"I didn't realize you were the ones who moved in! What a coincidence!" Josh exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he turned to me.
"Yeah," I muttered, feeling a little awkward and sounding far less enthusiastic than he did.
Uncle, sensing the atmosphere, soon excused himself and disappeared back inside, leaving Josh and me alone. I took a step toward the door, intending to follow, but he stopped me with a firm but gentle hand on my shoulder.
"Why don't you stay and talk to him?" Uncle suggested, his voice calm but insistent. "It's about time you made a friend, kid."
I frowned, my reluctance written all over my face. But before I could protest, Uncle added, "I'll keep teaching you tomorrow if you stay."
That did the trick. With a resigned sigh, I turned back to Josh and mumbled, "Fine."
Now it was just the two of us, standing outside the gate as an awkward silence stretched between us. I had no idea what to say, and the weight of it felt almost unbearable. My introverted self just wanted to retreat back inside. Josh, on the other hand, was fidgeting nervously for some reason, his usual energetic demeanor replaced by an unusual timidity—so different from how he had been acting just seconds ago.
"Is he bipolar?" I wondered, as a small chuckle escaped my lips before I could control it. He caught it right away.
"What's so funny?" he asked, his brows knitting together in confusion.
"Nothing," I said quickly, rubbing the back of my neck. "So, uh, do you need anything else?"
Josh hesitated, looking down. His tone softened, and for the first time, he sounded vulnerable. "I, I don't really know anyone here yet. My old friends live too far away to visit, so I can't celebrate with them. And I didn't invite anyone from school because... well, I haven't made friends yet." His words faltered, and he avoided looking at me directly.
A sharp response formed in my mind: "And what does that have to do with me?" But I swallowed it, letting the words go unspoken.
"Well, um... do you want to play at my house?"
"Why?" I asked, caught completely off guard.
"Isn't that what friends do?" he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty, as if he wasn't entirely sure of the answer himself.
I furrowed my brow.
"I don't know," I replied bluntly. I don't even have friends. How would I know that?
He fell silent after that, but his expression gave away everything. His eyes were hopeful, silently pleading for me to say yes. I almost turned him down, ready to blurt out some lame excuse like being busy or having plans later. But the way he looked at me, made me feel a little guilty. Not that I care much about birthdays; I don't even celebrate mine.
"Okay," I said at last, the word slipping out before I could stop it.
Josh's face lit up like a Christmas tree, and before I knew it, we were walking toward his house. To my surprise, it was right next door to mine.
"Would you look at that," I muttered under my breath.
The first thing I noticed as we approached was the sheer size of the place. Even before stepping inside, the pristine cars parked in the driveway screamed luxury.
"So, you're really rich, huh?" I said, giving him a sideways glance, my tone half-teasing.
Josh laughed lightly. "It's not me who's rich," he said with a grin. "It's my parents.
He opened the door with a subtle gesture that I could follow. As soon as I stepped inside the lavish interior, my suspicions were confirmed. Polished marble floors stretched across the vast space, while high ceilings loomed above, giving the room an almost regal air. Every detail, from the gleaming chandeliers to the opulent furniture, conveyed wealth and sophistication.
We walked toward the living room, where my gaze immediately fell to a set of sleek glass shelves. They were filled with a curated collection of exquisite wine bottles and top-shelf liquors, each one gleaming like a jewel; their prices were no doubt as extravagant as their appearance.
Adjacent to them stood another shelf, lined with trophies, their golden surfaces glinting proudly in the light, each one a testament to a different achievement.
"Woah," I muttered, taking it all in. "How does it feel to live in a place like this?"
Josh opened his mouth to answer, but I cut him off before he could even get a word out.
"Wait, no. Don't answer that. I don't think I want to know."
On the other side, there was a table filled with small picture frames. Each photo's background conveyed a distinct atmosphere from different events and locations.
"I guess he does boxing," I thought to myself.
Then, on the far wall, a large family portrait stood out in its heavy, elegant frame. Josh was the only person in the picture besides his parents, which made it clear that he was their only child.
Suddenly, a calm, friendly-looking woman in her forties appeared at the top of the staircase. Her warm smile radiated a sense of care and approachability, and for a moment, I thought she was his mother. But then Josh's voice broke my thoughts.
"That's not my mom," he said, a hint of amusement in his tone. "That's our housemaid."
"Did he hear me? I don't think I said that out loud, though," I wondered, narrowing my eyes at him suspiciously.
"No, I didn't read your mind," Josh replied, his tone calm. "I just noticed it in your expression. People usually ask that."
It was as if he had pulled the words directly from my thoughts, effortlessly answering what was on my mind. Before I could respond, the soft voice of a woman interrupted.
"Your mom's in the kitchen," the housemaid said gently, her warm smile directed at us. She shifted her gaze to me, curiosity lighting up her eyes.
"Did you already make a friend?"
Josh grinned, turning toward her.
"Yes, Aunty! Neon, this is Aunty Deth. She's been with us ever since I was born, and she's like family to us. That's why I call her Aunty. You can call her Aunty Deth too."
He gestured toward me with a proud smile.
"Remember the family that moved in yesterday, right next door to us? That's Neon's family!"
"Really? Isn't that wonderful?" Aunty Deth said, her face lighting up with genuine surprise and delight. She looked at Josh with such obvious affection that it warmed the room, as if she adored him like her own child. Yet, for some reason, a pang of unease stirred within me. There was something about that soft smile of hers that seemed suspicious, as if she were hiding something.
After the brief exchange, Josh led me toward the kitchen. The scent of something faintly sweet lingered in the air as we entered. A woman stood at the sink, her hands busy cleaning something. Josh had mentioned yesterday that his mother was in her mid-thirties, but seeing her now, I was taken aback.
She appeared much younger than her actual age, perhaps by seven years. Her features were delicate and elegant, almost flawless, like someone who lived a life far removed from stress. Maybe it was a rich people thing.
Josh was undoubtedly her carbon copy, except for his hair. They both had the same fair complexion, pale as freshly fallen snow, and small, delicate noses. His deep, almost feminine dark eyes were undoubtedly inherited from her, although his jet-black hair must have come from his father, as hers was a soft shade of light brown.
"Mom, I'm here!" Josh called out cheerfully, his voice brimming with energy. "I brought my friend, Neon."