Chapter 1 #9
"I'm not—" I stop. I take a deep breath. "Whatever."
Gio pats the empty space on the bed. "Sit down, Ravioli. Let the chaotic energy flow out."
"I'm not sitting."
"Suit yourself," he says, stretching. "Anyway. I should go wash the bike."
Jin's eyes light up. "DUDE. Your bike's insane. Sexier than half the girls I've wanted."
"Bet she is," Gio says with a smirk.
"Jesus," I mutter, rifling through a drawer.
"You should let me ride it sometime," Jin says, grinning.
Gio laughs. "Sure. I'll even dig my own grave after. Save your dad the trouble." He leans back on his elbows and looks at me with fake innocence.
"So," he says softly. "This dinner with Sophia... romantic candlelight or casual public humiliation?"
Jin immediately picks up the game. He sits straighter, hands folded like a schoolgirl.
"Oh Rava," he says in a high-pitched voice.
"You always know how to make me feel special."
Gio jumps in. "And you, Sophia, complete me in ways I can't even begin to sketch properly."
They both burst out laughing. I turn slowly. I try not to laugh. I hate myself for finding this shit funny.
That's seriously the same dude my dad is afraid of?
I stare at them both.
"At least I have a date," I say. "You two are just sitting here talking shit and wasting air."
Jin makes a dramatic gasp. But Gio just smiles.
"Babe," he says, "I'm on a break from the dating world today. Reclaim my throne tomorrow."
Jin nods solemnly. "Self-care." I roll my eyes.
"Yeah, okay. Enjoy your deep spiritual journey," I mutter, grabbing my cologne off the dresser. I walk out without looking back. I don't need to. I can still hear them laughing.
And maybe I slam the door a little harder than I mean to.
Whatever.
AUTHOR’S NOTE:
HEY! I just wanted to clarify that Jin doesn’t hate his brother, and he is definitely not some kind of villain. A lot of siblings are like this with each other, just like I am with mine, it’s really not that deep!
Also, no, Gio is not immature. We are just still in the very early stages, so please trust me on this one divas :) That’s all, kisses !
9) You’re Overreacting
Rava
We pick up takeout from that place she likes. Some grilled seafood, lemon rice, fresh bread. She laughs when I pull out the cheap bottle of red wine I grabbed on the way.
Says it feels "romantically trashy." We sit on the sand. Lay out a blanket. Watch the last streaks of sun melt into the sea.
It’s kind of… quiet. Nice quiet, I guess. We didn’t come to do anything crazy. No clubs, no plans, no drama.
Just watch the sun hit the water, talk a bit, exist together. We came in the late afternoon so we won’t literally die from the heat.
There’s just the sound of the waves, the clink of the wine bottle, the occasional laugh when one of us tries to eat too fast and drops something.
And I think, "you know what? this is nice."
It isn’t electric or perfect. But it’s easy. Familiar. I look over at her. She plays with the sand in front of her. I feel the corners of my mouth twitch into a smile, even though part of me has been on edge around her lately.
Then she checks her phone.
Again.
And again.
And again.
I pretend not to notice. For the first… five times.
But then she starts typing. And doesn’t stop.
I try to distract myself. I really fucking do. I pour more wine, look at the sky, pick at the bread.
She laughs softly at something on the screen.
Whoever she’s texting must be fucking delivering the secrets of the universe, because she hasn’t looked up in ten minutes.
I stare at the sand, trying not to feel stupid.
The napkin. Perfect. Rava, you genius.
I’ll make her a pretty flower. Romantic, right? Cute. Sweet. I pick up the napkin, all excited.
Okay… twist here… bend there…
Yes.
YES.
It’s actually coming out really nice. She’s gonna like this.
Who doesn’t like a little handmade flower?! Even if it’s made of… you know… paper trash.
I finish it proudly and sit there holding it, waiting for her to notice.
Still no reaction. Her eyes are glued to her screen.
I shift a little, lean forward so she can see me in her peripheral vision. I’m still smiling like an idiot.
Finally, she looks up. My heart jumps. I hand her the flower.
She starts laughing. "What is this silly thing?" she giggles. "It’s silly. But it’s… cute. Thank you."
She kisses my cheek, tosses the flower next to her in the sand, and goes right back to typing.
I just stare at her like a clown.
Then I look down and laugh at myself. That’s it. I set down my cup. "…You know we’re on a date, right?" I say, trying to keep my tone even. She looks up, surprised. Like I have no reason to snap at her.
"What?"
"Your phone," I nod toward it.
"I was just checking something."
"You were texting. For fifteen minutes."
She rolls her eyes. "Okay, sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. It was just—someone sent me something funny."
