10PM dinner. Someone insisted I try actual food that isn’t hospital vending machine cuisine.
Verdict: edible. Barely. But I appreciated the gesture.
Comment:
@miya.teaches: “That’s love disguised as steak and fries sir. Don’t play.”
↳@dr.z.li.snowman: 👀
dr.z.li.snowman
Got bullied into buying seasonal flowers. She said my apartment had “taxidermy vibes.” Rude. They’re growing on me. Slightly.
Comment:
@scrublife.grey: “The tulips aren’t the only thing blooming, bestie.”
↳@dr.z.lisnowman: 🫢🌱
dr.z.li.snowman
Midday playlist thief. No genre loyalty, just vibes and audacity.
Still let her queue songs. What does that say about me?
Comment:
@sylus.chaos: “You used to yell if I skipped a single song. What is this favoritism.”
↳@dr.z.li.snowman: “Growth.”
dr.z.li.snowman
My hoodie. My bed. My Pillows. None of which are in my possession anymore.
@miya.teaches [liked]
Comment:
@futuremdsquad: “Sir… is this a hostage situation or a soft launch?”
↳@dr.z.li.snowmani: “🫖🔒”
dr.z.li.snowman
Her name’s Miya. She’s patient where I’m sharp. Soft where I forget how. And somehow, she still thinks I’m worth staying for. I think that’s what they call luck.
And yes, that's OUR cat baby
Comment:
@miya.teaches: “I stayed for the playlist.”
↳@dr.z.li.snowman: “Liar.”
"Lily, can you wake up your dad for me?" Miya asks her daughter, "Its almost dinner time."
Lily pauses, looking at her mother and then at Prince, who was playfully trying to pounce on the string dangling before him.
"Can I bring Princey with me, Mommy, pleaseee?"
She nods. "Do what seems best, honey."
Lily picks Prince up, placing him on her shoulder as she begins to march to her parent's room where Zayne was asleep, his body exhausted from a gruelling shift at the hospital. She tiptoes slowly inside, whispering to Prince in hushed tones.
"Princey, I'll put you near daddy and you'll wake him up, okay?" Lily says. Prince meows in response. She giggles, but supresses her laughter as she finally reaches the bed where her father was sleeping comfortably. She outstretch her hands, standing on her toes. Prince leaps from her arms, landing on the soft mattress.
Prince gives a resounding meow, and begins to inspect Zayne's sleeping body. He gives his arms a headbutt, he bumps his head against his, trying to wake him up. He rubs against his sleeping self, finding the passive arrangement useless. He gets up on Zayne's chest and sits on it, using his entire weight to press down on his chest. He meows loudly, demanding him to wake up from his slumber.
It doesn't work.
Prince gets up, his paws pressing down on Zayne's chest once more as he begins to make biscuits, meowing loudly. His paws knead his shirt, but still didn't work.
He paws over to his face and sits on it.
"Princey, no!" Lily scrambles, trying to get him away, "Mommy said that daddy can...can..lose breathing!"
But he still didn't budge until Zayne starts coughing from the fur his mouth absorbed.
"Pri..nce..." Zayne coughs, his eyes wide awake as he tries to push the cat away, "Can't...Pri...nce". Curse the cat and his damn fluffy fur. After a while of protest and dismissiveness, Prince finally relents. He gets off Zayne's chest. He takes a deep breath, glancing at the cat and then to Lily, her hazel eyes brimming with tears.
"Bad prince!" Lily cries, "You wan..wanna hurt daddy!! Daddy wont eat dinner and mommy will cry and i wont have a daddy!!"
Prince meows before leaving the room, leaving Lily alone with her father. Lily was trying not to cry, glancing up at her father. Zayne picks her up, settling her down in his arms. He wipes her tears, calming her down.
"There,there, my little one.." Zayne comforts, "I'm okay. I'm okay."
"Will you eat dinner with us, daddy?" Lily asks, "Mommy said to wake you up because dinner is ready!"
"And you asked Prince to help?"
Lily nods.
"You could've just woken me up, baby..." Zayne says. " I would wake up..
Lily nods again. "Are you angry, daddy?" She asks quietly. Zayne shakes his head, carrying his daughter in his arms as he gets out of bed.
"Lets go to your mother, she must be waiting for us."
i swear that cat has it out for me.....can we put him up for adoption?
It was a soft, slow morning — the kind that felt like a gift.
No school bells. No grading. No lesson plans. Just Miya, in cozy loungewear, and her daughter Lily, spinning around in her socks to music playing in the background. Zayne had left for work just before sunrise, whispering a kiss against Miya’s temple and leaving behind the familiar scent of aftershave and fresh coffee.
Miya had lit a vanilla-scented candle in the living room, setting it on the coffee table like she always did on quiet mornings. The flickering flame, the warm smell — it made the house feel alive and peaceful.
