Melissa
By the time we arrive at Olivia's house—Vanessa's new roommate—I'm having a strange conversation with Konnor about the rituals we each have for dealing with stress. This guy hasn't stopped surprising me since the moment I met him, and honestly, I get his personality. I don't take his lack of tact personally.
"When I'm stressed, I start folding clothes that aren't mine. Literally. Sometimes I go into Maeson's room, open his t-shirt drawer, and fold them by color and emotional state."
"Emotional state?" I ask, confused and amused by his layers.
"Of course. The wrinkled ones are the ones that have lived things. The ones that smell like fabric softener still believe in love."
"And what do you do with the ones in between?" I ask, laughing. I can't believe I'm going along with this.
"I leave them in a separate pile. Those are having an existential crisis. And you, international drama—what's your ritual?"
I make a face. I'm not sure I like that nickname yet, but it's fine for now.
"When I'm stressed, I walk in circles and repeat movie quotes. Sometimes I'm Gandalf. Sometimes I'm Cher. Depends on the level of chaos."
Next to me, Vanessa chuckles softly. I don't know how long she's been listening, but her gaze tells me she's happy to see me laughing.
"Confirmed on the Gandalf part," she says. "I've seen her do it many times. It's epic."
Maeson looks puzzled by this new information.
"My t-shirt drawer is being emotionally analyzed?" he asks, with a faint smile.
"Only the ones in crisis," Konnor replies, as if it's obvious.
Zane speaks last, but when he looks at me, his gaze softens just slightly. I don't quite understand what's going on with this guy. It's like something about me makes him lower his guard without meaning to.
"Cher or Gandalf today?" he asks, without sarcasm, like he genuinely wants to know.
"A hybrid," I reply. "Gandalf with a wig and heels."
Zane smiles—brief, but genuine. And for a moment, we're all there, in that warm conversation, full of jokes and strange rituals. As if chaos had permission to be kind.
When we get out of the car, I'm the first to step out. I take a breath and connect with my new surroundings, and the scene feels surreal—like the separation between Vanessa and me never existed. I truly believe destiny has us tied together for life. And I love that.
Vanessa
While Melissa is distracted by the street scene in Melbourne—a spontaneous saxophonist playing in front of a mural that seems to scream stories—I take the chance to tell the guys what I discussed with Wenn.
"Guys," I say, lowering my voice a little, "I spoke with Wenn. Melissa is going to stay with you for a few days while she gets settled. I just wanted to make sure you're all okay with that."
Zane is the first to react, which surprises me.
"How long?" he asks, but there's not a hint of discomfort in his tone.
"We're not sure yet. Just whatever you can offer while she finds a place," I reply.
Zane nods without hesitation. "Alright. I've got no problem with that."
Maeson, leaning against the car frame like part of the scenery, crosses his arms with that older-brother expression that comes naturally to him.
"Is she comfortable with that?" he asks, genuinely concerned.
"We haven't talked about it, but I trust you, and she trusts my judgment. I think being around all of you will do her good. Gently, no pressure." Maeson looks at me warmly, with a soft smile, as if my words fill him with an emotion I can't quite name.
Konnor stretches like he's just woken up from a nap. "I already see her as a sister. If she needs space, she's got it. If she needs chips, she's got those too. If she needs someone to fold her clothes by emotional state... well, she knows who to call."
We laugh, and the atmosphere softens even more.
"What about Shawn?" I ask, knowing he can be the most unpredictable.
Maeson chuckles quietly. "If Wenn said yes, Shawn's already on board."
Zane adds: "They have a silent approval system. If she breathes, he nods."
Konnor laughs. "They're like an emotionally telepathic couple. If Wenn changes her hairstyle, Shawn changes his playlist."
We all laugh, and for a moment, the weight of the past few days dissolves in that kind of complicity that only time and truth can build.
"Thank you," I say sincerely. "Really. You have no idea what this means to her. And to me."
Zane gives me a look that doesn't need words. Maeson nods. Konnor makes an exaggerated bow. "At your service, High Drama," he says, and I shoot him a look that's half laughter, half threat.
We get out of the car and I walk up to ring the doorbell. Olivia appears, her braid loose and her gaze like it scans souls. Melissa smiles warmly at her—just as I hoped. As if the universe knew this meeting had to happen.
"So who are all these lovely people? Are they always this polite? They look like they just walked out of a guidebook for surprise guests with perfect manners," she says, with a smile that's more curious than judgmental.
I step beside her and introduce the guys. "Konnor, Maeson, and Zane," I say. "Friends I met here. Well, more than friends. They've been my support system since I arrived. Each with their own style, but all with good hearts."
