Chapter 2 #2
Her smirk falters—just for a second—before she leans back, draping herself across the couch like a queen surveying her domain. “God, you’re such a weirdo,” she says, shaking her head. “How do you live like this? No people, no chaos, just you and your little… cosmic vibes?”
There it is again—the backhanded digs, wrapped in playfulness so that if I react, I’m the one overthinking. I’ve learned, over time, to let them go, but that doesn’t mean they don’t sting.
The truth is, I’ve gotten used to the quiet rhythms of living alone.
My days are filled with tarot cards, astrological charts, and the kind of solitude that lets me think without interruption.
Mada’s presence is the opposite—a storm tearing through a room, leaving no space untouched.
She fills everything. Takes up all the air.
It’s not bad, exactly. It’s just… suffocating.
Mada and I have always been different, which makes sense.
We’re not biologically related. She came into my life when we were eight—a whirlwind of bright eyes and restless energy.
My parents, kind-hearted to a fault, took her in after…
well, after taking me in. We were both orphans, and they really wanted children, so they did their best to make us a family.
But even as kids, the gap between us was obvious.
Where I was reserved, she was outgoing. Where I sought quiet, she thrived on noise.
And now, even though we’re the same age, our lives couldn’t be more different.
She’s spent the past few years bouncing between jobs, parties, and people, throwing herself into new experiences with reckless enthusiasm.
Meanwhile, I ran as far as I could from Stormhaven, trying to put as much distance as possible between myself and… everything.
Yet here we are, back under the same roof. Not by chance, but because my gut told me it was time. Because I need to face the past.
“Are you sure you’re alright staying here all by yourself?” Mada asks, her voice dipping into something softer. “Don’t get me wrong, but… living alone kind of gives me the creeps.”
I shake my head. “Yes. You know I like being alone.”
She tilts her head, studying me. “Yeah, you always have.” Her tone is light, but something in it makes my stomach twist.
After a moment, she shrugs. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’ve done a great job here. It’s got your whole… thing all over it.”
That brings a small smile to my face. “Nice to know. Do I also give you the creeps?” I joke, trying to defuse the weight between us.
She snorts. “You used to, sometimes. Especially when you started going off about fate and planets and whatever.”
“Wow. Thanks for the honesty,” I mutter, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. And yet, like always, I let the sting sit in my chest rather than push back. Why do I keep letting myself get hurt by things that shouldn’t matter?
“Don’t mention it,” she says, grinning like she hasn’t just jabbed me in the ribs with her words. Then her expression shifts. “Now… will you actually tell me why you’re back?”
Her voice is softer now, but I can hear the persistence in it.
I hesitate, my gaze dropping to my hands. The question lingers between us—heavy, inevitable. I can feel her watching me, waiting, always waiting, for something I’m not ready to give.
“I told you,” I say, my voice hollow. “I needed a change. That’s all.”
“Khalee,” Mada says, leaning forward, elbows on her knees, her eyes pressing into me. “You’ve never been great at lying. And this change? It feels like you’re running away from something again.”
I flinch at the word again, but I mask it with a slight shrug. “Maybe I’m running toward something this time. Ever think of that?”
And that’s the truest thing I’ve been able to say. Because this time, I’m not just trying to escape. I’m here to mourn. And that mourning needs to be done here, in the place where everything shattered.
When I left, I was shattered. And despite the therapy sessions, the years spent trying to heal, the esoteric work, the self-defense classes, and all the inner searching I did, I never truly faced the problem. I never allowed myself to grieve the version of me that never got to exist.
The one who had stayed, who had loved, who had belonged.
My sister doesn’t laugh at my attempt to deflect.
Her expression softens, but there’s still that sharpness to it—that refusal to let things go.
“Look, I’m not trying to pry,” she says, even though we both know that’s a lie.
“I just… I’ve been worried about you. Ever since you left, you’ve been distant.
And now you’re back, and it feels like there’s this giant wall between us. ”
I look up, meet her gaze for a brief moment before looking away again. There’s too much in her eyes. Too much concern. Too much… something I’m not ready for.
“There’s no wall,” I say, forcing a small laugh. “I’ve just changed. And so have you.”
Mada sighs, leaning back against the couch, crossing her arms. “Fine. Be stubborn. Don’t tell me. But stay out of trouble.”
I smirk, shaking my head. “I’m not the one always searching for trouble, Magdalena.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The defensiveness is instant. Automatic.
I tilt my head, my smirk widening just a little. “You tell me.”
My sister holds my gaze, and for a second, something flickers across her face—something tense, something almost guilty—before she scoffs and looks away.
“That’s cute,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “You’ve been back five minutes and you’re already acting like some all-knowing guru.”
I don’t reply. I just watch her, noticing the way she shifts in her seat, as if she suddenly feels too seen.
Something’s going on with her. I just don’t know what yet.
And maybe, just maybe, I’m not the only one keeping secrets.
“So… are we gonna grab those burgers or not?”
But before I can speak, her phone rings. The sound cuts through the tension like a knife, and Mada immediately tenses as she fumbles to grab it from the table. Her reaction is… off. Nervous. Almost guilty.
“Uh, sorry,” she says quickly, standing and heading for the front door. “I need to take this.”
She goes outside, her voice lowering as she answers the call. I can’t make out her words, but her tone is clipped, cautious. My brows furrow as I listen to the faint hum of her conversation, wondering what has her so on edge.
Cosmos pads over, brushing against my leg and pulling me from my thoughts. I scoop him up, cradling his soft, white fur against my chest as I sink back into the chair.
“What’s going on with her?” I whisper to my cat. He blinks up at me, his golden eyes unbothered by the weight of human problems.
After that, my sister leaves and only returns in the morning.