And for a while, it was.
Miya was in the kitchen steeping her tea, just around the corner from where Lily was stacking her animal plushies in a little pyramid. Prince, the younger of the family’s two cats, was lazily batting at one of the tails.
Then came silence. The kind that made a mother’s skin prickle.
“Lily?” Miya called gently.
No answer.
She turned the corner just in time to see it: Lily kneeling by the coffee table, one little hand reaching — hesitating — a breath away from the candle’s flame. That toddler curiosity, raw and reckless, glowing in her eyes.
“LILY!”
Lily jumped back, her eyes wide, hand shooting behind her back like she knew she was doing something she shouldn't.
Miya was at her side in seconds, gently taking her hands in hers and scanning them for any signs of burns. Her heart was pounding in her chest.
“Did you touch it?” she asked quietly.
Lily looked down. “Just a little,” she whispered. “It was so orange. I wanted to feel it.”
Miya exhaled shakily. “Did it hurt?”
“A little,” Lily admitted. “Not ouchie-ouchie. Just surprise hot.”
Miya pulled her into her lap, hugging her tight. “Sweetheart… fire is dangerous. It’s not like the stove or the sun you don’t touch. It really can hurt you if you’re not careful.”
“I just wanted to know,” Lily mumbled against her shirt. “My brain said, ‘Try it.’ I thought it would feel soft. Like a glow.”
Miya blinked fast to keep the tears from coming. She kissed the top of Lily’s head, then gently turned her face up. “Your brain is curious. That’s not bad. But fire doesn’t care if you’re learning. It just… burns. Even a little flame like that can hurt you badly.”
“I’m sorry,” Lily said, lip wobbling. “I didn’t mean to be bad.”
“You’re not bad,” Miya said immediately. “You’re learning. But promise me — next time you’re curious, you ask me first, okay? Even if your brain is really loud.”
“Okay,” Lily nodded, sniffling. “I promise.”
“And I’ll be smarter too,” Miya added, blowing out the candle and placing it up high on a shelf. “No more candles where little hands can reach. Even for just a second.”
Prince meowed loudly from his perch, as if backing Miya up.
“I think Prince is mad,” Lily said, snuggling into her mom’s chest. “He says, ‘That fire almost got you!’”
“Prince is very protective,” Miya chuckled. “Like your dad.”
Lily looked up. “Daddy doesn’t like fire either.”
“Nope. That’s why he makes sure the stove is locked and checks the smoke alarms twice a month.”
“Can we call him later and tell him I touched the candle but I’m okay?”
Miya smiled softly. “Yeah, we’ll tell him. And I’m sure he’ll be glad you’re safe. And that you learned something important today.”
Later that evening…
When Zayne walked through the door, still in scrubs and clearly exhausted, Lily ran to him immediately.
“Daddy! I touched the candle!”
Zayne froze. Miya gave him a reassuring nod from behind her.
“It was lit,” Lily said gravely. “And it was hot. But Mommy made it go away. And I’m not hurt. But my finger was like… surprised.”
Zayne crouched down, gently taking her hand and inspecting it. “No burn?”
Lily shook her head. “Just scary.”
“Scary’s enough,” he murmured. “We don’t touch fire, Lily. Not ever.”
“I know,” she whispered. “But I didn’t know before I knew.”
That earned a long exhale from Zayne and a tight hug. “Okay, baby bird. Lesson learned.”
That night, Miya lay in bed, Lily nestled safely between them.
“I can’t believe it happened,” Miya whispered, brushing her fingers along Zayne’s arm. “It was so fast.”
“Toddlers are faster than nurses,” he murmured. “She’s okay, though. And you did everything right.”
“She keeps calling it ‘surprise hot,’” Miya whispered with a small, tired laugh.
Zayne smirked. “That’s going in the family dictionary now.”
The air was heavy with the heat of celebration—cheap beer, loud laughter, and cigarette smoke trailing behind university boys stumbling out of a friend’s dorm. Among them was Zayne, his shirt wrinkled from the way he’d been leaning against the couch, his sleeves rolled to the elbows. He stepped outside for fresh air, stretching his arms over his head.
He didn’t expect to see her.
Just off the pavement, on the lawn near the literature building, was Reader—her hair loose and her shoes tossed beside her. She was sitting with her knees pulled to her chest, a soju bottle clutched in one hand, the other digging weakly through her bag for something she likely forgot.
“You good?” Zayne asked cautiously, not sure if she was injured or just very, very drunk.
Reader squinted at him. “Why do you smell like heartbreak?”
Zayne blinked.
“Your shirt reeks of betrayal and alcohol.” She crawled toward him slightly. “You smell like my ex.”
She reached out—and bit his wrist.
“Whoa—what the hell?” Zayne jerked back in shock, more surprised than hurt.