"Funny enough to ignore me?!" That comes out sharper than I meant.
She sighs. "You’re overreacting."
"I’m just saying it’s kind of hard to connect with someone who’s not even here."
"I am here."
"No, girl, you’re not. Not really."
She pulls her legs tighter against herself. "So now I’m the bad guy for replying to a text?"
"That’s not what I—" I rub the back of my neck. "Forget it."
She stands up, brushes the sand from her legs, and looks down at me. "You know what? Maybe this was a bad idea."
Of course. Of course it’s my fault now. "Wait—Sophia, come on. I didn’t mean—"
"No, it’s fine. You clearly have some idea of what this is supposed to be, and I’m not doing it right. So maybe… don’t force it."
I stand up too quickly. "That’s not fair."
She doesn’t answer. Just turns and starts walking. I stay there, shocked. Not angry.
Not even hurt, really. Just… confused. Really confused.
Like I missed something. Like I failed a test I didn’t even know I was taking. I look down at the wine bottle, now half-buried in the sand. At the empty spot where she was sitting.
What did I do wrong? Is it me? Is it her? Is it… both?
…
The sky is darker now.
I drop the bag by my door, kick it shut with my foot. The silence hits hard. I check my phone for the fifth time.
No messages. No calls. No footsteps behind me. Just me. And the weight of everything I don’t know how to say.
I move on autopilot. I peel off my shirt, let it fall to the floor, step out of my shoes.
I grab my book. My comfort book. And I step out onto the balcony.
The air smells lemon blossoms.
My eyes keep drifting to the phone beside me. Still nothing. No response.
No "sorry." No "I’m home." No anything.
I tap the screen again. The last message I sent stares back at me like a bad joke. And I don’t get it.
I don’t understand what did I do wrong. I always try with her. Always. I’m the one who remembers her coffee order in winter and switches it to cold the second June hits.
I’m the one who usually stays up helping her rehearse her presentations when she’s panicking at midnight. I’m the one who books museum trips just because she likes them.
I gave her all the soft parts of me. And she liked that.
At first.
But then... the late replies. The quick excuses. The way she started flinching when I touched her shoulder. And the way she called me dramatic for noticing.
She says I overthink things. Maybe I do.
But maybe… she underfeels them.
Still, I can’t shake the thought that maybe it’s me. Maybe I push too hard. Maybe I expect too much from someone who isn’t built for effort.
I lean back, staring up at the sky. It’s too cloudy for stars tonight. I sigh. Perfect.
Italy at night. People walking, laughing, eating gelato, living their best lives… and I’m here like some side character reading the same book for the seventh time because my actual reality feels off.
My girlfriend is literally in the same city as me. And I can’t even talk to her properly or say, "Hey, come meet my old friends," or "Come see this place I grew up in," or "Come sit with me for ten minutes."
She doesn’t even speak Italian. Only English.
Which shouldn’t be a problem, but I can already hear the awkward silence, feel the confusion, imagine the way she looks at me like she wants to leave.
So I sit alone. On my stupid balcony. With my stupid book. Pretending this is enough.
10) Get Dressed
Gio
I swear I keep forgetting Rava's room is actually in use now. For months I could walk around my floor naked, half-naked, no one cared.
Now?
One second of autopilot and I end up giving him the best live show of his life. I grab a pair of shorts, throw on a plain black tee, and head to the window.
I go and sit right there, on the windowsill. Lulu hops up and parks herself right on top of me.
Rava is out here too. On his balcony. Alone.
With a book in his hand. He looks like a melancholic Italian poet. If rainy Sunday was a person, it would be him.
What a nerd.
I don’t know what makes me grab the pebbles from the sad little pot of basil next to me, but I do.
I flick one. It pings off his book.
He grabs it, and drops it on the ground.
Oh, no. No, no, no. You don’t get to ignore me, sweetheart.
I throw another. Ping. Still nothing.
I lean out the window. "Look at me, you fucker."
That does it. He looks up, like my very existence offended his delicate post-date grief.
Which, actually, it probably does. I smirk and grab another pebble, tossing it up and down in my palm.
"Why are you sad? I thought I was the only problem in your life right now."
He doesn’t answer. Just turns back to his book. So I flick one more tiny stone, this time it hits him on the head.
He flinches. Then slowly turns, his eyes full of murder.
I smile sweetly. "There he is."
He glares like he wants to strangle me with his shoelaces. I missed that look.
I know I’m being annoying, but I don’t like this Rava. Give me the Rava who throws attitude like knives. Not this soft, wilted one that makes me feel… weird.
"Really, Ravioli? Out here, at 10PM, reading like you’re eighty and the TV’s broken?"