Chapter 1: Summoned for the Seemingly Small

Irina gazed out of her bedroom window, the sun casting a warm glow on her surroundings. The familiar smell of her mother's coffee wafted into her room as she turned her attention back to her book. Just as she was getting lost in its pages, a voice from the other end of the house cut through her concentration.

"Irina! Irina, dear!"

She sighed, closing her book reluctantly. It was the sound she had grown accustomed to—her mother summoning her for some minor task. With a roll of her eyes, she made her way down the hallway to her mother's room.

Pushing the door open, Irina found her mother, comfortably ensconced on her bed, a cup of coffee on the bedside table, and her eyes fixed on the TV. Her mother, a picture of leisure, had perfectly manicured nails and a pristine robe that looked straight out of a fashion magazine.

"Yes, Mom?" Irina said, trying to mask her frustration.

"Irina, sweetie, could you hand me that hand towel?" Her mother's voice held a tone of casual indifference.

Irina's gaze followed her mother's outstretched finger, landing on the hand towel resting on the edge of the bed, mere inches away from her mother's hand. Suppressing an exasperated sigh, she walked over and picked it up.

"Here," Irina replied, her voice laced with irritation as she handed the towel to her mother.

"Thank you, dear," her mother said, barely sparing her a glance before her attention returned to the TV.

As Irina turned to leave, her eyes fell on the row of designer bags lined up against the wall. Her mother's obsession with luxury was evident in every corner of the room. Her father, a successful businessman, had made sure his wife wanted for nothing.

It was a source of constant frustration for Irina. Her mother, a capable woman, had never worked a day in her life, all thanks to her father's overbearing desire to provide her with a life of comfort. Irina often wondered what her mother did all day while she and her siblings were at school. The glimpses she caught indicated a life of leisure—shopping sprees, salon appointments, and endless hours of reality TV.

She had seen her mother's eyes light up at the mere mention of a new bag or shoes. It was almost as if these things defined her worth, as if they were her currency of happiness. Irina couldn't fathom why her mother needed these things, or why she couldn't see the emptiness they represented.

If given the chance, Irina sometimes thought bitterly, her mother might even trade her own children for a new wig—though she knew that was a melodramatic exaggeration. Still, the sentiment remained—a mother who seemed to value material possessions over her own family.

With a heavy heart and a tangle of emotions, Irina retreated to her room. She reopened her book, but the words on the page seemed to blur together. She was tired of feeling like an errand girl, tired of watching her mother squander her potential on trivial pursuits.

In the depths of her frustration, Irina vowed to forge her own path—one that would be defined by substance, not materialism. She just needed to find the courage to break free from the cycle her mother's choices had woven around her.

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Irina walked back into her room, frustration still lingering in her chest. She closed the door behind her and flopped onto her bed, her book abandoned on the nightstand. She stared at the ceiling, her thoughts drifting away from the pages of her novel.

As her mind wandered, she found herself daydreaming, imagining a world where her reality was as enchanting as the stories she read. In this imagined realm, there was a guy, someone who understood her in ways no one else did. He was confident and kind, with eyes that held a promise of endless possibilities.

She imagined him drawing near, his fingers gently grazing her cheek, his touch igniting a warmth that spread through her veins. In her mind's eye, she felt the gentle press of his lips against her forehead, a tender and comforting gesture that made her heart flutter.

She allowed herself to lose track of time as she painted this vivid fantasy, a secret haven where her desires could flourish without judgment. It was a welcome escape from the mundane routine that seemed to tether her to her family's expectations.

But just as the daydream reached its most intense crescendo, the spell was abruptly shattered. The door to her room creaked open, and her younger brother walked in, his mischievous grin immediately telling her that he had witnessed her vulnerable moment.

"Daydreaming again, Irina?" he teased, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Irina's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and she quickly sat up. "Vasily!" she scolded, trying to muster a stern tone.

Vasily, her younger brother with a knack for showing up at the most inopportune times, chuckled. "Who's the lucky guy this time? Or should I say, the imaginary lucky guy?"

Irina rolled her eyes, trying to brush off the embarrassment. "Just leave it, will you?"

Vasily plopped down on the edge of her bed, his laughter fading into a playful grin. "Come on, sis. Don't be shy. Tell me about this dream guy of yours."

"He's nobody, Vasily," Irina sighed, though a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Her brother's presence had a way of lightening her mood, even when he teased her relentlessly.

Vasily wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Oh, come on. You can't fool me that easily. I bet he's tall, dark, and handsome, right?"

Irina couldn't help but laugh at her brother's antics. "You watch too many movies."

He shrugged, the grin never leaving his face. "Maybe. But I know you, Irina. You deserve someone amazing."

Irina's heart swelled with affection for her brother. "Thanks, Vasily. You're always looking out for me."

"That's what little brothers are for," he said with a wink. "Now spill the details!"

Irina playfully shoved him, and they both dissolved into laughter, the tension from earlier dissipating like mist in the morning sun. In that moment, as she shared a genuine connection with her brother, Irina realized that while the perfect dream guy might only exist in her imagination, the real relationships in her life were just as valuable, if not more so.