“I hate alcohol,” she mumbled, settling into the grass again. “My dad loved it more than us. That night… he didn’t even brake.”
Zayne’s brow furrowed.
“I’ve been drifting ever since,” Reader went on, voice slurring. “Like I’m stuck on a little boat. No oars. No land. Just water and waves and... I can’t stop rocking. I just want to stop moving. I just want solid ground.”
She looked at him then, the moonlight catching the wet shimmer in her eyes. “Do you know what I mean?”
Zayne slowly sat down beside her. “Yeah,” he said softly. “My mom passed when I was a kid. Dad remarried… and then died too. I get it. The drifting. The feeling of being alone in a crowd.”
He didn’t try to comfort her beyond that. He didn’t offer hollow words or tell her it would be okay. He just sat there with her. Quiet. Present.
And at some point, she fell asleep on his shoulder.
When Zayne woke up, she was gone. No name. No goodbye. Just a memory that would stay with him for years.
Flashback: Winter, 2013
He saw her again a few weeks later. She was kneeling in the snow near the music building, feeding tuna to a stray cat. Her scarf was too long, dragging in the snow, and she was humming softly as the cat purred.
Zayne stood in the shadow of the hallway, watching her.
He started seeing her often—same time, same place. Feeding that ginger cat, even when the snow piled high and her fingers looked frozen.
One day, he built a little shelter for it out of scrap wood. Painted it blue. Left it where the cat usually slept.
She never knew it was from him.
He had so many chances. To say something. To ask for her name. To offer her solid ground.
But he never took them.
And then, he died.
Only to wake up again. Back in time. Back in this life.
Now, maybe he wouldn’t let her slip away.
—PRESENT
Zayne walked into the office like a man who had finally decided to stop hiding. Sleek black suit, tailored perfectly. His hair was styled back, accentuating the sharp lines of his face. There was something different in his eyes now—purpose, maybe. Determination.
He didn’t say anything to anyone. Just walked straight toward the break room where Reader stood, talking confidently about the new campaign idea. Her voice carried—steady, assured.
Zayne paused in the doorway, watching her. The girl who once cried about drifting. Now standing tall.
But Caleb wasn’t far behind.
He tugged Reader away with a tight grip on her arm. “Zayne’s into you,” he hissed. “And you’re entertaining it.”
Reader looked him in the eye. “Even if he was, that doesn’t mean anything.”
“You’re mine,” he snapped.
In the background, Miya watched with a neutral face. Too neutral.
—
The night air was cold when she stepped out of the restaurant.
Reader pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders, her head buzzing from everything, from the truth that had finally been dragged into the light. She walked faster, eager to get home, to crawl under her blankets and disappear from the world.
But the streets were quiet.
Too quiet.
She turned a corner—and froze.
Footsteps echoed behind her. Heavy. Familiar.
“Reader!”
That voice.
Her whole body tensed. Caleb.
She turned slowly.
He stood a few paces away, hair slightly tousled, eyes bloodshot—not drunk, but not entirely sober either. He looked her up and down like she was an accusation.
“You’ve got makeup on,” he said darkly. “Who were you trying to impress?”
She stiffened. “I was having dinner. That’s all.”
“Right,” Caleb sneered. “Dinner. With who? Damian? Zayne? Or are you just like your mother? Flirting with someone else while still mine?”
Her stomach dropped. “Don’t talk about my mom—”
“You think you’re so clean?” he spat, stepping closer. “Going out like that. Painting your face. You’ve always wanted attention.”
She tried to walk past him, but he grabbed her arm—hard.
Reader winced. “Let go.”
“No,” he growled. “You don’t get to walk away from me. Not after everything.”
And then—
“Let. Her. Go.”
The voice was low. Controlled. And terrifying.
Zayne.
He stepped into the light like a shadow made flesh, eyes burning with something dark and ancient. He didn’t waste time—he shoved Caleb backward, one hand gripping his collar, slamming him into the brick wall behind them.
Reader gasped.
Zayne’s fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles went white. Caleb tried to shove him off, but Zayne didn’t move. He just stood there, breathing hard, jaw tight.
“Touch her again,” Zayne said, voice like ice, “and I swear to God, you’ll lose more than your job.”
Caleb stumbled away, red-faced, humiliated. He didn’t dare say a word.
He ran.
—
Reader stared at Zayne, chest heaving.
“You—” she whispered. “You followed me?”
“I was worried.”
She looked away. “You’re not supposed to be.”
“I know.”
There was silence.
“Your girlfriend,” she said quietly. "wouldnt she be upset?”
Zayne looked at her, suddenly confused. “Girlfriend?”
He blinked—and then barked out a short laugh. “You mean Shu?”
Reader gave him a tight-lipped glare. “You’re laughing?”
