"Yes, Mom. I just got home," Adrian said into the phone as he stepped out of the taxi, slinging his duffel bag over one shoulder.
The air smelled faintly of the rain, and the afternoon sun filtered through the trees that framed their family house. It looked exactly the same as when he'd left last semester. He could hear a bird's call in the distance, like it was welcoming him home.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet to pay the driver.
"When you see your sister, tell her to call me," his mother continued. "Your father said she didn't pick up his calls last night."
"Got it," he replied, trying to sound casual. He wanted to ask when they'd come home, so they could have a meal together as a family, but he already knew the answer.
There were muffled voices in the background, other researchers talking, the faint hum of a lab. Someone called his mother's name, and she replied with a few quick words he couldn't quite catch. After a few seconds, she spoke again. "I need to get back to work. We'll speak when I'm free."
The call ended with a click. [Edited:] Adrian sighed, slipping the phone into his pocket and turning toward the familiar doorway.
He unlocked the door with his own copy of the house key and stepped inside. The house was quiet and cold. Their parents were in another country again. It was usually just his sister at home. That's how it has always been.
Their parents were biologists who travelled often for research. So the twins had practically raised each other. It made them closer than most other siblings. And most friends, too.
Adrian carried his bags upstairs and stopped at the door beside his room. He knocked lightly. "Amelia? I'm back."
Silence.
He tried again, louder this time, but still nothing. A frown creased his brow. "Amelia?"
Was she out with friends? No, she would have sent a text.
He turned the knob and pushed the door open.
"Amelia. Are you in?"
The smell hit him first, a mix of fading perfume and stale beer. The room was a mess. Clothes were scattered across the floor, and shoes were toppled in random corners. The bed was unmade, the blanket huddled in the centre like there was someone still under it.
"Amelia…" he muttered under his breath, stepping carefully inside. He almost tripped over an empty beer can, then noticed several more near the foot of the bed. His chest tightened. Something was off. She wasn't the type of person to drink so much.
He pulled back the covers, thinking she might be sleeping under them, but found only a pile of clothes. On top of them sat a folded note.
"I've taken a gap year and decided to travel around the country for a while. Don't call me, I'll reach out when I want to."
His hand clenched around the note. Amelia wasn't impulsive. She was the most meticulous person he knew, someone who planned every step, and she also never made an important decision without discussing it with him. Something must have happened.
Adrian knelt beside the bed and reached underneath, searching. His fingers brushed against wood, and he pulled it out.
It was Amelia's secret stash. One she didn't know he'd discovered. He entered the pin: their birthday. The lock clicked, and he slowly lifted the lid.
Right on top was her pink, leather-bound diary.
He hesitated before flipping it open, guilt pricking his conscience. But it was the only way for him to figure out what had happened.
The pages were filled with her handwriting, standard as if written by a typewriter. Then he found the last entry. It wasn't like the rest, loopy and almost unreadable and dried tear stains littered the page.
"He broke up with me. Did I do something wrong? I told him I didn't want to, but he said he didn't care and that I should stay away from him. I tried to hold him back, but he got a phone call and wouldn't let me see. It was a woman on the other end. Why would he do that to me? I love him so much. I can't imagine going back to school when everywhere I look I see his picture."
So that was the reason she left.
Who was the scum bag that broke his sister's heart?
He flipped through more pages.
"I saw him on the court today and went to give him water. He took it and smiled at me. Before him, I didn't realize playing tennis was so hot. Adrian always looked like a dork."
"Playing tennis…" Adrian murmured, eyes narrowing. He turned another page, and another, scanning for a name. But there wasn't one. Only references to 'him,' 'the match,' 'practice,' their daily interactions, and eventual relationship.
He closed the diary and dug deeper into the box, searching for clues. His hand brushed something metallic. A gold medal. He lifted it into the light.
The engraving read 'ITA Conference Championship.' He had one like it from his own region. His fists clenched. Amelia's ex wasn't just a random student. He was a school player like him. No wonder Amelia said, 'his picture would be everywhere.'
Then his phone rang. The sharp sound cut through his thoughts. Looking at his screen, he saw it was an unknown number.
"Hello?"
"Is this Adrian Rowe?"
"Yes. Who's calling?"
"This is Daniel Clark, the tennis coach from Westwood University," came the voice on the other end.
Adrian straightened slightly. Westwood. Amelia's school.
"How may I help you?"
"We're looking for a doubles partner for our star player," the coach explained. "He's extremely talented. He won first place in the regional ITA conference competition last season."
Adrian's gaze dropped to the medal still in his hand. The same competition. The same year. His fingers curled around it slowly.
"I see," he murmured, eyes darkening.
"Would you like to transfer to our school and play with him?" the coach asked.
Adrian leaned back, a beer can rolling softly across the floor as his lips curved into a deep smile.
Very well. He had been wondering how to find the scumbag, and the perfect opportunity arrived.
"Tell me more."