Sara stepped forward and pushed the door open. Inside was a large hall. She dragged her suitcase across the floor, her eyes slowly scanning the space. It had changed. A lot.
The vase she once adored was gone. The color of the sofas had changed—now a soft, leafy green. Even the walls had been repainted. Once, every detail in the house had reflected her and her mother's taste—from the paint to the furniture, every decision had been made together by Selene and Sara. But now, everything felt unfamiliar. Different.
She sighed.
And then, for the first time since arriving, a voice filled with joy rang in her ears."Oh, Miss Sara! You're finally here!"
Sara turned toward the garden."Emily…" A smile spread across her face.
Emily had been her real mother's maid—one of the few people who'd stayed constant. She rushed over and took the suitcase from Sara's hand."Thank God," Sara muttered with dry humor, "at least they didn't replace you."
Though her tone held a hint of sarcasm, it wasn't meant for Emily. It was laced with an old complaint. Emily, understanding her unspoken feelings, gave a soft nod and led her toward the room.
It had been a long time since Sara last stepped into that space. As she entered her bedroom, a strange wave of emotion swept over her. This room reminded her of Maera. The room was spotless, almost untouched. She stepped closer to the bedside drawer and opened it.
The old photographs were still there.
She picked one up, smiling at the memory it held—Sara had smeared ice cream on Maera's face, and they both were laughing uncontrollably. A bittersweet smile curved her lips.
She got lost in the past.
Then, a voice echoed inside her head."You still miss her, don't you?"
She answered it silently."I do… I spent four years with her. But I've accepted the reality."
She exhaled slowly, placed the photos back in the drawer, and looked up to see Emily entering the room with a glass of orange juice. Sara smiled and took it from her, then sat on the bed and pulled Emily down beside her, holding her hand gently.
After Selene's death, it was Emily who tried to fill the void of a mother's love. But back then, Emily herself had been so young. Still, Sara had always held deep affection and respect for her.
"How have you been, Emily?" she asked while sipping the juice.
"I'm well, Madam Sara," Emily replied warmly.
Sara smiled. "By the way, where is everyone? The house feels… empty."
Emily hesitated for a second."Well… no one knew you were coming, so… Max Sir went out to a party with his friends, and Miss Hazel is away for a sports competition, and—"
She stopped mid-sentence.
Sara chuckled softly. "It's okay. We can skip my dad's wife. What about Dad? It's Saturday evening, isn't it?"
Emily nodded. "He's in the study."
"Alright. Then I'll see everyone at dinner," Sara said, finally slipping off her shoes. Her feet ached after being in them for so long. She took off her jacket, stood up, and walked to the window. As she opened it, a cool breeze greeted her.
She turned to Emily. "Thank you so much for the juice. Honestly, after such a long time, it felt really good."
Emily simply smiled, took the empty glass, and quietly left the room.
Sara wandered around the room, taking everything in. She opened her wardrobe. There was her leather jacket, her helmet, and beside them, a few packets of cigarettes. A small wooden box sat quietly in the corner—one she had never dared to open.
She smirked."Well, at least they didn't mess with my room…"
With that, she picked up her bathrobe and walked into the bathroom to freshen up.
A few moments later, she stepped out with damp hair, not bothering to dry it. She locked the door behind her, turned on the air conditioning, and, without a second thought, collapsed onto the bed, her wet body sinking into the familiar mattress.
Within moments, sleep took her—deep, peaceful, and long overdue
___________________________________________>>>>
Li Cheng's car glided down the road, steady and silent beneath the canopy of city lights.New York—the city of lights.But where there is light… there is always shadow.
The streets pulsed with life. People moved with purpose, chasing time, dreams, or perhaps just survival. Yet inside the car, removed from it all, Li Cheng was lost in thought, his hands firm on the wheel, his mind adrift in silence.
He had learned the truth from Dr. Rika.Sara had Dissociative Identity Disorder.
That knowledge alone had been unsettling—but what troubled him more was how little even Dr. Rika knew about the alter. No one, not even Sara herself, seemed to understand the full nature of her other self. She had never sought therapy. She had never tried to uncover the truth.
