Aliana kept biting her lower lip as she chopped the spring onions, squinting at her phone screen propped against the sugar jar. A cooking video played in front of her, cheerful background music clashing with the chaos in her head.
"Now remember," the woman's voice on the video said, "don't cut too close to your fingers—"
"Ouch!" Aliana yelped, dropping the knife instantly. A thin red line appeared across her fingertip. "Oh no, no, no, I'm bleeding!"
"Miss! I told you to be careful!" One of the maids nearly screamed, rushing toward her. The rest, who had already been hovering helplessly near the doorway, came running too. Pots were boiling on the stove, a steak was forgotten in the oven, and the kitchen smelled like burnt butter and confusion.
The head maid grabbed Aliana's hand, pressing a napkin to the cut. "You shouldn't be doing this, Miss Aliana! Let us handle it, please."
"I'm fine!" Aliana protested, though her face had gone pale. "It's just a little cut—ah, it stings!"
The maids exchanged looks of weary concern. One of them muttered under her breath, "We told her twenty times to leave the cooking to us."
Aliana frowned, pulling her hand free. "I read somewhere that the way to a man's stomach is through his heart," she said with stubborn pride, wiping her tears with her uninjured hand. "So I'm learning to cook for him."
The head maid sighed, exasperated. "Miss, with all due respect, I think you read it backward. The way to a man's heart is through his stomach."
"Well, whatever direction it is, I got the point," Aliana said firmly, turning back toward the counter. "I'm doing this for Arman."
"But it's your birthday," one of them said softly. "He should be the one doing something special for you."
Aliana gave a small laugh that didn't reach her eyes. "He's busy. Besides, he doesn't like surprises. I just want everything to be perfect when he gets home."
That's when her mother's panicked voice echoed through the mansion. "What happened? Why is everyone shouting?"
She appeared in the doorway, wrapped in pearls and perfume, her face creased with worry. "Oh, my dear! How did you hurt yourself like that?"
"It's nothing, Mother," Aliana said quickly, though she was still clutching her finger like it might fall off.
"Call the doctor!" her mother insisted, waving at the staff. "Now!"
Within minutes, the kitchen turned into a full-blown emergency scene. The family doctor arrived, looked at the small cut, and declared it "minor but distressing for someone so delicate."
By the end of it, Aliana was seated on a stool with her finger bandaged, her mother fussing, the maids hovering, and the dinner half-burnt on the stove.
She sighed, glancing toward her phone again, where the cooking video was still playing cheerfully. "I just wanted to make him something nice," she murmured.
Her mother gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder. "You've already done enough, darling. Don't spoil him so much."
But Aliana only smiled faintly, her gaze distant. "It's fine, Mama. I like taking care of him," she said proudly, her tone soft but sure.
Her mother sighed, smoothing Aliana's hair with the tenderness only a mother could have. "You've done enough for today, sweetheart. It's almost time anyway. The cooks will handle the rest, so don't worry about dinner. You should go get ready. You know I didn't plan a big party this year because Arman doesn't like loud celebrations—but at least dress up for him, hmm?"
Aliana nodded, a small warmth spreading in her chest. "Alright, Mama. I'll go get ready."
Upstairs, her room was lit in the soft gold of the evening. She walked straight to her wardrobe and began pulling out dresses—each one more elegant than the last until her eyes landed on one that made her heart flutter. It was a pale pink satin dress with delicate lace along the neckline, one she'd bought months ago, thinking Arman might like it.
She smiled to herself and slipped it on. It hugged her shape perfectly, the color soft against her skin. For a long while, she stood before the mirror, adjusting the folds, brushing her black curls, and applying the lightest touch of makeup. She wanted tonight to feel special. She wanted to look special only for him. "I hope he likes it."
Finally, she reached for her gloss a subtle rose tint she always wore. But when she checked the dresser, it wasn't there. She frowned. "Where did I…?" Then it hit her. "Oh, right. My office bag."