“No, I’m just—wait. You thought Shu was my girlfriend?”
“She practically hangs on you,” Reader muttered.
Zayne pulled out his phone without a word.
Reader blinked. “What are you doing?”
He dialed.
Put it on speaker.
It rang twice before—
“Zayne?” a woman’s voice answered groggily. “Do you know what time it is? I swear, if this is about your dumb socks being missing again—”
“Shu,” Zayne said quickly. “i love you”
Zayne pulled out his phone again and hit a contact.
It rang once.
“What now?” a tired, slightly annoyed voice answered. “Hey, are you seriously okay? What the heck are you trying to do, huh? Are you sick? Are you dying? Are you leaving the family?! Because if this is another dramatic episode, I swear—”
“Never mind. Bye,” Zayne said, deadpan, and hung up.
Reader blinked.
Click.
Zayne tucked the phone away, completely unfazed, and gave her a look.
“Does that sound like my girlfriend to you?”
She stared at him, lips parted. “…Wait. So Shu… Shu Li… and you’re…”
“Zayne Li,” he said, raising a brow.
Reader’s eyes widened. “She’s your sister?!”
“My younger sister.”
“Oh my God,” she groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I am so, so sorry. I seriously thought you were dating her—she’s always around you, and I just—”
She peeked up at him, cheeks red. “I messed that up, didn’t I?”
Zayne’s voice softened. “It’s fine.”
She dropped her hands, still blushing.
And then, just as she was catching her breath—
“I like you,” Zayne said.
Just like that.
No buildup. No room to run. The words came quiet, steady, certain. Like he wasn’t afraid anymore.
Reader felt the world tilt beneath her.
Her heart started racing. Her thoughts scattered. Her mouth opened, then closed again. There were a million things she could’ve said—but nothing came out.
Zayne took a small step back. Like he was giving her space to react.
But then—his expression changed.
He went pale.
And before she could process what was happening, he stumbled once—
And collapsed.
“Zayne!” Reader shouted, dropping to her knees beside him.
She caught his face in her hands, panic clawing up her throat.
His skin was cold. Too cold. His breathing shallow.
“Zayne, hey—look at me. Please.”
But his eyes didn’t open.
She shook him gently, her voice trembling. “Zayne, please. Wake up. What’s happening?”
Caleb and Miya stood at the front of the meeting room, radiant with pride, basking in the praise of Senior Manager Kim Gyeong-uk. He clapped Caleb on the back like a father who believed he’d raised a genius, completely unaware of the storm waiting just beyond the runway.
Reader watched from the corner of the room, her expression unreadable.
It didn’t matter.
She already knew.
She remembered this project. She remembered everything.
Because she had lived through it once before—before the cancer, before the betrayal, before her death.
Back then, this campaign was the company’s next big leap: a partnership with a luxury airline brand, with Kim Gyeong-uk as its chosen face. But he never made it to the product launch. On his way to a business trip meant to promote the campaign, he got into a violent altercation with an airline employee. The video had gone viral in minutes. The company dropped him immediately. The entire project was scrapped within the week.
All of this was history.
But this time, Reader wasn’t a bystander.
This time, she had the power to choose who would go down with the ship.
And she chose them.
She gave the project away—to Caleb and Miya.
They thought they’d won. Thought she’d backed down. Even thanked her for her “generosity.”
All Reader did was smile.
Later that afternoon, Reader sat on the rooftop alone. The sun was beginning to set, the city skyline lit in gold and smog. A soft breeze blew through her hair as she stared down at her phone screen, thumb hovering over the contact.
Senior Manager Kim had just boarded the flight.
She hit call.
It rang twice.
“Hello?”
“It’s me,” she said coolly. “Thought I’d call and congratulate you.”
There was silence on the other end.
“Who is this?” he demanded.
“You know who I am,” Reader said. Her voice was calm, precise. “I just wanted to let you know that proposal you're carrying on this business trip—the one you’re about to promote on national television? It was mine. And they stole it.”
The line crackled. “What nonsense are you—”
“I just thought you should know,” she added, lowering her voice, “so that when everything falls apart, you'll remember who handed you the grenade.”
The call ended. She didn’t need to say anything more.
Because just like before—it happened.
Moments later, in the first-class boarding tunnel, Kim Gyeong-uk’s voice exploded in a tirade. The airline employee had asked to check his documents again. He snapped. Screamed. Shoved her.
This time, someone was recording.
Multiple someones.
It went viral in under an hour.
Reader watched the video from her rooftop perch, the cool wind brushing her cheek like a ghost of the past. The headline blinked across the screen:
“Senior Manager Assaults Airline Staff During Business Trip – Netizens Call for Firing”
She exhaled slowly, the corners of her lips lifting.
“That’s checkmate,” she whispered.
“Was this your plan all along?”
She turned.