And that unknown part of her—the other personality—it could become dangerous.Not just to Sara… but to everyone around her.
What if the other identity was violent? Or emotionally unstable? Or worse—what if it was someone completely innocent, unaware, unpredictable?Did Sara even have control over it?
These thoughts swirled endlessly in Li Cheng's mind, dragging him deeper into unease.
Then his phone rang.
Snapping out of his reverie, he pressed the call button."Hm," he answered curtly.
A young man's voice came through the speaker."We've gathered all the details."
Li Cheng paused, digesting the words.Then simply said, "I'm coming."
The call ended with a quiet click, and without hesitation, Li Cheng pressed his foot down on the accelerator. The car surged forward, slicing through the night as if chasing the truth itself.
_________________________________________________________>>>>>
On the other side of the house, Sara was sprawled across the bed, her limbs stretched wide like a child who had bought sleep in bulk—just for tonight. It was already 10 PM, and she hadn't stirred once.
Emily entered the room quietly, calling softly, "Miss Sara…"
She called again, once, maybe twice—but the girl lying on the bed didn't flinch. Her stillness resembled that of a corpse, her breath the only sign of life.
Emily moved closer and gently touched her arm to wake her.
But the moment her hand made contact, Sara's eyes flew open—sharp and alert. In a split second, she grabbed Emily's wrist, flipped over, and pinned her to the bed. Her voice was no longer the Sara Emily knew.
"Who are you?" she asked coldly.
Emily froze. She hadn't expected this. Not this aggression. Not this voice."S-Sara ma'am… I-It's me… Emily…"
Layall blinked once, taking in the maid's frightened expression.
This one… she seemed normal. No threat.
She loosened her grip and got off her. Her eyes scanned the room.
"Oh… it must be Cherry's house," she muttered.
Then she turned her gaze back to the maid.
"So, you're Emily?"
Emily, now thoroughly shaken, couldn't comprehend the transformation. Just hours ago, this girl had been perfectly normal. But now—this? She looked… possessed.
"Okay, Emily," Layall said in her usual detached tone, the coldness returning. "Why are you here?"
"I-I just came to call you for dinner," Emily stammered.
"Fine. Go. I'll be down in a minute."
Her tone was final. Emily didn't wait. She left without another word.
Layall walked into the washroom and stood before the mirror.
"Cherry," she whispered, staring into the glass, "aren't you going to introduce me to anyone?"
The voice in her head responded with irritation.
"Layall, this is your problem—you switch without a signal. At least wait for me to call you. Don't just show up."
Layall chuckled, amused.
"Okay, my bad. Not like I can fight myself now, can I? Ready?"
She stared at her reflection.
"Switch us back."
And within seconds, it was Sara who stepped out of the bathroom. She looked drained—as always.
Downstairs, the dinner table was already full. From the staircase, she saw her so-called family gathered around, eating in quiet rhythm. Hazel, her father, and her stepmother were present. Max, unsurprisingly, was out partying with friends.
Sara approached the table with polite formality.
"Hello everyone. How are you all?"
Hazel's eyes lit up. She glanced up from her plate with joy.
"sister! When did you get here?!"
She stood immediately and ran to hug Sara, wrapping her arms around her tightly. Sara smiled and embraced her back.
But her eyes—her eyes were fixed on her father, who continued eating as if she were invisible. As if her presence meant nothing.
"Dad…" she said softly.
No response. Not even a glance.
Tears welled up in her eyes.
Hazel noticed. She gently pulled Sara closer and whispered, "Aapi… maybe Dad's just… deep in thought. Please, sit. Eat something. You really surprised us today, didn't she, Mom?"
Hazel turned to their stepmother, who had remained silent this entire time. Seeing Sara, she put on the most exaggerated expression of faux surprise.
"Oh, my dear Sara! Where have you been? I was just saying to your fa—"
She didn't get to finish. Sara's cold stare shut her up instantly.
Hazel quickly guided Sara to sit beside her and tried to lighten the mood.
