Orange's Sims 4 Stories

Game-driven stories with my own twist and imagination

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The Cahyaputri Household

As life pulls in different directions, two sisters must navigate misunderstandings, distance and growing pains. Will they find their way back to each other, or drift forever?

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Cahyaputri Journal 04 - Things We Don't Say

Vanesha

Dear Mom and Dad,

Money's tighter than it should be, and I'm embarrassed at myself for not noticing sooner.

Being a landlady might pay off eventually, but right now it's endless repairs - burst pipes, pests, and the tenant calling at all hours. Every fix costs hundreds and our savings are slipping fast.

I've been thinking of ways to keep things afloat, and running a market stall seems like the best option. I know a good supplier for pastries thanks to my barista job. And I can ask your bestie, Aunt Nurul, to teach me the ropes about running one.

If I can make it work, we won't have to scramble for every repair and bill. Not that I told Zhafira - there's no reason for her to bear my mistakes. She's in her senior year after all, with finals coming up.

Zhafira

Vanesha's at it again, keeping things from me. But snooping is my specialty and I needn't even look far.

Our finance troubles have become public entertainment at the local hangout, courtesy of Nurul's loose lips. I'm supposed to call her 'Aunt', but that vulture doesn't deserve it.

I hate Nurul, and I hate that Vanesha never trusts me. She always dangles school work over my head, as if being in school makes me less capable.

I can do both. I can earn money and keep up with school. With my Book of Secrets, I'm sitting on a gold mine - I can ask for a keeper's fee, if you know what I mean..

But I'll have to explain where the money came from, and Vanesha will never accept it. Think. Zhafira. Think.

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Cahyaputri Journal 03 - What We Leave Behind

Vanesha

Dear Mom and Dad,

Remember Friday night markets? Dad haggling with the satay vendor, Mom gossiping with Aunt Nurul, and Zhafira finding mango sticky rice before any of us, grinning as if she'd won the jackpot.

It's still the same market - same bright lights and loud chatter, same Aunt Nurul selling marbles and tassels - yet everything feels different.

Zhafira doesn't join me anymore. I tell myself that she's a busy teenager, that it's normal. But it's strange having to hear from outside the family - Aunt Nurul - that my own little sister has a boyfriend. At least his mother paid me a visit, so I have some idea of the company my sister keeps.

I'm not angry. I feel... left behind. Like I'm still seated long after everyone has left the table.

I bought mango sticky rice on the way back. Maybe it'll stay warm until Zhafira gets home.

Zhafira

I met Landen Lorenz at the interstate football camp. He lives all the way in Chestnut Ridge - a two-hour bullet train ride from here.

It's a breath of fresh air to be away from Tomarang. No prying questions disguised as neighbourly concern. No pitying looks disguised as care. No backhanded advice to 'be a good sister'.

But I'm hardly helpless. My Book of Secrets comes in handy - nothing makes people retreat faster than knowing that I have their dirty laundry ready to spill. An eye for an eye works every time.

So far, I haven't uncovered anything scandalous about the Lorenz. They're apparently well-known in Chestnut Ridge, so whatever secrets they have are already spilled in the tabloids.

Vanesha texts me. I silence my phone, then slip it back into my pocket.

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Cahyaputri Journal 02 - The Weight of Love

Vanesha

Dear Mom and Dad,

I often wonder what your wishes were when you prayed at our home shrine. I too find comfort in keeping the customs that bring us together.

For me, I wish for strength, wisdom, and for Zhafira's days to be gentle.

I ought to wish gentler days for myself too. Between my barista job and caring for Zhafira, I've also taken over the cleaning and maintenance of our unit and the tenant's. Getting help costs money after all.

That's not to say I'm ungrateful! Your entrusting the unit to me means more than you know. And being a landlady is the reason we have food on the table and a roof over our heads.

I'll do right by our home - and by us.

Zhafira

I snapped at Vanesha today. She asked how the food was, and I snapped.

She woke up at 4am to make me breakfast before heading off to work. Then she comes home from her grubby shift, fixes the sink, and the first thing she asks is my wellbeing?

Why even ask? Of course I'm going to say it's great. What else can be said at that point.

Look, I know she was just making small talk. But I just woke up, she just came home. And there comes that tone - that smile - the words flew from my mouth before I even realised.

She was perfectly pleasant, it's just so- ... ugh. Why even bother explaining myself.

There. I sent her an apology text, okay? Now drop it. Forget the whole thing.

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Cahyaputri Journal 01 - Where Good People Live

Vanesha

Dear Mom and Dad,

If I was a naughty child, I'm sorry. And apparently, karma agrees.

They say you only understand once you've walked in someone's shoes, and now I've walked in yours.

You made it look so easy, handling our mood swings, our teenage hormones and silent treatments. How did you do it? On bad days, Zhafira's emotions are all over the place. On good days, she hunches over her writing, barely speaking to me.

We used to be close once. We'll find our way back. Sisters for life, right?

I love you both. Zhafira and I are doing alright. Every day has it's ups and downs, but we keep going, just like you taught us.

Zhafira

A new tenant has moved in downstairs. He's old, likes giving advice, and carries a book wherever he goes.

My elder sister Vanesha thinks he's elderly and wise; a promising tenant. But people aren't always what they seem. They lie, they cheat, they change faces like they're changing shirts.

That's why I keep the Book of Secrets: a notebook of truths from solid evidence - like borrowed letters, misplaced diaries, and careful observation.

Vanesha always says not to worry, that we're in good hands, surrounded by good people.

I had to bite my tongue from asking, Where?

We're in good hands - our own, taking each day as it comes.

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