When Destiny Doesn't Wait and Truth Doesn't Either
Vanessa
Breakfast, after my triumphant entrance—something that could only happen to me—continues with as much comfort and calm as possible, almost as if mornings in this house were always like this.
But there's an invisible current running across the table, settling between Maeson and me. Our eyes meet again and again—brief but intense—as if each glance carries questions, answers, and secrets we don't yet know how to say. Those looks make one thing clear: there's a conversation waiting to happen, and the sooner it does, the better.
When the coffee runs out and everyone starts clearing the table, Wenn walks over with that mix of complicity and nerves that only we understand in this moment. Without much preamble, I open my mouth:
"Hey, Wenn, feel like going out with me for a bit?" I try to sound casual, but I feel my pulse racing in my throat.
"Yeah, let's go," she replies, just as awkward. "I needed to buy... well, you know... stuff."
"Uh-huh, stuff," I repeat, clumsy. Shawn stops drying a mug and raises his eyebrows.
"Can I come with you?" he asks, with that tone that mixes curiosity and a hint of concern.
We look at each other. The lie is hard to share, even between us.
"No, babe, really, it's fine. It's quick, and it's just girl stuff," Wenn stammers, and I nod like that's enough of an explanation.
Shawn frowns, half amused, half uneasy, and ends up accepting it—sort of. Though it's clear he doesn't love the idea, he pulls Wenn aside. I watch them talk quietly, him with a serious look, her trying to keep the secret without giving anything away.
I take the opportunity and walk over to Maeson, who's still sitting, distracted by his phone screen.
"Want me to bring you something from the pharmacy?" I whisper, lowering my voice. "For the hangover, maybe."
Maeson looks at me with a crooked smile, almost ironic. In his eyes is the question he doesn't ask: Weren't you going somewhere else? I catch the look, and my lie wobbles. But he, in his quiet decency, chooses to let it go.
"Some headache pills would be great," he replies, nothing more. His words calm me, but also remind me that half-truths have a face.
I feel the weight of the situation and the urgency to leave as soon as possible. After a brief exchange of glances with Maeson, I say goodbye with a smile and head out with Wenn—both of us carrying the tension and nerves of our improvised plan, and the mission we've got ahead.
We take Shawn's car and head toward the city center. The streets hold their usual magic—full of art and moments unfolding in every corner, like an infinite collection of scenes that have nothing in common but somehow belong to this living, moving city. But the atmosphere carries a kind of expectation and fear you can feel in the air.
I decide the best thing is to offer Wenn some warmth and support—something to help her see things from a different angle. Since we got in the car, she hasn't said a word. Just soft sighs and a distant gaze, probably wrestling with what her reality will be if the test comes back positive.
I gently touch her hand to get her attention. "You know, when I came to this city alone, all I could think about was how much I missed my best friend Melissa. We've known each other since we were kids, and for her, friendship is everything. She shows it with infinite loyalty. And I know you and I haven't known each other long, but I really feel like we're building something special here."
Wenn looks at me with those beautiful dark eyes, and the tears come instantly. I don't think my words triggered them—but with emotions this raw, everything hits harder.
"Thank you. I feel the same. You're a very special person, and you fit perfectly with all of us. It's like it was meant to happen." I smile and say what feels true: "Whatever the result, I'm here for you. Whatever you need—you've got a friend and a partner in me."
Wenn smiles and shifts the topic, maybe to escape the weight of it all. "Speaking of partners... do you remember anything from last night?"
I look at her for a few moments, trying to recall everything that happened. "All I get are fragments after the third beer at the guys' house. Some awkward chats with Konnor. Maeson's glances. And then... my memory cuts off. Until the next morning, when I made my grand entrance into the kitchen." Wenn laughs quietly, like she doesn't want to add to the embarrassment I already suffered this morning—so different from her sweet fiancé.
She looks at me for a moment, as if trying to decide whether what she's about to say is okay. "Do you want all the details, or just the short, family-friendly version?" I look at her, a little confused, hoping I didn't make a drunken scene in front of everyone. "Wenn, don't leave anything out."
After she tells me everything that happened the night before, the drive feels much shorter. Now we're sitting in the car, outside the pharmacy. And even though Wenn is the one who's nervous, I'm the one who still can't get out.
After hearing everything—from Konnor's attempted kiss to how I pushed him, and Maeson's unexpected reaction—none of it makes sense. It's like we stepped into a parallel universe from a dark romance novel, full of possessive characters and love triangles. Which couldn't be further from reality. We've only known these guys for a few days. How is this even possible? I'm definitely never drinking that liquor again.
Finally, I decide to stop being a bad friend and set aside my confusion and mini-drama. Wenn and I get out of the car, her hand gently holding my arm in that way only she can.
