scott?"
Sevira's face flushed pink. "Nothing happened."
Alex stared at her. "Uh-huh."
"I mean—something happened. But not on purpose," Sevira muttered, dropping her gaze. "It was an accident."
"Sure," Alex said slowly, a teasing smirk forming. "But do you like him?"
Sevira's heart did a somersault.
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then tried again. "No."
Alex just gave her a look. "That was the most suspicious 'no' I've ever heard."
Sevira rolled her eyes and snatched the spoon from the abandoned stew bowl, pointing it at Alex. "Eat your spicy chicken and stop analyzing me."
Alex giggled and happily dipped back into her bowl. "Mmm. So spicy. So damn good."
Sevira relaxed slightly, watching her Sister chew like it was the last meal on Earth.
"You're making this again," Alex mumbled between bites. "I swear, next time we will pair it with pasta but paring it with rice is so damn good baby!"
"I got the recipe from YouTube," Sevira replied with a soft smile. "A Nigerian lady channel. Said it was one of those meal the cook every Sunday. It was like a traditional and I eat it onetime in a restaurant it tasted so good, I decided to cook it."
Alex winked. "Perfect. Now make me three batches. I want more of this."
The two girls shared a laugh.
But inside, Sevira's thoughts drifted back to Scott.
To his smile.
His arms.
And the kiss.
——————
The supermarket doors slid opened, air brushed over Sevira's skin, a welcome contrast to the heat that clung outside. Alex stepped in beside her, her phone in one hand, a shopping basket in the other.
"I'm not even joking," Alex said, grinning. "That stew you made still dream about it. If you don't remake it, I might actually cry."
Sevira rolled her eyes with a smirk. "It's just chicken stew."
"Just chicken stew? You insult me."
They split off with a plan—Alex would grab the vegetables and pasta, Sevira would find the chicken, spices, and stock cubes. The store wasn't too crowded, but the music overhead hummed faintly, and trolleys squeaked across tiled floors.
Sevira moved through the aisles with ease, mentally ticking things off her list. Tomato paste—check. Seasoning cubes—check. She reached for a jar of dry thyme when she heard a sound—a wheeze. Shallow. Strained.
Her head snapped up.
At the end of the aisle, a woman clutched the metal shelf with one hand, the other gripping her chest. Her breaths came in sharp, frantic bursts, as if each one fought against her lungs. Her purse had dropped to the ground, and her face was pale, eyes wide and panicked.
Sevira dropped her basket instantly. "Hey—hey! Ma'am? Are you okay?"
The woman didn't speak, just gestured weakly to her bag.
Sevira was already kneeling beside her, hands moving fast. She opened the purse and found the small, familiar case of pills—she recognized it instantly as asthma medication. Helped her with her inhaler. She popped one out, handed it to the woman, and opened a nearby bottle of water.
"Take this," she urged. "Slowly."
The woman did. Her chest still heaved, but the color started to return to her cheeks. Her hands stopped shaking.
"It's okay," Sevira whispered. "You're okay now."
The woman exhaled—finally—then looked at Sevira properly. Her mouth parted slightly in shock.
"You," she said softly, voice hoarse. "It's you."
Sevira tilted her head. There was something familiar in the woman's features—high cheekbones, deep brown skin, expensive earrings that shimmered even in the store's fluorescent lighting.
And then it clicked.
"Fiona?" Sevira said.
The woman nodded, tears springing to her eyes. "I remember now. You're the girl who got my purse back. Outside this same supermarket."
A smile spread across Fiona's face, shaky but warm. "You saved me again."
Before Sevira could respond, Alex came around the corner, arms loaded with vegetables.
"Girl, why are you—" She paused mid-sentence, seeing Sevira crouched beside the woman. "What happened?"
"This is Fiona," Sevira said, rising and brushing her hands on her jeans. "She's okay now—just needed her meds."
Fiona stood, her composure returning. Her silk scarf hung loose around her shoulders, her heels clicking softly as she adjusted herself. She extended a hand toward Alex.
"You must be her sister," Fiona said kindly.
Alex blinked, accepting the handshake. "Um, yeah—Alex."
"Well," Fiona said, offering a small laugh, "Your sister's a guardian angel. Twice now."
She smiled at them both, then turned to Sevira. "Thank you again, darling. I owe you more than you know."
Moments later, Fiona walked gracefully toward the parking lot. Through the glass doors, her car came into view—sleek, black, polished to a shine. A luxury SUV. She climbed in, the engine purred, and just like that, she was gone.
Alex stood frozen, watching.
"Sev," she said slowly. "Who. Was. That?"
Sevira grabbed her basket again, shaking her head with a smile. "Long story."
"Make it short. That woman was drippin' in money."
Sevira laughed. "She got her purse snatched outside this supermarket a few weeks ago. I was walking home, saw it happen, chased the guy down, and got it back."
Alex stared, eyes wide. "You chased a thief?"
"Yeah."
Alex squealed. "Wow"
"Yeah."
They walked back to the front of the store together, shopping baskets heavier than when they arrived. But Sevira's mind lingered not on the groceries, or the stew—but on Scott, she couldn't stop thinking about him.