Vihaan's POV:
The orphanage lights had dimmed to a honey-gold glow, and the children curled up in a chorus of soft breaths. Ama stood by the window, moonlight tracing the curve of her cheek. I wanted to draw every inch of her into memory—this stillness, this quiet that felt like home.
"Thank you… For today," I said, stepping close enough to catch the faint scent of jasmine in her hair. Her smile was small, but it reached her eyes. "I only wanted you to feel celebrated."
For a heartbeat, it was just the two of us, the world narrowed to the warmth of her hand as I brushed my thumb across her knuckles. Something unspoken pulsed in the air—a promise neither of us dared voice.
But then a soft ping from Ama's phone sliced the moment. A message flashed, bright and sharp: "Did he like it? –Jia"
Jia. The name flickered across my mind, stirring the words Olivia had purred earlier: "It feels like your friends aren't happy to see me."
I shouldn't have cared. Yet a tiny doubt edged in. Did Jia plan this? Was Ama simply helping her? I stepped back before the thought could root, but it clung like a shadow.
Amara's POV:
I felt him withdraw, the subtle shift in his gaze. One minute, we were lost in a quiet orbit, the next, he was somewhere distant."Mr. Mickelson?" I whispered, but he only offered a faint smile and looked toward the sleeping children.
I tucked my phone away, unaware of the seed that single message had planted.
"We should leave now, it's pretty late," he said, smiling.
Inside the car, there was a little quiet moment, and none of us dared to break that. I am still wondering about that sudden reaction from Mr. Mickelson. It would not be ok to ask directly. As we reached home, he opened the car door and said Good night, so I did.
I woke up late because of the last late-night party celebration. I was just checking my phone when I saw a message from Mr. Mickelson, "Be ready, we are going somewhere." Just that, nothing specific. Last night, he felt a bit lost, but now it's fine. I think he was just overwhelmed.
I got ready for college and had breakfast along with Jia. We left together for college. The day went slowly, and it was five in the evening, and I was waiting for Mr. Mickelson, as he had said he would pick me up. And as expected, soon I heard a car horn. I quickly said goodbye to Jia and got out of the house, and there he was, standing in front of his car looking effortlessly handsome and charming in his beige shirt and white pants.
"Hii," he said with his ever-charming smile on his face.
I said nothing, just waved my hand(say it shyness or whatever you want, but I was shy). He opened the car door, and I sat. Soon, we reached a restaurant.
As we entered, Mr. Mickelson said something to the manager, and we went further inside the restaurant, which seemed like a private table-type hall, and we stopped in front of a table where a boy, hardly of age thirteen or fourteen, was sitting. Mr. Mickelson gestures for me to sit.
The boy looked up from a sketchbook, eyes bright as morning sunlight." Finally," he grinned, sliding off the chair. "So this is the Ama I've been hearing about?"
I blinked. Hearing about?
"Eric," Vihaan said, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it, "this is Amara. Ama, meet my younger brother."
Younger step-brother, I remembered him mentioning once, but there was no distance in the way Vihaan placed a hand on Eric's shoulder—only quiet affection.
Eric extended a hand with mock formality. "You must be a magician. My serious brother never shuts up when it's about you."
Heat rushed to my cheeks. "That can't be true," I said, laughing, but the sound came out too small.
"It's absolutely true," Eric teased, settling back into his seat. "He tells me you argue like a lawyer and still make him lose every time."
Vihaan shot him a look, half warning, half fondness. "Ignore him. He exaggerates."
But watching them together—the easy jabs, the way Vihaan's eyes softened whenever Eric spoke—made something warm bloom in my chest. I'd seen Vihaan composed, guarded, even playful, but this was different: a glimpse of family, of love unspoken.
The waiter brought drinks, and conversation flowed—Eric's latest obsession with music, a weekend basketball match, a prank he'd played on a neighbor. I found myself laughing until my eyes watered.