"Sis, try this—it's really good," she said, placing a helping of chicken on Sara's plate.
Sara gave her a faint smile and picked up her fork. But the tension at the table felt like weight pressing down on her chest.
Two, maybe three bites in, and she couldn't take it anymore.
She stood up.
"I'm done," she said flatly, and walked away.
Hazel watched her go, wanting to stop her—but she knew. She knew Sara would never be accepted by their father. And tonight, his indifference had broken something.
Hazel felt a deep ache inside. No matter what anyone said, she knew how much Sara loved them—her siblings. She still remembered the day when Sara had taken both her and Max away for two nights, riding through the city on her old bike.
Sara had cared for them like a mother in those two days—feeding them, protecting them, making them laugh. It had been magical.
If it weren't for their father… Hazel and Max might never have returned home.
Hazel let out a deep sigh, heart heavy. Across the table, their father continued to eat, unaffected—as if nothing had happened at all.
__________________________________________________________>>>>>
It was late—some unknown hour of the night—when Maera awoke to the sound of muffled crying.
Soft. Stifled. Choking.
It took her a moment to process what she was hearing.
She sat up and turned.
Sim lay curled on the far side of the bed, one hand pressed to her mouth, sobbing quietly.
Maera's chest tightened. She switched on the bedside lamp.
"Sim? What happened?"
She gently touched her arm, trying to rouse her.
Sim looked up, her face streaked with tears.
"M-Mae… I'm sorry… I didn't mean to wake you…"
Maera wrapped her arms around her and whispered, "It's okay. Why are you crying?"
Sim could barely speak through the sobs. "M-My stomach… it hurts. So bad…"
Panic rose in Maera's chest, but she kept her voice calm.
"I'm right here. Don't worry."
She got up quickly and left the room, returning moments later with the medicine box. She knelt beside the bed, pulling out a painkiller.
Sim clutched her stomach, still whimpering.
"Mae… please… it hurts so much. There won't be any problem, right? It's only been a week…"
Maera gently wiped her tears. "No, no. You'll be okay. Just take this."
But Sim shook her head violently.
"No way! I'm not taking that. It's so bitter—I hate those pills!"
Maera sighed, trying to stay patient.
"Sim, stop being a child. You're a grown adult."
But Sim pouted stubbornly.
"No. I want syrup. Find syrup."
Maera glanced at the clock. Where would she find syrup at this hour?
She tried one last tactic.
"Sim. Are you taking this or not?"
Sim heard the shift in Maera's tone—that soft firmness that meant there would be no second chances.
Grumbling, she took the pill and swallowed it down with water.
Maera sat beside her and pulled her close. Sim leaned into her, burying her face into Maera's chest.
Maera gently ran her fingers through Sim's hair, offering comfort the only way she knew how.
Sim wrapped her arms tightly around Maera's waist, holding on like a frightened child. The pain in her stomach faded slowly, soothed more by Maera's presence than the medicine.
There's a special kind of peace in being held.In knowing someone is there—just for you.A shoulder to rest your head on.A warmth that promises protection.
Within minutes, Sim had drifted off, her head resting across Maera's lap, clutching her trousers like a child afraid to let go. Her breathing softened, her grip stayed tight.
And Maera remained still, her head resting back against the bed's crown, eyes closed, fingers still moving gently through Sim's hair.
They were enough for each other.In that moment—they needed no one else.
___________________________________________________________>>>>
It had been three weeks. December had begun—and with it, winter had arrived in full force, harsh and unapologetic.
The car rolled to a gentle stop in front of the gate. Zero stepped out with the driver and moved quickly to open the back door. His mother sat quietly inside. He helped her out with care, and the driver followed with a wheelchair. Together, they wheeled her inside.
Zero hadn't returned home in a long time.
The house was large, with high ceilings and white walls that carried the chill of winter. A chandelier hung in the center of the grand hall, glowing with soft blue candle lights. Cream-colored luxury sofas lined the room, and a grand staircase curved upwards on either side of the room. Upstairs was another hall-like space with several rooms. The ground floor held the kitchen and a study.
