Amaya spilled the juice suddenly, the cold splash spreading across Rhea's shirt before she could react.
"Oh—Amaya," Rhea breathed, more startled than angry.
The toddler blinked, then frowned, tiny lips trembling. "Ninna…"
"It's okay," Rhea said instantly, panic for Amaya replacing everything else. She wiped Amaya's hands first, careful, thorough. "It's okay. Shh."
Shyra leaned forward. "Go. I'll handle her. Clean up."
Rhea hesitated. "She'll cry."
"She won't," Shyra said firmly, already lifting Amaya. "I'm her mother."
Amaya protested softly, arms reaching out. "Ninnaaaa."
Rhea kissed her forehead quickly. "I'll be right back. Don't cry."
She stood, smoothing the stained fabric unconsciously, and walked toward the washroom with her head down, steps fast but controlled.
At the same time, Ling pushed her chair back.
"Bathroom," she said shortly.
Rina raised an eyebrow. "You don't announce that usually."
Ling glanced at her. "Then consider this growth."
Rina laughed. "Miracles do happen."
Ling walked off, hands in her coat pockets, expression unreadable.
The women's washroom was quiet, marble floors echoing softly.
Rhea entered first.
She locked herself into a stall, exhaled shakily, and leaned her forehead against the door for a brief second.
"Get it together," she whispered to herself.
She cleaned the stain carefully, methodically, like everything else in her life. No rushing. No mess. Control.
Her phone buzzed.
Shyra: She's fine. Laughing now. Take your time.
Rhea closed her eyes briefly.
"Liar," she murmured, but her shoulders relaxed a little.
She stepped out, went to the sink, and washed her hands slowly, watching the water run over her fingers like it could wash something else away too.
Her reflection stared back at her.
Tired eyes. Calm face. Cracks hidden well.
The washroom door opened again.
Ling entered.
Rhea was already reaching for a tissue, her back turned.
Ling stopped near the other sink, rolling up her sleeves slightly. She didn't look up. She rarely did in public spaces.
Water ran.
Two women stood barely meters apart, separated by mirrors and silence.
Ling glanced at her reflection absentmindedly.
She stiffened.
Not recognition.
A feeling.
Her jaw tightened slightly.
She looked away instantly, focusing on washing her hands harder than necessary.
Rhea dabbed her dress, folded the tissue, threw it away.
She felt it then.
That strange pressure again. That heaviness behind the ribs.
She straightened slowly, eyes lifting to the mirror—
But Ling had already turned her head down, drying her hands.
"Get out," Rhea told herself silently. "Don't think."
She grabbed her bag, walked toward the door without looking sideways.
Ling turned at the same moment, reaching for the trash.
They passed each other.
So close that the air shifted.
No eye contact.
No names.
No sound except heels on marble.
Ling paused for half a second after Rhea exited, brows drawn together.
"…Weird," she muttered.
Rina's voice echoed faintly from outside. "You die in there or what?"
Ling scoffed under her breath. "Unfortunately not."
She walked out.
Rhea leaned against the corridor wall outside, chest rising once, sharply.
She didn't know why.
She didn't try to understand it.
She adjusted herself, composed herself, and walked back toward her table.
Shyra looked up immediately. "You okay?"
"Yes," Rhea said. Too quick. "Where's Amaya?"
"Dessert negotiations," Shyra replied, nodding at the toddler happily smearing cream on her own nose.
Rhea smiled, genuine this time, and took Amaya back into her arms.
Across the restaurant, Ling sat back down.
Rina studied her face. "You look like you fought a ghost."
Ling picked up her glass. "I don't believe in ghosts."
"You believe in something," Rina said lightly.
Ling didn't answer.
The night continued.
The near-miss remained just that.
And fate, patient and cruel, waited quietly for a better moment.
They stood up to leave.
Shyra adjusted Amaya in her arms, humming softly when the toddler protested the movement. Rhea picked up the bag from the chair, checked the floor once out of habit, then smoothed her dress again—still faintly damp, but clean.
"Say bye to the lights, Amaya," Shyra teased. "We're going home."
"Bye," Amaya said seriously, waving at absolutely nothing.
Rhea smiled despite herself. It was small. Real. Rare.
They started walking toward the exit, moving at an unhurried pace. Rhea stayed half a step behind Shyra, eyes lowered, attention on Amaya's fingers playing with her necklace.
She didn't look around.
She never did.
That was when she heard it.
A voice.
Low. Controlled. Familiar in a way that made her spine stiffen before her mind could react.
"Rina. Enough. We're leaving."
Rhea's foot stopped mid-step.
Her breath caught so sharply it almost hurt.
No.
Her mind rejected it instantly.
No. That wasn't possible.
Her grip tightened around the strap of her bag. Her pulse spiked, loud in her ears.
You're tired, she told herself immediately.
You're imagining things.
You've done this before.
She had heard Ling's voice in crowds before. In lecture halls. In hospitals. In her sleep. In the space between heartbeats when the world went quiet.
Hallucinations born from absence.
Shyra took another step and noticed Rhea wasn't beside her anymore. She turned. "Rhea?"
Rhea swallowed hard. "Did you… say something?"
Shyra frowned. "No. Why?"
Rhea shook her head quickly, forcing her legs to move again. "Nothing. I thought—" She stopped herself. "Nothing."
They reached the wide corridor near the exit, glass walls reflecting soft golden light.
Behind them, footsteps approached.
Rhea's shoulders went rigid.
Then the voice came again. Closer this time. Clearer.
"I said tomorrow morning. Cancel the rest."
There was no mistaking it.
The cadence.
The authority.
The way each word landed like it expected obedience.
Rhea's vision blurred at the edges.
Her mind screamed one name and refused to let it leave her throat.
Ling.
Her heart began to pound violently, like it wanted to escape first.
You're hallucinating, she repeated, almost desperately.
She's not here. She can't be here.
Shyra slowed unconsciously, sensing something wrong. "Rhea, what's going on?"
Rhea didn't answer.
She was afraid to turn.
Afraid that if she did, reality would break one way or another.
Afraid that if she saw nothing, she'd confirm she was losing her mind.
Afraid that if she saw her—
She didn't finish the thought.
Rina's laughter cut in, light and careless. "You're impossible, Ling. You know that?"
Ling responded without hesitation. "I'm efficient."
Rhea's knees weakened.
That wasn't a memory.
That wasn't imagination.
That was happening.
Her fingers trembled. She pressed them into her palm, grounding herself with pain.
"Rhea," Shyra said sharply now, fully turning. "Hey. You're pale. What's wrong?"
Rhea forced air into her lungs. "I— I think I need to sit—"
"No," she corrected herself immediately. "No. I'm fine."
She wasn't.
But she couldn't stop here.
She took one step forward.
Then another.
Her movements were mechanical now, driven by instinct alone.
Behind them, Ling and Rina exited the private dining section.
Ling was mid-sentence, irritation faint but present. "Next time, don't drag me to places that smell like money and regret."
Rina snorted. "You chose the restaurant."
Ling scoffed. "I chose silence. This was loud."
Rhea heard every word.
Her ears rang around them.
She did not turn.
She did not look.
She kept walking.
Past the doors. Past the light. Past the moment.