Emma
I pushed the front door open with my shoulder, Zoey heavy and half-asleep against me. The air inside hit me like it always did — smoke, damp, and the sour tang of mum's drinks. A bottle rolled across the floor as the door scraped it, clinking against the wall.
Mum didn't even look up at first, just muttered at the telly. When she finally turned, her eyes narrowed like knives.
"Where've you been? Running about again instead of helping me? You think this house runs itself?"
I hugged Zoey closer. "I just took her out for some air. She was restless."
"You're restless, more like," she snapped. "Always sneaking off, thinking you're better than the rest of us."
The words stung, but I kept my head down. Answering back only made it worse. I carried Zoey into the bedroom and laid her down on the narrow bed, tucking the blanket under her chin. She stirred, sighed, but didn't wake.
For a minute, I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her little face. My chest felt tight with everything I couldn't say out loud. The woods still clung to me — the smell of pine, the sound of his laugh, the feel of his hand in mine. The kiss.
It was too good. Too soft and sweet to belong to someone like me. That thought pressed heavy, like it could crush me, if I let it.
I smoothed Zoey's curls back, kissed her forehead, and stood. Time to face Mum again. Time to slip back into the life that never let me breathe.
But inside, part of me still felt the warmth of the woods. Of him.
Then I thought about what he told me about the city — about the wide streets, the libraries that smelled of old paper and polish, the buildings so tall they made you dizzy if you stared too long. His voice warm as he described it, and for a moment I forgot to breathe.
I tried to imagine myself there, walking down those streets beside him. But then the thought twisted. Girls like me didn't belong in his world. My shoes were scuffed, my hands were always raw from washing, my hair rarely did what I told it to. I stared at the floor, and my chest sank heavy.
Tommy
I couldn't stop grinning.
I tried — I really did. But the corners of my mouth kept twitching up as I bounded up the stairs two at a time, my heart hammering like I'd run a race. I had kissed her. I had actually kissed her.
Downstairs, the house roared the way it always did: Jack shouting at Alex over the telly, Mother lecturing them both, Father's voice booming from the study about depositions and deadlines. But it all felt far away, like background noise in a life that suddenly didn't belong to me.
I shut my bedroom door and leaned back against it, pressing a hand over my chest. I thought my heart might burst straight out of me. I'd imagined a first kiss before — awkward, rushed, maybe even embarrassing. But with Emma… it hadn't been that at all. It was soft, slow, real. Like stepping into someplace I hadn't known existed until she showed me.
I threw myself onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling like it held the stars. I could still feel the shape of her hand in mine, still see the way her eyes widened just before she leaned in.
I laughed under my breath, running both hands over my face. I didn't care about O-levels, about law, about Father's lectures or Mother's corrections. None of it mattered.
The only thing that mattered was her. Emma.
And I already knew tomorrow I'd go back to the woods. I'd wait as long as it took. Because now I had something worth waiting for.
Emma
The woods had started to feel like another life. Like stepping off one planet and landing on another.
With Tommy, time stretched. The sunlight flickered between branches, the air smelled of pine and damp earth, and somehow, the weight I carried at home didn't seem so crushing when he looked at me like I mattered.
Tommy had taken my hand and quietly, like he was saying it to himself, said
"Everyone else I know is… practiced. Like they're following a script. But you —" he smiled nervously, almost shy —"you're the only one who makes me forget the lines."
Heat rushed to my cheeks. I didn't know what to say, so I laughed. He laughed too, and it sounded so unpolished, so human, that something in me eased.
The next day, we sat in the woods, quietly chatting, until the light softened and the shadows stretched long. When I finally picked up Zoey and started home, my chest was full of something I didn't have a name for.
But that feeling shattered the moment I opened our front door.
Mum was pacing, hair unbrushed, a bottle half-hidden by her side. Her voice was sharper than the slam of the door.