He turned his head slowly, surveying every detail.Nothing had changed.Everything was exactly as it used to be.
This house held a lifetime of memories—though most of his childhood was spent with his grandfather, not under this roof. He had rarely lived here with his parents. Still, nostalgia hit hard.
Just then, a young woman entered the hall. She looked to be in her early twenties—beautiful, but dressed differently, in a way that immediately caught his attention.
Zero looked at her, curiosity flickering in his gaze.
She stepped forward with a soft smile."Hello, Mr. Zeyad. I'm Lucy—the caretaker," she introduced herself.
He offered a polite, formal smile. Not a genuine one. It was the kind of smile expected in introductions—ethical, rehearsed."Hello, Ms. Lucy. Nice to meet you," he replied.
Before they could exchange another word, another servant entered and informed him that Manager Erick had arrived.
Zero blinked. His eyes widened a little.
"God... I completely forgot about him," he thought, suddenly uneasy.
"Lucy, these are my mother's medications," he said, turning to her. "These are the timings. Please place them in her room and make sure she receives them on schedule."With that, he turned and headed toward the manager.
A tall man in his mid-thirties entered, holding a set of files. He was professionally dressed, formal from head to toe, every step calculated and composed.
"Hello, Mr. Zeyad. My name is Erick James, and I'm the manager of your father's company."
Zero stood to greet him, extending a hand with a welcoming nod.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Erick. I apologize—I've been overwhelmed lately. I completely forgot we were scheduled to meet."
Erick gave Zero a once-over—his tousled hair, the dark circles under his eyes, the fresh but tired look on his face, like he'd only just washed up and changed. Then he offered a small smile.
"It's alright, Mr. Zeyad. As you know, Mr. Anthony is currently in a coma. That means you'll have to take over his responsibilities. He was planning to retire anyway, and you're his only child. The company needs a leader now."
Zero listened carefully, silently.
"You're right," he said eventually. "So… what should I do first?"
Erick nodded, placing the files on the table.
"These contain everything about the upcoming project—budgets, share reports, projections. Mr. Anthony was on his way to a meeting about this when the accident happened. Since then, everything has been on hold."
Zero flipped through the documents, reading thoroughly.
"When is the meeting scheduled?"
"Two days from now. But you'll need to join the company starting tomorrow. Our clients are waiting—we can't delay this any longer."
Zero gave a solemn nod and stood."Alright, Mr. Erick."
Seeing him rise, Erick stood as well. They shook hands again, professionally.
Zero walked him to the door, then returned to the house, heading outside.
He sat down in the lawn as dusk settled around him. The chill in the air cut deep.
He pulled out a cigarette and tried to light it—but the lighter refused to cooperate. After three failed attempts, he threw it aside in frustration, placed the unlit cigarette on the table, and exhaled deeply.
He felt... hollow.There was nothing left to do. No one to talk to.
Normally, Sam would be with him. They'd be playing games or watching movies together.
And just like that—Sam returned to his thoughts.
"Aghh…"Zero leaned back his neck in chair and stared at the sky.
Then he straightened, pulled out his phone, and opened the game app. But his finger froze before tapping. He sighed and backed out, instead opening Sam's chat.
Meanwhile, Sam lay under a blanket on Zero's bed, staring at his phone with blank eyes. For over thirty minutes, he had been watching Zero's profile icon. Nothing.
Suddenly, he noticed the typing indicator appear."Typing…"
His heart jumped. He sat upright instantly, breath caught in anticipation.
One minute passed. Then two.Then ten.
The typing status disappeared.
Sam kept staring. Hoping. Waiting.
But nothing came through.
Zero switched off his phone and set it aside.
He couldn't bring himself to send the message.There was fear—paralyzing fear.
What if Sam had blocked him?What if he didn't reply at all?What if the reply was cold… harsh… final?
All those thoughts haunted him from the inside.
He missed Sam.He wanted to see him.But the distance between them was vast—like the sky and the earth.
Hearts?Who knew if they were still aligned.
Back in the room, Sam sighed and shook his head.