The pharmacy's automatic doors open, and cold air greets us—like the world wants to snap us out of our thoughts. The silence between us is deep, broken only by the sound of footsteps on polished floors. While she searches for the test, I stare at shelves of medicine, as if one of those bottles might hold a cure for uncertainty. The process is mechanical: Wenn pays, I keep the receipt, and we return to the car in uneasy quiet.
Back outside, the city surrounds us—but everything narrows to the fogged-up glass where our faces reflect. The test in Wenn's hand feels heavier than any secret. We breathe deeply. She asks me to go with her to the café bathroom nearby. The short walk becomes a silent confession.
Inside, the fluorescent light highlights the paleness in Wenn's face. She enters the stall. I wait outside, counting seconds, trying to ignore the buzz in my head. When she comes out, the test wrapped in paper, our eyes meet. No words. Just the promise to hold each other up.
She leans on my shoulder and cries. I don't know whether to hug her or cry with her. But I know this: friendship is holding fear without asking for explanations.
Outside, the sun has barely moved—but something feels different. Wenn suggests we go to the beach. She needs air, space, and the company of those who make her feel safe. We message the guys and head out.
The drive to the coast is short, but every kilometer feels like a transition—from anxiety to peace. At the beach, the guys are already there: Maeson, Shawn, Zane. Each in their own world.
We join them. The mood lightens. The sea, the sand, the breeze—they remind us that sometimes, stepping away is the only way to remember what matters.
Shawn lifts Wenn and tosses her into the waves. A rom-com moment. I hope her fears vanish when she tells him. Someone like Shawn couldn't respond with anything but love.
Next to me, Zane is reading The Art of Loving by Erich Fromm, which happens to be one of the books I used to read years ago. I lean slightly toward him to sneak a peek at what page he's on. He looks up and gives me a soft, crooked smile.
"Want to read it with me?" he asks.
I look at him, a little embarrassed. "Sorry, curiosity got the best of me. I've actually read that book a few years ago—I just wanted to see what page you were on."
He smiles again, this time more broadly. "It's fine. I figured out your curious spirit the day you took our photo at the beach."
I smile at the memory and pull out my phone. "By the way, I edited the photo. Do you still want it?"
He nods, and I send it to him. Maeson, sitting on my other side with his headphones in, quietly breaks his silence to ask for the photo too.
"Can I get a copy as well? Actually—hold on," he says, smiling.
Just as I'm about to send it to him, I get a notification: we've all been added to a new group chat.
Group Chat: BD
Zane: Who convinced Konnor to pose like a private investigator? 😂 ·
Konnor: No idea, but I feel like I got caught in the middle of something important.
Maeson: I'm more worried I look like I'm about to break through the screen. Was I really that close, or did Vanessa have emotional zoom turned on?
Zane: The answer is yes and yes. But no one beats Shawn and Wenn—they look like a rom-com poster.
Shawn (sending heart emojis): 🫂🌊😄
Konnor: I'm on my way. Save that energy for when I get there.
Zane: Can we talk about my villain side-smirk? I need answers. ·
Konnor: You're always scheming, that's why.
Vanessa: Thanks for being my favorite chaos and inspiration ☀️ ·
Shawn: Aww, she's so sweet. Officially hired to take more photos like that.
Maeson: Don't tease her. But yeah, the photo's perfect.
Shawn: Someone's feeling protective 🕶️🛡️
I turn to my side and Maeson is looking at me with a smile. I nudge him gently with my elbow and laugh beside him—a small, shared gesture that speaks to something we still don't fully understand.
In this moment, everything feels peaceful. I feel a kind of freedom I've never felt before. His message was simple, but the tone made me feel seen. As if, without saying it, he was watching over me.
Maeson puts his headphones back on with a distracted gesture, like someone seeking refuge in sound. I watch him closely, curious about what's captured his attention. I make a small gesture with my hand—a mix of request and quiet invitation. He looks at me, smiles faintly, and without a word, hands me one of the earbuds.
The sound wraps around me instantly. Compass by The Neighbourhood begins to play, with that slow, immersive rhythm that seems to suspend time. The deep, melancholic voice flows between us like a shared confession. We look at each other. Not for long, but intensely. There's something in the lyrics that touches us, as if the song is speaking about us without knowing it. In his eyes, I see a mix of nostalgia and something I can't quite name—but I recognize it.
I lower my gaze for a second, then meet his eyes again. No words needed. The music says it all.
When the song ends, Maeson slowly removes the earbud. He leans toward me, his voice low but firm:
"Can we talk for a minute?" he says. "Away from the group."
I nod without asking. I already know what's coming—and I've been waiting for it.
And as I walk away with Maeson, his voice still echoing in my ear, I know this conversation will be one of those unexpected calls from fate. A confession without words, but with everything that matters.