Zayne stood behind her, his hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on her with a quiet kind of awe. Not judgment. Not horror.
Just… understanding.
Reader said nothing. She didn’t need to.
But as she took a step forward, her phone slipped from her hand and clattered onto the rooftop floor. The screen lit up—music playing from the impact.
Zayne’s brows furrowed at the familiar beat. “Dynamite?”
Reader froze.
“I like that song,” Zayne added. “I remember hearing it in high school.”
Reader looked at him, heartbeat suddenly uneven. “I like Spring Day,” she replied softly.
There was a pause.
Zayne’s eyes narrowed, then slowly widened. “…But neither of those songs have been released yet.”
The wind picked up.
The phone’s screen flickered.
And for a single breath, the world tilted on its axis.
Time, it seemed, was not what it used to be.
—---- SOMEONES POV (AFTER READERS DEATH)-------
The funeral hall had emptied.
All that remained were the ashes.
Reader was gone now—no casket, no body. Just a small white urn placed at the center of the altar, surrounded by wilting flowers and fading incense smoke.
Zayne stood there silently, hands shoved deep in his pockets, rain softly tapping on the glass windows. His suit jacket clung to his shoulders, damp from his earlier walk through the cemetery. His hair was matted, his eyes unreadable.
The storm outside matched the weight in his chest.
He hadn’t spoken to Caleb or Miya inside. He couldn't. They were being handcuffed as he arrived, their arms behind their backs, their faces drained of blood. Whispers erupted among the guests as police led them away—murder, insurance fraud, betrayal. It was like a sick dream, one Zayne couldn't wake from.
He didn’t know what hurt more—the fact that Reader had died without telling anyone she was sick, or the fact that the people closest to her were the ones who had betrayed her in the end.
And Miya…
She had always played the victim. Even back in high school.
Zayne hadn’t been close to Reader, but seeing her picture among the scattered funeral photos that Miya hadn’t touched, hearing the whispers from old classmates in hushed tones.
How Miya used to cry in front of their group, talking about how Reader “stole” her boyfriend. How everyone turned their backs on reader, bullied her, and isolated her.
Only now, years later, did the truth finally begin to unravel.
One by one, their former classmates pieced together the lies Miya told them. How she twisted the narrative. How Miya never even liked the boy in question. How Reader always tried to defend her, but Miya would talk over her, silencing her under the guise of friendship.
“She played us all,” someone muttered near the cremation room.
“I can't believe we were so cruel to Reader.”
“If Reader hadn’t died… we never would’ve known.”
Zayne said nothing.
What was there to say?
The moment the cremation ended, people started leaving. Some cried, some apologized to the urn, as if that would make up for the years lost.
He lingered a little longer. Then finally, he turned to leave.
The rain had gotten heavier. The streetlamps glowed dimly through the downpour, casting long, distorted shadows across the empty lot.
Zayne approached his car, shivering slightly as he tried to start the engine. It coughed once. Then again. The lights flickered but didn’t turn over.
“…Perfect,” he muttered under his breath, hitting the steering wheel with the base of his palm.
After another few tries, he gave up and stepped out of the car, jacket over his head to shield from the rain. He was about to call a cab on his phone when a yellow taxi suddenly pulled up beside him, seemingly out of nowhere. There hadn’t been another car on the road for miles.
Zayne stared at it for a second, uncertain.
The window rolled down.
“Need a ride?” the driver asked calmly, his voice low but clear despite the rain.
Zayne hesitated.
Something about the man's eyes unsettled him—not cold, just... heavy. Like he knew too much. Like he’d seen too much.
Still, Zayne nodded and climbed in.
The inside of the cab was warm and dry. Familiar. But eerily silent.
He told the driver his address, but the man didn’t respond. The cab began to move anyway.
They drove in silence for a while, the city lights blurring past them like ghosts. Zayne stared out the window, thinking about Reader. About how unfair it all was. About how he couldn’t do anything to stop it.
“I loved her,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone.
“You were too late,” the driver replied.
Zayne turned his head sharply. “What?”
The driver met his eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Do you want to see her again?”
Zayne’s throat dried.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ve been given a rare gift,” the driver said, as if reading his thoughts. “Not many people get this chance. A soul like hers doesn’t come around often. But fate has a strange way of writing second acts.”
Zayne stared at him, heart thudding in confusion. “Who… who are you?”
The driver smiled faintly. “Someone who knows what regret tastes like.”
Then—
Everything went black.
Zayne gasped awake.
But this time, it wasn’t rain he felt—it was sunlight streaming through an open window. He was in a room he didn’t recognize. The sounds of morning traffic filtered in from outside. On the nightstand beside him was a school ID with his name… but a different year.
He scrambled to the mirror.
He looked younger.
No scars. No wrinkles. No weight of years of corporate life. Just… a boy. Again.