"What the hell is your problem, Zero? Why do you start typing and then stop? What are you—"
Frustrated, anxious, he started scolding the screen, his voice rising with each second. For five minutes, he went on ranting to Zero's smiling profile picture.
That same picture.Still smiling.
Still shameless.
"Keep grinning like an idiot," Sam muttered and slammed his phone shut. He dropped it beside him and sat still.
He had already watched every single movie stored in Zero's USB. Three times. He had nothing left to do.
After sitting in silence for a few minutes, he stood up—and wandered into Zero's old study.A room that had almost never been used.
Sam opened the study door.He stepped inside slowly, the air thick with stillness and time.
Dust coated everything in a thin, forgotten layer—especially the desk at the far end. He walked over, pulled out the chair, and sat down with a quiet sigh. Reaching for a photo frame, he gently brushed the surface clean with his fingers.
It was a picture of him and Zero—taken on their school graduation day.
A soft smile touched Sam's lips as he stared at the image.
"You know, Zero... you changed everything in just a single moment," he whispered, eyes not leaving the photograph."Even the meaning of our relationship... What am I supposed to make of you now? You've put me in such a difficult place."
He was speaking to the picture, to the boy in it, but it was more than just words.There was something in his voice—something that couldn't be put into words. Something aching, tender, unspoken.
After a long pause, he opened the second drawer of Zero's desk.
It was stuffed with papers—notes, sketches, scraps, most of it looking like discarded material.
"Gosh, Zero..." Sam muttered, flipping through the mess,"You barely did anything with your time, but you've stacked these up like you were some kind of journalist."
He shuffled through the pages carelessly—until something caught his eye.
A diary.
He paused. His fingers curled around it slowly and pulled it out.
Zero's diary.
He opened it.
And then he read.
And kept reading.And reading.
As if time itself had stopped.
The diary's pages were worn, the edges curled with time.Sam turned them carefully, as if the paper might crumble under his fingers.
The first few entries were ordinary—notes about classes, random thoughts, sketches in the margins. But then, the tone shifted. The handwriting became neater, more deliberate.
"He smiled at me today. Just a small smile. But I don't know why it felt like sunlight after days of rain."
Sam froze.
the date was near 4 months ago
He flipped the page.
"I don't know when it started—this... whatever it is. I just know that I look for him in every crowd. I know it's stupid. He'll never see me like that."
A shaky breath escaped Sam's lips. He leaned back in the chair, stunned.
" he is my friends but i can't live without him, i want him in every second of my life, I think I'm in love with him."
His eyes blurred. For a moment, he couldn't breathe.
"Zero..." he whispered.
There were more entries—pages filled with longing, confusion, hidden glances, and suppressed emotions. Zero had poured everything into these pages, never daring to say it aloud.
Sam kept reading, his fingers trembling.
"He talks about girls, about Elina, about music. And I just sit there, laughing with him, dying a little more every time. He'll never know what it's like—loving someone you can never have."
Tears welled up in Sam's eyes now.
He had always known there was something more beneath Zero's silences, behind his coldness. But not this. Not this much.
"You idiot..." he whispered, smiling through his tears."Why didn't you tell me?"
The room was quiet, filled only with the faint hum of city life beyond the window.
Sam sat there, holding the diary like a memory, like a confession too late—yet somehow, still alive.
But there were still more pages left to read.
More confessions.
More of Zero.
Sam could feel it—the weight of untold words pressing behind those final pages. But something inside him trembled. He couldn't. Not yet.
He closed the diary slowly, gently, as if afraid to hurt it.
"Not now," he murmured under his breath, his voice barely a whisper.
The pain was too fresh. The truth, too heavy.
He clutched the diary to his chest and leaned back in the old chair, letting silence settle around him like dusk.
The room smelled of dust and forgotten things, but in that moment, it felt like the only place in the world where his heart made sense.
He kept the diary close.Not just as a belonging of Zero's—but as a piece of him.Of them.Of something unfinished.
Something he wasn't ready to face... but couldn't let go of either.
........................
To Be Continued....