Yet every so often, I caught Vihaan studying me with that quiet intensity. Something unspoken flickered there—sweet but clouded, as if a shadow lingered behind the warmth.
When dessert arrived, Eric grinned at his brother. "Oh, by the way—Jia called you earlier, right? She kept asking where you'd disappeared. She sounded… I don't know… kinda worried."
It was such an innocent remark. But I saw Vihaan's hand pause around his fork, a tiny freeze that barely lasted a second.
"I'll call her back later," he said lightly, but the spark in his eyes dimmed just enough for me to feel the change.
"Thank you for coming," he said quietly to me. "It… meant more than you know."
His voice was velvet, but his eyes held questions he didn't ask. I wanted to reach for his hand, to tell him I was here for him, not for anyone else, but the words stayed tangled in my throat.
Something was about the text of Jia. But why was Jia worried, and if she was, why didn't she ask me directly? I know she can never even think anything bad about me.
Vihaan's POV
The night air wrapped around us as we stepped out of the restaurant, a soft hush after the easy laughter inside. Eric skipped ahead to the car, humming a tune he'd just learned on guitar.
Ama walked beside me, her sleeve brushing mine now and then—light, unintentional, enough to stir something that had been steady all evening.
She looked radiant under the streetlamps, like the whole city was bending its glow toward her. And yet, Eric's offhand remark kept echoing.
Jia kept asking where you'd disappeared… sounded kinda worried.
I'd heard Jia tease me a hundred times before, but tonight the words landed differently, heavy with a meaning I didn't want to name.
Was Ama spending time with me for her sister's sake? Every shared glance, every quiet conversation suddenly felt like a puzzle with one piece turned the wrong way.
Eric leapt into the backseat. I opened the passenger door for Ama; she thanked me with that small, warm smile that usually undid me. Tonight, it only twisted the knot tighter.
The drive was silent except for the low hum of the engine. Ama looked out the window, moonlight tracing her profile. I wanted to reach for her hand—just hold it, anchor us both—but the thought of Jia's voice stopped me.
When we reached her house, she unbuckled and turned toward me. "Thank you… for today. Eric is wonderful."
"He liked you," I managed, my voice softer than I intended.
Her eyes searched mine. "You seem… far away."
I forced a faint smile. "Just tired. Long day."
She lingered a heartbeat longer, as if she felt the distance too, then slipped out and closed the door gently behind her.
I watched her walk to the porch, every step framed in moonlight, until she disappeared inside.
Only then did I let the doubt speak aloud in the quiet car.
"Are you here because of me… or for Jia?"
The question hung in the dark, unanswered, threading itself into the night like a whisper I couldn't take back.
Amara's POV:
I found Jia in her room, folding laundry under a warm pool of lamplight. She hummed a tune we used to sing as kids. For a moment, I watched, gathering courage.
"Hey," I said softly. She looked up, eyebrows lifting. "Something on your mind?"
I sat on the edge of her bed."Did you ever… like Mr. Mickelson?"
She blinked, then laughed—a gentle, surprised sound."Wow. That was ages ago. More like a two-minute daydream before I even knew him."
Relief flooded me, but I pressed on."Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because it was nothing," she said, setting a shirt aside."The kind of silly crush you forget after a week. And then I saw the way you two look at each other… Trust me, Ama, I'm so over it."
She wrapped an arm around my shoulders, the hug warm and certain."I only want you to be happy. Always."
I exhaled, leaning into her. The doubt slipped away, yet a faint unease flickered:
"What happened? Suddenly, this question," she asked, seeing me lost.
"Maybe Mr. Mickelson sensed that, but it was not because of that; it was something else," I replied, trying to figure out what was actually happening.
"I don't know what it was, but you need to resolve it. You guys have just started; if something comes between you, you won't be able to clear it out easily, so be aware. Remember, communication is the key," she said, and I suddenly wanted to talk to him, but I was not sure what to ask.
These Salvatores took everything from me, and now, I don't know what motives Olivia holds for Mr. Mickelson.