You didn’t need to look behind you to know Miya was falling apart. After the cafeteria fiasco, the office buzzed with whispers, laughter barely muffled behind lifted coffee cups and turned shoulders. It was delicious. The fallout had begun, and Miya—so used to being the queen bee—was now reduced to a punchline.
Shu, a coworker with whom she recently became friends, messaged you not long after you returned to your desk. “She’s losing it. Threw her heels at the mirror in the ladies’ room. Honestly, I’m kind of scared. She looks like she’s about to commit fashion homicide.” You let out a quiet chuckle, sliding your phone face-down on the desk.
A few seats away, Caleb was blotting the soup from his shirt with a tight jaw and ruined tie. You didn’t need to exchange words with him—your silence was more powerful than anything you could say. When he looked up, eyes locking with yours for a second too long, you didn’t flinch. You didn’t smile. You just watched. He looked away first. That was what mattered.
Your satisfaction was brief but sharp. One step forward. You’d only just begun.
Later, when you entered the conference room for the afternoon team meeting, you were surprised to find Zayne already inside, standing near the window, bathed in that late afternoon glow. He wasn’t supposed to be here. His name wasn’t on the original roster. You hesitated, then set your folder down at the table.
“I thought you weren’t on this project,” you said casually.
“I wasn’t,” he replied, not bothering to turn around. “I requested it.”
That gave you pause. You didn’t ask why—your silence was the invitation he needed.
He finally turned to face you. “You’ve changed.”
You shrugged, playing indifferent. “People change.”
“Not overnight,” he said, eyes narrowing just slightly.
Something in his tone—half curious, half wary—struck a chord. But you didn’t let it show. You had no intention of letting Zayne see beneath your armor, no matter how sharp his gaze. When he spoke again, his voice was low, thoughtful. “You didn’t just dodge Miya. You planned that.”
Still, you offered no confirmation. You only met his eyes and said, “I’m not surviving anymore, Zayne. I’m winning.”
Across the city in the underground parking lot, Miya paced beside Caleb’s car like a storm about to break. Her carefully curled hair was starting to frizz at the ends, her mascara just a little smudged from stress or fury. Caleb leaned back against the door, arms crossed, unimpressed.
“She did it on purpose!” Miya snapped. “She stopped suddenly—who does that?! She knew I was behind her!”
Caleb’s expression didn’t soften. “And you just happened to have your foot out? Grow up, Miya.”
She blinked in disbelief. “So you’re on her side now?”
“I’m on the side that didn’t drench me in soup in front of the entire office,” he replied coolly. “You embarrassed me. And yourself.”
Miya’s jaw tightened. The cracks in her mask were showing now—cracks you had carved open. But instead of backing down, she reached for her phone, her voice eerily calm.
“Fine,” she said. “If she wants to play dirty… let’s play.”
That night, your living room was quiet, lit only by the lamp beside your growing wall of revenge. You took a pen and scribbled the next step on a sticky note. Step 2: Undermine Caleb’s trust in Miya. Beneath it, you wrote in parentheses: (Already cracking.)
You added a new red thread between Caleb and Miya’s photos, tying them together like pieces on a chessboard. Then your eyes flicked to Zayne’s photo. You didn’t add a thread yet. But you lingered. There was something shifting there—something dangerous. You weren’t sure if Zayne was becoming a threat, an ally, or something messier.
Your phone buzzed on the table. A new message from Shu. “Heads up. You’re being moved to a new team next week. With Zayne. Congrats-slash-good-luck.”
You stared at the message, heart thudding louder than it should’ve. This wasn’t just coincidence. Someone was moving pieces behind the scenes, and you weren’t sure if it was fate… or Zayne himself.
One thing was clear, though—this game was far from over.
And you weren’t playing to survive anymore.
You were playing to win.
-------- SOMEONES POV (AFTER READER DEATH)----------
The sky mourned alongside them, rain falling in a quiet drizzle over rows of black umbrellas gathered near the casket. People stood in silence—coworkers, neighbors, old classmates—all murmuring the same things: "She was too young." "So kind. So full of life." "I still can't believe it."
But the ones who stood at the front of the funeral—grieving center stage—were Caleb and Miya.
Her fiancé.
Her best friend.
Caleb's hand rested tightly over the wooden casket, his eyes red-rimmed, mouth set in a sorrowful line. Miya stood beside him, dabbing carefully at the corners of her eyes with a silk handkerchief. They had arranged the wake themselves—chosen the photo, the flowers, the music. Said all the right things. Played their roles to perfection.
“She was the love of my life,” Caleb had told the mourners earlier, voice hoarse. “I still don’t know how to go on without her.”
Miya had nodded tearfully beside him. “She was like a sister to me.”
No one questioned them.
No one yet.
But not everyone cried.
