The slap of her body against the couch echoed in the modest living room, which held little decoration beyond necessity. The chandelier above swayed gently, its crystal ornaments catching the wind, producing a soft melody of jingles that reminded June of distant church bells. Her lashes fluttered as she exhaled heavily, her gaze tracing the faint paintings on the white walls, the clay vases cradling an array of vibrant flowers.
A loud grunt escaped her lips.
She could still see him—that man. The stranger who had not only failed to save her cupcakes but had also stepped on them as if her suffering meant nothing. Hours of anticipation, waiting to savor her favorite dessert, had gone to waste in a matter of seconds.
"Madman," she muttered.
With a sigh, she bent forward, unbuckling her heels and freeing her feet from their torment. She cradled them in her hands, rubbing at the soreness, only to wince when her fingers brushed against the red bruises on the back of her ankles.
"Aww," she groaned, her tone dull with exhaustion.
The scent of something delicious wafted through the air, cutting through her irritation. Without thinking, her legs moved on their own, drawn toward the small kitchen like a moth to a flame. As she reached the source, her hands moved instinctively, gripping the transparent lid of the pot, unveiling a steaming dish of rice mixed with eggs, glistening with green beans and carrots.
Her stomach grumbled.
"Hello."
June's body jolted. Her heart leaped to her throat as she whipped around, her wide eyes landing on the unexpected figure standing by the kitchen entrance.
Dora.
"What are you doing?" Dora asked, her arms crossed, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips.
"Besides you scaring the hell out of me? Nothing," June answered, quickly replacing the pot's lid as if she had never touched it.
"Really?" Dora arched a brow. "You weren't sneaking bites of the meat, were you?"
June scoffed, wiping her lips discreetly, erasing all evidence of her betrayal.
She had promised—promised—to stay away from meat for the sake of their mutual diet plan. Not that she particularly needed it, but Dora had been struggling with her own fitness journey, and June had sworn to support her. Yet here she was, already slipping.
At least those ruined cupcakes had saved her from an additional lecture.
"I feel betrayed," Dora clutched her chest dramatically. "Hurt. Wounded."
"Spare me your acting skills, drama queen." June snorted, pushing past her toward the fridge.
Dora was a drama queen. Two years in a row, she had won awards for her acting skills, and even their teachers had voted her as the most likely to become a successful actress. But to June, her tricks and tactics were clear as water. They had been friends since high school—there was nothing about each other they didn't know.
"Should I serve you some?" Dora asked, knowing full well the answer.
"Of course," June huffed. "I was minutes away from drowning in that pot."
"I'm home!"
Another voice rang out from the doorway, followed by the sound of heels clicking against the floor before being swapped for a pair of foam slippers
"What were you guys talking about?"
Jane.
"You're home early," Dora noted. "Your mean boss didn't pile more work on you?"
June rolled her eyes.
"Haha," she let out a sarcastic chuckle.
"No, she didn't." Jane's laugh was just as dry, but her eyes landed on June with a knowing look.
"Poor you," Dora sighed dramatically. "Of all the bosses you could have, yours had to be a cruel heart."
June ignored them, making her way to the dining table.
"So, when do you plan to increase my salary?" Jane teased, joining her.
June gave her a blank stare. "We're home. Work conversations wait till tomorrow. And besides, you haven't given a valid reason to raise your salary twice in one month."
"You two are like Tom and Jerry," Dora remarked, sliding into a chair beside them.
The three of them had been living together for over a year now. Jane had moved in when she found herself struggling with rent, and June had welcomed her without a second thought.
Unlike them, Dora came from wealth—a multi-billion-dollar empire she had no interest in inheriting. Her parents constantly pressured her to marry and take over the family business, but she wanted none of it. She had chosen a different path, becoming a freelance writer instead. Though her parents disapproved, Dora found fulfillment in the words she crafted, in the joy of her small but loyal readership.
A loose nightgown slipped over June's frame as she leaned against Dora's shoulder, a glass of wine in her hand. The soft hum of the night filled the space between them.
"I wish my parents understood me more," Dora murmured, twirling the lemon wine in her glass.
"And I wish all my problems would just disappear," Jane sighed, downing her liquor in one gulp.
Both women turned expectantly toward June.
She remained silent.
Her gaze was distant, her sigh heavy.
"Don't tell me you wish for nothing," Dora narrowed her eyes.
"Don't make me force it out of you," she warned, her tone unwavering.
June exhaled, her fingers tightening around her glass.
"Fine. I wish things were different. I wish my life were filled with love and compassion. I wish my heart knew how to love and let go. I wish the anger inside me would just… settle."
A pause.
"But as we know, magic doesn't happen in real life. Neither do shooting stars."
Her words sucked the warmth from the air.
Silence hung between them—until Jane suddenly gasped.
"Look! A shooting star!"
Dora's lips parted, her usual skepticism replaced with rare wonder.
"It really is," she whispered.
June followed their gazes, watching the lone streak of light cut through the dark sky.
She clenched her fingers around her glass.
"This means nothing," she muttered.
"Nothing will change." She said convincing and assuring her self as the night swept through with calm wind that got the morning light in glow. Hurried they were at their work places.
The cold cream of her coffee lingered on her lips as June strode through the company halls, her heels clicking against the polished tiles.
The cooling system had never felt this freezing before.
A strange sensation crept through her veins, prickling against her skin. There was a shift in the atmosphere—an awareness in the eyes of her colleagues as they whispered and watched her.
Something was wrong.
"Have you seen it?"
Jane's voice jolted her
June nearly lost grip of her coffee cup, whipping around to glare at her friend.
"How many times have I told you not to startle me like that?"
Jane ignored the complaint, urgency flashing in her eyes.
"Have you seen the video? It's everywhere. People are losing it."
"What video? And why should I care?"
Jane grabbed her wrist before she could walk away.
"It's about you."
June froze.
"Everyone's talking about it," Jane continued. "Your secret is out."