Crossing the room, she bent down to pull it from beside her desk. As she lifted it, the bag slipped from her hands and tumbled to the floor. A few papers fluttered out—and then, the pink leather diary slid free, landing open on the carpet.
Her breath caught. The page had opened on today's date.
Curious, she crouched down and glanced at it. But the moment her eyes fell on the words written neatly in her own handwriting, her blood ran cold.
Dear Diary,It's my birthday today. I prepared dinner for Arman myself, even though I ended up cutting my finger. The doctor said it was nothing serious, so everything turned out fine.
After that, I dressed up in my favorite pink dress. Mama gave me a jewelry set—pink diamonds that matched perfectly. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, maybe tonight he'll finally smile at me.
Everything was ready. The table, the candles, the food… everything was perfect.
And then I waited.
Waited for Arman to come.Waited for the door to open.Waited until the candles burned low.
But he never came.
For a second, Aliana couldn't move. Her fingers trembled as her eyes scanned the lines again and again. The handwriting was hers. The ink was fresh. But she hadn't written a single word of it.
Her throat tightened, a strange chill crawling up her spine. "What is this…" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
She stumbled back, "No," she muttered, shaking her head. "I didn't write that."
"Aliana!"
Her mother's voice startled her so badly that she nearly dropped the diary again. She quickly pushed it aside, heart hammering, as the door opened and her mother stepped in.
"Oh my! What are you doing on the floor?" her mother gasped, moving closer in that soft but worried way she always did.
"I… slipped," Aliana said quickly, forcing a small, nervous laugh. She didn't know how to explain what she'd just seen. Her fingers still tingled from holding the diary.
Her mother sighed, extending a hand to help her up. "Get up, silly girl. I have something for you."
"What is it?" Aliana asked, brushing off her dress and trying to act normal.
Her mother smiled knowingly, her tone dropping to that affectionate whisper she used when she was hiding a surprise. "Something very special. After all, it's your twenty-first birthday. A mother must give her daughter something she'll never forget."
From behind her back, she pulled out a small velvet box—the kind that could only mean jewelry.
Aliana's eyes lit up. "What's in it?"
"Well," her mother said with a soft laugh, "this was a gift from your father to me, many years ago. And now, I want you to have it."
She lifted the lid slowly, revealing a breathtaking teardrop-shaped pink diamond necklace.
"What the…" Aliana's breath caught. Her eyes darted back to the open diary on the bed. The exact same necklace had been written about there.
Her gaze snapped back to the jewelry box. The light caught the stone's delicate edges, scattering soft reflections across the room. A pair of matching earrings rested beside it, glimmering under the lamp's warm glow.
"Mom…" Aliana whispered.
"You don't like it?" Samara asked, her voice tightening with disappointment.
Aliana blinked, forcing a quick smile. "No, no—I love it! It's so beautiful."
Relief softened her mother's face. Aliana lifted the necklace carefully; the gem felt cool and smooth against her fingers. When she clasped it around her neck, it shimmered perfectly against her dress.
"This goes so well with what I'm wearing," she said, spinning once in front of the mirror. "Thank you, Mama. I love it!"
Samara chuckled, pulling her into a brief hug. "Careful, you'll ruin my makeup."
"Oh right…" Aliana laughed, stepping back.
"The food's ready," Samara said, brushing a strand of hair from her shoulder. "And I just got a call, Arman said he'll be here soon. Go downstairs before everything gets cold."
Aliana froze. "He's coming?"
Her mother frowned slightly. "What do you mean? Didn't you invite him?"
"Yeah. Silly me," Aliana said quickly, her throat tight.
As she turned toward the door, her fingers brushed the edge of the dresser. The pink diary still lay open on the floor. The words inside felt like they were whispering to her, echoing back from another time.
She swallowed hard, tearing her eyes away. "Okay," she murmured.
The room fell silent for a beat, then came the faint sound of scribbling ink dragging across paper, steady and sure.