There were glances. Murmurs. Quiet exchanges behind lowered umbrellas.
How had she died so suddenly? She’d been sick, yes. But hadn’t her condition been stable? Hadn’t she seemed hopeful, even bright, just days before?
No answers. Just grief.
Until—
The sound of footsteps disrupted the still air. Two plainclothes officers approached, moving past the guests until they reached the front.
“Caleb Xia? Miya Qin?” one said, voice firm.
Caleb blinked, confused. “Yes?”
“You’re under arrest. Suspicion of premeditated murder and insurance fraud.”
The crowd gasped. Miya's eyes widened, hand tightening around her bag. “W-What?! That’s insane—this is a funeral!”
The officer ignored her. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you…”
Caleb’s mask cracked. “Wait—what do you mean murder?! She had cancer! She was already—”
“She didn’t die from cancer,” the second officer said coldly. “Toxicology tells a different story. And you two had a life insurance payout worth over two million waiting in the wings.”
Miya shrieked as cuffs clicked around her wrists. “No—no, Caleb, say something!”
But Caleb was frozen, pale and silent, as the whispers around them exploded into chaos. Phones rose. Videos began to roll.
There, in front of her casket, the truth began to unearth itself—like the body they had so carefully buried.
None of them noticed the woman in a long coat, standing alone near the trees, watching it all unfold. Her face was hidden, but her expression was calm. Cold. Distant.
She had died thinking they loved her. Died trusting the people who stood above her grave now in chains.
It was just past 6:30 a.m. when Miya peeked out of the bathroom with a toothbrush in her mouth, a wrinkled forehead, and a phone in her hand.
“Zayne,” she called, voice muffled. “The babysitter’s out. Fever and vomiting.”
He blinked mid-sip of coffee. “You’ve got class today.”
“I’m giving a science quiz to thirty sixth graders who just discovered how to make vinegar bombs.”
“...I’ve got two valve replacements and three consults.”
From the hallway, the pitter-patter of soft feet interrupted them.
“Daddy?” Lily’s curly hair stuck up in every direction. Her bunny pajamas sagged at the knees.
Zayne picked her up and she immediately clung to him like a sleepy sloth.
“Hi, baby bean.”
“I don’t feel sick,” she mumbled. “But the kitty sneezed on me.”
Miya sighed. “That was Baby. She probably just sniffed the pepper shaker again.”
Zayne looked from Miya to Lily.
“…Guess it’s Bring Your Daughter to Work Day.”
7:50 a.m. – Akso Hospital
“Dr. Li,” said the charge nurse, barely hiding her grin as Zayne strolled in wearing his white coat—with a dinosaur-backpack-toting toddler walking beside him, holding his hand.
“She’s shadowing me today,” he said deadpan.
Lily waved. “Hi. I’m Lily. I like stickers and no carrots.”
Nurse Hana choked on her coffee. “Noted.”
Zayne set her up in his office, loading her iPad with toddler-friendly educational videos (the same ones Miya used in her classroom), a coloring book, her juice box, and one very tattered plush bunny.
Lily tapped the screen and looked up. “Where’s Prince?”
“At home guarding Mommy,” Zayne said, kneeling beside her. “Today, you’re with Daddy in the big hospital.”
“Will we see hearts?”
“…In a way.”
10:15 a.m. – Miya’s Classroom
Between giving instructions and keeping Johnny from turning his quiz into a paper airplane, Miya texted:
how’s the chaos?
Zayne sent a photo of Lily sitting in a breakroom chair with a stethoscope around her neck, looking very serious next to a resident who was trying not to giggle.
Lily is now “Dr. Li Jr.” She just told an intern to “hydrate or perish.” That was you, wasn’t it?
Miya smiled mid-grading.
absolutely. teach her young.
12:30 p.m. – Lunch Break
Zayne managed to steal away for lunch and sat on the floor with Lily in his office, eating sandwiches (hers crustless, his barely warm).
She held up a carrot stick suspiciously. “Daddy. This is orange.”
“It is. And we agreed on a truce today, remember?”
“I don’t eat orange.” She tossed it into the trash like it had personally offended her.
He muttered, “Your mother’s going to sneak it in a smoothie again, I just know it.”
Lily looked smug. “I know her tricks.”
They both nodded solemnly. War veterans in the Carrot Conflict.
2:45 p.m. – Hallway Chaos
Dr. Zayne Li had performed an entire valve replacement that morning. He’d comforted a panicking family. He’d handled two code blues.
But nothing humbled him like trying to keep a toddler from pressing every elevator button while holding a juice box upside-down.
“Lily—don’t—yep, okay. Juice on the floor. We’re leaving a sticky trail. Great.”
“Is it glittery?” she asked.
“It’s… bacteria glitter.”
A nurse wheeled by with a smirk. “You doing alright there, Daddy?”
