It was Saturday, and my room already felt too full.
Ara had dragged seo-yeon out earlier.
Something about "helping in the living room" and "don't stay stuck in your room all day."
Which honestly sounded like an excuse.
Now it was just me and Niran.
Quiet room.
Open wardrobe.
And a lot of bad fashion decisions waiting to happen.
I sighed.
"…Okay. Help me."
Niran didn't even look impressed.
"I've been helping. You're just difficult."
"I'm not difficult."
"You rejected three outfits in five minutes."
"They were bad."
"They were fine."
"They were crimes."
He clicked his tongue.
—
I pulled out a soft oversized hoodie first.
Held it up.
"…This one?"
Niran stared at it.
"Wearable."
"That's not a compliment."
"It's not supposed to be."
I frowned.
"…So yes or no?"
He paused.
Then:
"Yes."
I blinked.
"…That was too easy."
"I'm pacing you."
—
Next: black sleeveless shirt with jacket.
I held it up.
"This one looks cool."
Niran shook his head immediately.
"No."
"…Why?"
"You'll look like you're trying too hard."
"I am trying."
"That's the problem."
I groaned.
"…You're impossible."
"I know."
—
Next: cardigan, button-up.
I lifted it slowly.
Niran stared longer this time.
"…No."
I sighed.
"Why not?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"You'll look like you apologize before you speak."
I paused.
"…That's very specific."
"It's accurate."
I dropped it.
"Okay, that's fair."
—
I sat on the edge of the bed.
"…So what do I wear then?"
Niran walked closer to the wardrobe.
Started flipping through it himself.
Slow.
Like he actually cared.
"You think too much about looking 'good,'" he said.
"I am going somewhere."
"You're going outside. Not a funeral."
"That's not helpful."
"It's true."
—
He pulled out the hoodie again.
Held it up.
Then grabbed the black jacket from the other side.
Stacked them together.
Looked at it.
"…This."
I squinted.
"That's literally what I picked earlier."
"Yes."
"…So I was right."
"No."
I stared at him.
"…You're annoying."
"I'm consistent."
—
I stood up.
"…Fine. Hoodie with jacket it is."
Niran nodded.
Finally.
Then added casually:
"Don't mess up the sleeves."
"I know how sleeves work."
"You don't."
"That's insulting."
"It's observation."
—
I started changing slightly, still talking.
"…You're very judgmental today."
"I'm always judgmental."
"Why?"
He shrugged.
"Because most people dress like they gave up."
I paused.
"…And I don't?"
He glanced at me.
"…You try too hard in the opposite direction."
I blinked.
"…That makes no sense."
"It does."
I pulled the hoodie on.
"…So what am I supposed to do then?"
Niran thought for a second.
Then said:
"Stop overthinking. You look fine already."
I froze slightly.
"…That sounded almost nice."
He immediately frowned.
"Don't ruin it."
I smiled a little anyway.
"…Too late."
—
He grabbed the jacket and tossed it at me.
"Put it on."
I caught it.
"…Yes sir."
"Don't call me that."
"Sure, sir."
"I will leave."
"You can't leave."
"I can disappear."
"That's dramatic."
"It's accurate."
—
I put the jacket on properly this time.
Looked in the mirror.
"…Okay."
Niran stood behind me in the reflection.
"…Not bad."
I raised a brow.
"Was that a compliment?"
"No."
"…It was."
"It wasn't."
I smiled slightly.
"…You're weird."
"You're worse."
"Good teamwork."
"…Unfortunately."
—
For a moment, the room was quiet.
Not awkward.
Just calm.
Then I said:
"…You actually care about this, don't you?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Just looked away slightly.
"…No."
I nodded.
"Liar."
He clicked his tongue.
"…Get ready. They'll come back soon."
I adjusted the jacket.
"…Yeah."
Then added quietly:
"…Thanks."
He paused.
Then muttered:
"Don't make it emotional."
I smiled anyway.
"…Too late."
--------
I got there earlier than I meant to.
Not because I was excited.
Just… because I didn't want to be late.
That's all.
