The living room felt colder today. Not the air, but the energy. Furniture had been rearranged, studio lights repositioned—not too obvious, but enough to make you feel watched. At the center stood a box. Walnut finish. Slit at the top.
"Voting time," someone announced. "Two choices—your most preferred and least preferred member of the opposite gender."
There was laughter. Nervous. Performed.
I sat with the pen in hand. It felt heavier than it should.
Favorite: Zi Yang. Solid. Calm. A vote that said, "Don't rock the boat." Least favorite: Zack. Too loud. Too invasive. Always orbiting Michelle like gravity.
As votes dropped into the box, I caught Michelle's glance—quiet, sure. Zack's name echoed off the walls, and for once, he didn't have a comeback. Just confusion. Mild betrayal.
He was out.
Among the girls, the votes trickled more gently. One for Zi Qing. Two for Michelle. One for... me?
I blinked. The room moved subtly. Had Zi Yang voted for me?
Jessica was the casualty—her smile frozen in place, pride stitched beneath composure.
Before we could unpack what it meant, the producers leaned in.
"Two new participants will be joining you shortly. For entertainment value, of course."
Entertainment. Like desire was a prop.
🎭 Enter the Chaos
Jacinta. She strode in like she belonged. Brazilian-Asian, flawless skin, tailored confidence. Her heels made more noise than her words. She greeted the room with grace, but her eyes found Michelle fast. Held. Calculated.
Bernard followed—a different texture entirely. Baggy hoodie, college glow still clinging to his skin, dimples like parentheses around soft laughter. His sneakers squeaked as he walked, and something about him felt… awake.
🌬️ Chloe & Bernard
He plopped beside me on a beanbag with mismatched socks—blue planets, tiger stripes—and the kind of energy that didn't ask for anything in return.
"Coconut shampoo?" he asked suddenly.
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"It betrayed me once. Promised vacation vibes, gave me expired cake batter."
I laughed. "Mine was charcoal. My hair looked haunted."
It started there. Shampoo failures turned to ridiculous fears (mascots and elevators), and then to childhood stories, scraped knees, rebellious teen playlists. Bernard's joy wasn't flirtatious—it was buoyant. And for once, I felt lighter just sitting still.
"What's that scar?" he asked, gently pointing near my eyebrow.
I hesitated. "Bike accident. Thought no-handed riding was a good idea."
He leaned in, not invading but curious.
"It makes you look like a heroine in a Ghibli film. Earned."
I flushed. Not romantically, but like someone had seen something I'd forgotten to honor.
His hand brushed something off my shoulder. A leaf? A thread?
Michelle was nearby. Arms crossed, expression careful. Her smile was there—but somewhere behind it, a warning curled like steam.
"You ever been to Penang?" I asked, trying to shift the air.
"Not yet. But if you're my guide, I'll risk the coconut shampoo again."
Before I could answer, Michelle moved closer. Calm. Precise.
"Chloe, we said we'd check out the herb garden?"
Her voice wasn't sharp—but it cut anyway.
Bernard stood immediately. "Ah—got it. Rain check on the tour?"
He winked. It wasn't romantic. But it was warm. I watched him walk away with that college bounce, untouched by deadlines or emotional tangles.
Michelle didn't speak for a moment.
"He's sweet."
"Yeah… he is."
She looked at me. Really looked. And then took my hand gently.
"Let's find the mint leaves."
But I knew it wasn't about mint. It was about what Bernard reminded her she could lose.
⚡ Fracture Lines
Later that evening, near the patio railing, Michelle found me again. The moon cut through the clouds like a judgment.
"You laughed with him."
I nodded. "He's easy to talk to."
She breathed through her nose—controlled, tight.
"You looked… happy."
I turned to her. "Not like I do with you."
She stared. Unreadable.
I took a step closer, my fingers brushing hers.
"Bernard's like fresh air. You're the weather. The ache. The thunder."
She didn't move, but something in her eyes flickered.
"I don't want anyone clouding what we've built."
⚔ Michelle vs Jacinta
Group chat. Wine glasses. Comfortable poses turned performance.
Jacinta leaned in toward Michelle, legs crossed perfectly, voice dipped in sugar.
"You've got poise. I admire that. You know your brand."
Michelle smiled politely. "Not a brand. Just myself."
Jacinta tilted her head, almost faux-innocent.
"Sometimes they're the same thing."
Laughter rippled from the guys. But the room felt a shade colder.
Chloe noticed Bernard glance between the two women, quiet. Zi Yang stirred his drink—slow, methodical.
Back in our shared room, Michelle didn't speak at first. She sat on the edge of the bed, head bowed, fingers tangled in her sleeves.
I sat behind her, arms wrapping gently around her waist.
"She's performance art. You're poetry."
She turned, pressed her face into my neck.
"Don't let someone with a LinkedIn headline push us apart."
I kissed her temple, fingers tracing constellations in her hair.
"She's noise. You're the melody."
Michelle had just slipped under the sheets, her hair tumbling across the pillow like water.
I didn't say much. Just pulled my oversized sweatshirt over my head and joined her. There were no kisses. No skin pressed against skin. Just silence, and the sound of her breath—slow, steady, anchoring.
I lay beside her, close but careful. She rolled gently onto her side, her back facing me.
For a few seconds, I stared at the curve of her spine beneath cotton. And then—instinct.
I reached out, arms folding softly around her waist. My cheek nestled into her shoulder blade. Her body relaxed.
She didn't speak.
But her fingers found mine and intertwined them.
And that was enough.
Outside, night stretched long and restless. But in here, in this stillness between us—
We slept.
Not as lovers chasing heat. But as two women chasing quiet.