Silvia

Silus stood by the front door, his posture tense, as if he couldn't wait to leave. Ever the meddlesome sister, I reached out and caught his sleeve. "You're heading out again at this ungodly hour?" I asked.

He yanked his arm back as though my touch had scalded him. "Yeah, the outdoors beats this dump any day," he said, his words laced with more bitterness than I was prepared for.

I softened my tone, trying to bridge the ever-widening gap between us. "Is it because Mum is gone? Or...is it something with Dad?"

He turned on me, his glare so fierce I half-expected it to set the doorframe alight. "Stop hyperventilating over me and focus on your own shit. You've always been the smarter one. No wonder Dad thinks you hung the moon. So just leave me alone."

I stood there, motionless, as he stormed out into the night. His anger lingered in the air, thick and stifling, as if the house itself had absorbed it. The weight of his words felt like a direct hit—something undeniable, something I'd been too blind to see all along.

My eyes flew open, and I shot upright in bed, my heart hammering against my ribs. I blinked, disorientated, before realising—I'd been dreaming about Silus. Or...was it more of a memory?

I pressed a hand to my chest, willing my breathing to steady, but the ache remained. His words circled in my mind like vultures, pecking at long-buried doubts. Had I been blind to his struggles that resentment had festered, twisting into something so ugly it spilled out in venomous bursts? Even when Mum was here, had Silus always felt this way?

I used to think our family was flawless, as though we were a fortress of love and unity. But fortresses, no matter how strong, always had cracks, didn't they? Small at first, easy to overlook—until they split wide open.

Why had I convinced myself otherwise? Was it naivety? Or worse, wilful ignorance?

As I sat there, lost in thought, a ray of sunlight pierced through the curtains and landed squarely on my face. I groaned, shielding my eyes, and turned to my phone on the bedside table. One glance at the screen, and my stomach plummeted.

Half past eight.

A gasp escaped me as panic took hold. I was late—unforgivably, unreasonably, irreparably late. My body reacted before my brain fully caught up, launching me from bed with the kind of speed that could have impressed my old P.E. teacher—a woman notorious for her dodgeball death matches.

No time for breakfast, no time for contemplation, and certainly no time for despair. I had approximately five minutes to transform from a rumpled, sleep-deprived wreck into a passable version of Silus.

By the time I bolted out the door, my heart was racing almost as fast as my feet. Homeroom awaited me, and with it, yet another late entrance that was fast becoming my unwanted trademark.

Naturally, fate had a special greeting in store for me. Miss Cowan's stern gaze caught me the moment I stepped through the door. Her scowl hit me with the force of a textbook launched across the room—though, admittedly, she didn't need to throw anything. Her words did the job just fine.

"Do you never plan to learn from your mishaps, Silus?" she demanded, her voice carrying the weight of a hundred previous lectures. "How many more times must I tell you before it sinks in?!"

My cheeks burned as the entire class turned to witness my shame. Swallowed by the floorboards might have been preferable to standing there under her scrutiny. I ducked my head, my voice emerging in a whisper. "Sorry, Miss Cowan..."

Her command sliced through the air like a guillotine. "Sit down."

Bearing the full brunt of her disapproval, I slumped into my seat. Mila, ever the perceptive friend, watched me with mounting concern. She knew me well enough to understand that punctuality was a core part of my identity—late was not a word typically associated with Silvia Arias, even if it required pole-vaulting across continents to make it to homeroom on time.

The minutes dragged by at the pace of a snail race. By the time the bell finally released us, I found myself trudging into the hallway, my spirit trailing behind me like a deflated balloon.

Mila intercepted me, her eyes sharp with curiosity. If curiosity killed the cat, she was likely on her ninth life. "Hey, why were you late today?" she asked.

Still grappling with lingering exhaustion, I sighed. "I slept through my alarm."

"You? Sleeping through an alarm? That's not even in your DNA."

Felicia swept past us, her presence commanding attention like an unexpected gust of wind. Without thinking, I greeted her. "Hey, Felicia."

She stopped mid-stride, turning to me with an expression of utter indignation, as if I'd accused her of something scandalous. "What the heck?" she snapped and stalked off at a pace that could have rivalled a cheetah on a sugar rush.