Zayne deadpanned. “Why did I go through twelve years of med school if I can’t outsmart someone under three feet tall?”
Lily flashed him a grin.
“Because you needed a boss.”
3:30 p.m. – Back at Home
By the time Miya got home, her bag slung over her shoulder and a half-graded stack of quizzes in hand, she was met by a peculiar sight.
Zayne, lying face-down on the couch.
Lily, napping on top of him like a warm, jelly-limbed koala.
Prince was curled at the foot of the couch, purring. Baby eyed them all from her cat tower like a skeptical queen.
Miya tiptoed closer, kissing Zayne on the head. “I heard Dr. Li Jr. handled your schedule today.”
He peeked one eye open. “She made my residents do jumping jacks. Said it was for ‘mental stimulation.’”
Miya grinned and gently lifted Lily into her arms. “You survived.”
“Barely. She threatened to cancel my coffee if I didn’t say please.”
“She is my daughter.”
Later That Night
Bathtime involved Lily trying to give Prince a shampoo he didn’t ask for. Baby escaped to the closet.
Zayne and Miya finally got her into bed after three stories and a negotiation that resembled peace talks.
When she was finally asleep, Zayne wrapped his arms around Miya in the kitchen.
“You know,” he murmured, “she asked if she could wear a white coat like mine.”
Miya smiled against his chest. “She already acts like your boss. Makes sense.”
Zayne rested his chin on her head. “Tomorrow… maybe we all stay home. You, me, Lily, the cats. No alarms. No surgeries. No glittery juice.”
"I bought macarons!" Miya says in a sing-song voice. Zayne looks up from his laptop, his eyes exhuasted but a smile paints his face, seeing his wife. He gets up from his chair and heads over to Miya, kissing her cheek.
"You didnt have to, sweetheart." He says.
Miya shakes her head, "But I insist! These are special ones too! Look I got you the flavors you wanted— Strawberry, Chocolate, Vanilla—"
He laughs, "Thank you, love." He takes the box from her hands and heads back to his desk, clearing it up. Miya sits down, her hand resting comfortably on top of her baby bump.
"How are you?" Zayne asks, opening the box and taking the first bite of a macaron.
"Im good. Baby's okay. Trying to get use to the fact my tummy is getting big." Miya answers.
"The baby's growing well, and you're doing a great job being their mother." Zayne smiles. He continues to eat through the macarons, stopping once in a while to check on Miya and the baby. He reaches the fourth one, a simple pink macaron with vanilla filling.
"Well this one's interesting. " Zayne remarks, making Miya laugh. He takes a 6 pauses. He glances down at the small, half-bitten baked pastry. Strawberry-filled with Vanilla.
"Surprise?" Miya says, trying not to grin too widely, "I forgot to mention that one of them had the baby's gender but I didnt know which —"
"Its a girl?" Zayne asks softly, putting the macaron down, "We're having a baby girl, my love?"
Miya nods, trying not to cry. "Is...is there something wrong? Do you not want a girl? We can try for a boy next—"
Zayne immediately dismisses the idea, getting up and kissing her. His eyes close as he holds Miya close. A few seconds later, he pulls away and kisses her stomach, which their baby girl was residing in.
"A girl.. " he says softly. "You're giving us a baby girl, my love?"
Miya nods.
"Thank you. I love her already." Zayne whispers, kissing her tummy again, making Miya laugh. He offers the last macaron to her, "Here. For my favorite girls."
all the more reasons why we should have macaroons for breakfast,lunch and dinner :)
Like when he was just a little kid, maybe around four years old. He had the chubbiest cheeks, glasses, and a bowl cut that his mom cut for him and is very proud of. He's chubby all over really, just starting to loose a little of his baby fat and man was he the chunkiest toddler.
He's his parent's pride and joy, their perfect little creation. And oh is he a mama's boy through and through.
She adores dressing him up for preschool, little sweater vests and suspenders that match. Polished little dress shoes and knee highs to keep his little knees from getting scraped at recess. She's got a spare pair of glasses in his backpack because he's just a little guy after all.
His parents still have his school photo from preschool, glasses on his face and one of his two front teeth missing. A real grin on his face, even though he was pretty mellow in nature as a child too.
There is a sparkle in those big hazel eyes, one that still shines through in adulthood on video calls. And it's all thanks to a certain someone who's filled his life with vivacity.
Even though he is 27 now, when his mom picks up his video calls , she still sees that round face four-year old who used to fall asleep snuggled in her arms every single night.
Zayne carrying baby Lily on his hips make me go feral💖🥰🥰😳🥰💖 - miya
U said you were on ur period….doesent that mean ur in your follicular phase? During this phase, the pituitary gland releases follicle-stimulating hormone (FSH), which stimulates the growth of follicles in the ovaries.