The coffee shop was already half full—people talking, laptops open, cups clinking softly. Normal place. Normal morning.
Then she walked in.
Lalita.
And somehow the whole room didn't change, but she still stood out like she did.
Black jacket, slightly cropped. White tee underneath. Dark jeans. Clean sneakers. Hair tied back messy in a way that didn't look careless—just confident enough to not care too much.
Not flashy.
Just… sharp.
She looked around once, spotted me, and walked over like she already knew I was waiting.
"You came early," she said.
I blinked.
"…You're late."
"I know."
That answer didn't help me.
She sat down like the chair was already hers.
I stared at her for a second longer than normal and forced myself to look away.
"Did you order already?" she asked.
"No. I was waiting."
"For what?"
"For you to show up before I start acting weird."
She smirked.
"Too late."
I sighed.
Fair.
—
We ordered coffee.
I got something sweet. I didn't even think about it too much. I just picked it.
She got something iced—strong-looking, like it didn't have time for emotions.
When she came back with it, she sat across from me and leaned back slightly.
"So," she said, stirring her drink, "where are we going after this?"
I frowned.
"…I thought this was the plan."
"No," she said casually. "Coffee is step one."
I stared.
"That's not written anywhere."
"It is in my head."
"…That's not a real schedule."
"It works better."
I took a sip of my drink.
Too sweet.
I didn't care.
"…So where are we going?" I asked.
She looked at me like she was deciding whether to tell me something dangerous.
Then said:
"The arcade."
I paused.
"…The arcade?"
"Yes."
"…Why?"
She tilted her head slightly.
"Because you look like you've never lost at anything in your life."
I blinked.
"That's not true."
"It is," she said.
"…And you want to fix that?"
"I want to test it."
That sounded worse.
—
The arcade was loud the second we walked in.
Too bright. Too many sounds. Too many people winning and losing at the same time.
I stood there for a second too long.
She already walked in.
Of course she did.
—
We started with basketball.
She went first.
Missed.
Then missed again.
I tried not to smile.
It came out anyway.
"Don't," she said immediately.
"I didn't say anything."
"You didn't have to."
Then I went.
I didn't even think about it.
Just threw.
Score.
Score again.
Score again.
I stopped.
"…That's not fair," she said.
"I didn't do anything."
"That's the problem."
I handed her the ball again.
She glared at it like it offended her personally.
—
Racing game next.
We sat side by side.
She cracked her knuckles.
I immediately regretted sitting next to her.
"Don't complain when you lose," she said.
"I don't lose."
That was a mistake.
She looked at me.
"…That sounded like a challenge."
"I didn't mean it like that."
Too late.
The race started.
For the first few seconds, everything was fine.
Then I noticed I was ahead.
Then I noticed she was not okay with that.
"Why are you like this?" she muttered.
"I'm just driving."
"That's not 'just driving.' That's personal."
I didn't answer.
I just kept going.
I won.
Silence.
She turned slowly.
I kept looking at the screen.
"…You're annoying," she said.
"I've heard."
—
We got snacks after that.
Fries. Drinks. Something sweet she kept stealing even though she had her own.
We sat on a bench near the machines.
It was loud everywhere else, but here felt slightly slower.
She leaned back.
"You're different outside school," she said.
I paused.
"…Is that good?"
"It's honest."
That didn't help.
"At school you act like you're always thinking too much," she added.
I frowned.
"…I don't."
She looked at me.
I didn't like that look.
"You do."
I didn't argue this time.
Just looked away.
"…Maybe a little," I admitted.
She smirked slightly like she won something again.
Of course she did.
—
I looked at her for a second.
"You're different too," I said.
She raised a brow.
"How?"
"…You act like everything is a competition."
"It is."
I stared.
"…Even coffee?"
"Yes."
That was insane.
"…That sounds exhausting."
"It's fun."
I didn't understand that.
But I nodded anyway.
"…Okay."
—
We didn't say much after that.
Just sat there.
Eating.
Listening to the arcade noise around us.
And for some reason, it didn't feel loud anymore.