Mila whipped her head back to me, her eyebrows arched high. "Why'd you say hi to her? You're not even friends."

I shrugged, as if my actions required no further elaboration. "I don't know. She reminds me of Silus, I guess."

"Huh? They're as alike as a unicorn and a potato."

Sensing an interrogation on the horizon, I redirected the conversation. "Anyway, Miss Cowan wants a word before I get to class. Catch you later—actually, probably not. We wouldn't want anyone thinking you've joined the Silus fan club."

Her concern lingered in the air like an unspoken question, but I didn't give her the chance to voice it. Instead, I left her behind and made a beeline for the English faculty room. I could only hope Miss Cowan wasn't sharpening her metaphorical scimitar for our impending meeting.

Lost in thought and navigating the crowded hallway on autopilot, I turned a corner—and promptly collided with someone. The impact jarred me out of my thoughts, and I looked up to find myself face-to-face with Jared. Not just any Jared—Jared from my part-time job.

"Jared!" I exclaimed, my relief and surprise spilling out before I could think better of it. It was a familiar face, and in the chaos of my morning, it felt like a lifeline.

But his reaction was anything but friendly. His expression twisted into a scowl so sharp it could have cut glass. "You remember who I am, asshole," he retorted.

I froze, completely blindsided by the sudden hostility. I couldn't understand why Jared—the Jared who'd been nothing but kind at work—would turn on me so viciously.

Mila's warning echoed in my mind—Silus' nemesis. The realisation hit me with all the force of a falling chandelier. This Jared—the one glaring at me with the intensity of a storm—was the Jared who despised my brother? Oh no.

His glare remained unyielding, his voice cold and biting. "You're pathetic."

He slammed his shoulder into mine as he brushed past, the force sending me stumbling into the lockers. The metallic rattle echoed in the hallway, punctuating my humiliation with an exclamation mark. I stayed there for a moment, blinking in stunned silence as the bell rang—a cruel reminder my day had only just begun.

Miss Cowan's impending doom lecture evaporated from my mind. There were more pressing issues to unravel, chief among them Jared's seething animosity towards Silus. Determined to get answers, I rushed to find Mila.

When I arrived in the classroom, I found her surrounded by a circle of classmates, basking in their laughter as though she were the mayor of Friendship Town. I stood at the doorway, feeling like the lone sock left behind in the dryer—stranded, forgotten, and out of place in the convoluted world of high school dynamics.

I gripped the strap of my bag as if it might anchor me to the moment. The sight of Mila thriving only reinforced the decision already in my mind—I couldn't drag her into Silus' mess.

If I was going to keep this charade alive, I'd have to embrace the solitude of a misunderstood twin. Silus had enemies at every turn, and I couldn't risk pulling Mila into the vortex he'd left behind.

With a silent nod to my newfound fate, I took my seat, lowering my chin. For the first time, I began to comprehend the profound loneliness Silus must have endured in an environment this treacherous.

***

In the dead of night, an ominous nightmare gripped my restless slumber, ensnaring me in a vision so vivid it might as well have been real. The voices of my family dripped with bitterness, each cruel word a venomous arrow striking my already fragile heart.

Mum's voice came first, disappointment clinging to every syllable. "You're supposed to be my daughter, not my son."

Silus followed, his tone steeped in self-loathing. "Standing next to you makes me feel like garbage."

But it was Dad's voice that truly shattered me, crushing what little confidence I had left. "After all the trouble you've caused, you couldn't even bring your brother home. Tell me, Silvia, what can you do?"

My eyes snapped open, and I bolted upright in bed, my chest heaving as cold sweat clung to my skin. Tears streamed down my cheeks, uncontrollable and unrelenting, each drop carrying the weight of my deepest fears and insecurities. Nightmares were becoming more frequent now—and I despised them.

I wrapped my arms around my trembling legs, as though holding myself together might keep the shadows at bay. The dream had torn through me, ripping open wounds I thought I'd hidden well. Each word they had spoken—each cruel, bitter word—reflected the doubts I couldn't silence. The doubts that whispered I wasn't enough. The doubts that accused me of failing the people I loved most.