Olivia nods, as if she'd already read that in their gestures. And I know she remembers our conversation about the day at the beach.
"And Melissa..." I continue, looking at my friend. "She's been my best friend since childhood. She arrived from Colombia just a few hours ago."
Olivia looks at her with tenderness, without intruding. "Then welcome," she says, with that voice that doesn't need to be loud to be felt. "There are people here who know how to listen. And there's warmth. Sometimes, that's enough."
Melissa smiles, grateful, and I feel something shift in the air. As if the house knows it's just welcomed someone who needs to heal.
The guys greet Olivia respectfully, while she studies them with the kind of gaze only a concerned mother would have. After our brief introduction, the guys leave with the luggage, not before promising Olivia a proper visit. And we head inside.
Inside, we're greeted by the soft scent of lavender and freshly baked bread. We settle into the living room, and Olivia doesn't ask questions—as if she knows the answers will come when they're ready. Melissa sits on the couch, her gaze still tense, but her spirit more relaxed. Olivia offers her a cup of chamomile and ginger tea, and she accepts it with quiet gratitude. I sit beside her without intruding.
"Take it slow, girl," Olivia says, with that voice that doesn't need volume to be heard. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to. But if you do, there's space here."
Melissa nods, takes a sip, and then, as if the warmth of the tea loosens her chest, she begins to speak.
"My ex-boyfriend Nick left for the U.S. two days ago, supposedly to shoot the video for his new song. Everything was fine, everything normal... until a friend from the group, who's also my friend, sent me some pictures. He was with a model. Not in a professional way. In a... you know."
Olivia says nothing. She just hands her a napkin, as if she knows tears don't always give warning.
"I didn't think much," Melissa continues. "I talked to you, he left, and that same day everything happened. After that, I spent a day packing, looking for the fastest flight I could find. I didn't want to stay there. I didn't want to explain anything to anyone. I just wanted to leave."
I listen, feeling how each word weighs more than it seems. It hurts to see her like this, but I'm also impressed by her decision. Her impulse. Her courage.
And then, as if my mind activates in parallel, I think of my uncle. How easy it would be for him to track Melissa, follow her movements, and find out where I am. It worries me. I don't say it out loud—not here, not now. Olivia doesn't know that part of my story, and I don't want Melissa to worry in the middle of her own pain. But I know I'll have to talk to her about it. Soon.
Melissa wipes her eyes with the napkin, takes a deep breath, and leans back on the couch. "I don't know if it was the right thing. But it was the only thing I could think of."
Olivia sits in front of her, hands clasped over her knees. "Sometimes the right thing isn't thought out. It's felt. And you did what your heart needed. That's already enough."
Melissa looks at her like she doesn't know whether to cry more or hug her. I take her hand, and she squeezes my fingers tightly. We spend a few more minutes talking about what happened.
I follow Olivia to the kitchen to help with things and thank her for everything. In such a short time, she's given me a kind of maternal affection—special and full of light—without asking for anything in return. That's what a true connection means.
"Thank you for this," I say quietly.
"You don't have to thank me, sweetheart. Sometimes, the only thing we can do is open the door and let someone rest." She looks at me, and I know she has something else to say—something that worries her. "Those boys... can you trust them?"
I pause, thinking about the right answer. Honestly, I've known them for four days—three officially. It seems way too soon for everything that's happened: confessions, moments of closeness, secrets, and connection. It's like in another life, our souls were deeply linked, and in this one, it didn't take long to recognize each other.
"When I came here, I was escaping a life where I could only do what was right for others—what was expected of me or decided for me." I pause to absorb what I've just confessed, but I know Olivia isn't the type to push for more truth than you're ready to give. "They—all of you—have given me more peace and freedom to be myself in a few days than I've had in years with the people who are supposed to be my family. So, if you're asking about trust, I can tell you I'd toast with my eyes closed beside them."
Maybe it's naïve, but there's purity and truth in the eyes of the people I've met these past few days—and I've never had that around me. Olivia looks at me with warmth, like a proud mother, and for a moment she reminds me of my grandmother—her gaze, her hands full of love and always ready to give everything for me.
"Then it's settled. Your friend will be in good hands with your friends," she says without hesitation, with that kind of certainty that doesn't need proof.
But before leaving the kitchen, she reminds me about the interview tomorrow. Between all the events and moments with the guys, I'd completely forgotten. And while Olivia reminds me that tomorrow I need to be a responsible adult, all I want is to keep being this version of myself that breathes without fear.
We head out, and Melissa is calmer—almost as if everything she's lived through these past few days never happened. We keep talking a little more until it's time to go. We say goodbye to Olivia, and I take Melissa to explore a bit of the city that, in these past few days, has started to feel like mine.