The rest of the night became a losing battle—a tug-of-war between sleeplessness and exhaustion. No matter how tightly I pulled the blanket around me, its warmth couldn't chase away the cold grip of the nightmare. When the sun finally crept through the curtains, its light felt mocking in its cheerfulness.

By early Saturday morning, I found myself huddled in the kitchen, determined to channel my emotional turmoil into something productive— namely, a simple yet hearty breakfast. Sizzling bacon and sunny-side-up eggs for my workaholic father.

He devoured the meal with the urgency of a man who believed every meal could be his last, then dashed off to conquer the day—even on a weekend. His unwavering dedication was seared into my brain as I watched him leave, my mind still reeling from the nightmare's ghostly grip.

Desperate to banish those lingering shadows, I threw myself into the mind-numbing rituals of household chores. I scrubbed the dishes like a possessed dishwasher, tackled the laundry's demanding cycles, and swept the floors as if the dust bunnies had personally wronged me.

Exhaustion caught up with me, and I collapsed onto the couch, stifling a yawn that could've doubled as an earthquake warning. Just as my eyelids began to flutter shut, my phone erupted with Mila's cheerful ringtone, lighting up the screen like a beacon of hope in my solitary morning.

I picked up, shaking off the remnants of my near-nap. "Hello?"

"Hey, Silvy! Are you free today?" Her voice burst through the line, bright and upbeat, like a refreshing breeze on a sweltering day.

"I suppose I am. Why?"

"I've got coupons for Hyde's Cafe! They've just opened a new branch nearby. It's super trendy—everyone's been raving about it online."

"I've never heard of it."

Her laughter bubbled through the receiver. "You're a social media hermit. Don't worry, I'll drag you into the 21st century. I'm on my way to rescue you now. Think of it as a reward for all your hard work."

"What would I do without you, Mila?"

"I know, I'm basically a miracle worker," she replied, and I could almost picture her striking a superhero pose on the other end.

With the promise of a caffeinated adventure, I scrambled to get ready—thankfully, as my true self for a change.

True to her word, Mila arrived promptly, armed with coupons and an enthusiasm that could rouse the dead. We set off towards the cafe, weaving through the streets like caffeinated crusaders on a quest for the holy grail of brews.

As we approached Hyde's Cafe, we were greeted by quite the sight—a line of patrons longer than a giraffe's neck, snaking its way outside the entrance.

My eyes widened. "Wow, they must be serving rainbow lattes or liquid gold."

Mila, ever the astute observer, raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, but look closer. It's like a girls-only gathering out here."

"Are we going to have to wait too?"

"Nope, I booked us a table."

"You're a caffeinated genius."

Stepping inside the cafe, a tinkling bell above the door announced our entrance. Mila's sharp eyes locked onto the barista behind the counter, and her expression soured faster than milk left in the sun. "Now I get what all the hype is about. This cafe is owned by his family."

"Whose family?"

"Aiden Hyde—the guy I warned you about," she replied, her irritation palpable. "These girls have no idea he's got more game than a chess tournament."

My gaze, almost involuntarily, drifted to the barista—Aiden Hyde himself—moving with a confidence that suggested he'd been born with an espresso machine in hand. And, good heavens, he was stunning. He looked like a model who'd wandered off set and accidentally started making lattes, still in smoulder mode. His chiselled jawline, perfectly tousled hair, and easy smile likely boasted a larger fanbase than the cafe's Wi-Fi.

There was an undeniable charm about him, the kind that captured attention without so much as trying—even the poodle waiting outside seemed intrigued. His hazel eyes caught the light in a way that made them almost hypnotic, the sort of gaze that could make you forget your order entirely, leaving you staring into the abyss of his charisma.

As if the universe hadn't tested my composure enough for one day, he tilted his head ever so slightly and locked eyes with me. A rush of warmth spread through me, like I'd downed a shot of espresso—except this shot was aimed straight at my heart.

In a moment of pure panic, I quickly averted my gaze, staring at the floor. I felt like a marshmallow in a microwave—soft, gooey, and on the verge of an unceremonious meltdown.

Mila nudged me towards our reserved table, strategically shielding me from Aiden's dangerously magnetic presence. "We're bailing the second I use these coupons on those sponge cakes."

We nestled into our seats, sipping coffee and nibbling on cakes, but the incessant chatter of girls swooning over Aiden's allure grated on our nerves. As we savoured the last drops of our lattes, we couldn't endure the raucous atmosphere a second longer. Swiftly, we settled the bill and executed a tactical retreat, slipping out before we became permanent fixtures in Aiden's fan club.

The moment we stepped outside, there he was—Aiden, leaning against the building, engrossed in a phone call. Clearly, even he couldn't endure the adoration inside.

His gaze shifted towards us, locking on with that irritating spark of recognition. "I'll call you back later," he said, ending the call with a casual flick of his wrist.

Mila stiffened beside me, muttering under her breath like a cornered prey. "Shit, he saw us." Judging by the way her hand gripped my arm, she was already strategizing her escape route.

With the nonchalance of someone who quite literally owned the place, he sauntered over, grinning like he'd won a competition he hadn't even entered. "Camila! Fancy seeing you here, wreaking havoc in my cafe. How was it?"

For a girl of my height, I rarely felt short, yet Aiden towered over me like a professional basketball player in a room full of children. He brushed back a few strands of hair away from his face as though he'd spent hours perfecting that move in front of a mirror.

Mila's grip on my arm tightened. "Don't act so friendly with me," she snapped, tugging me forward.

With all the grace of a brick wall, he blocked our path. "Wait, you didn't introduce me to your cute friend yet," he said, his syrupy voice laced with enough false charm to make my skin crawl.

"She doesn't need to know you," she shot back, tugging harder. "Bye!"

Aiden pouted playfully, lacking any sense of social cues. "You're no fun, Camila. I'll see you at school then." He turned to me, his smirk morphing into what I could only assume he thought was a heart-melting smile. "And nice meeting you, beautiful."

If revulsion were a sport, I'd have won gold. His flirtatious attempt had the sincerity of wilted roses and the charm of a poorly written love letter scribbled on a napkin.

Mila yanked me out of his orbit with the efficiency of someone rescuing their friend from a bad blind date. She didn't even acknowledge his sunset gaze, treating him like nothing more than an irritating gnat buzzing around her head.

I shot her a sidelong glance, one eyebrow raised in suspicion. "Something tells me there's more to this than you're letting on."

Her eyes darted everywhere but at me. My stare bore into her soul, and she finally cracked under the pressure. "Fine, I'll spill the beans. I trust you anyway." She exhaled dramatically, as though she were confessing to a terrible crime. "I can't believe I'm admitting this, but...Aiden and I used to date."

Laughter erupted from me before I could contain it, echoing down the street.

She glared at me in pure disbelief. "Stop laughing! I know, I know—I was an idiot. It's my biggest regret, okay? I didn't know what he was like until we dated. Total jerk."

Still gasping for breath, I wiped tears from my eyes. "What did he do to make you hate him so much?"

She groaned, the sound laden with the weight of a bad memory. "It happened a year ago. He asked me out, and in a moment of extreme brain fog, I said yes. A week later—just one week, mind you—he dumped me and started dating someone else two days later. And get this—he did the same thing to her. The guy has a rotating door of exes."

I nearly doubled over in laughter, clutching my sides. It was like discovering Mila had been starring in her own private rom-com disaster. Who would've guessed my fiercely independent, "love-is-overrated" best friend had such a flair for tragic dating tales?

She retaliated with a light punch to my arm, though the subtle smile gave her away. "That shouldn't even count as dating."

"More like a drive-thru relationship," I quipped, still chuckling. "Quick, unsatisfying, and leaving you wondering if you should've ordered something else."

She snorted. "Fries. I definitely should've ordered fries. Or maybe a milkshake to wash down the taste of poor decisions."

Our conversation drifted from one joke to another, punctuated by bursts of laughter. Yet somewhere in the back of my mind, Aiden's face floated annoyingly into view. There was something about him—a pinch of familiarity I couldn't quite shake.