[SAM EVAN]
"No," I replied, my tone casual. "I'm busy."
"What about tomorrow?" he persisted.
"Same," I said, leaning against the railing.
"The day after tomorrow?"
"Not free," I answered, glancing at my watch.
"Any…"
"I'm not free this whole month, probably the whole next month too," I interrupted, my patience wearing thin.
"Just say that you don't want to hang out with us," he said sarcastically, narrowing his eyes.
"Yes, that's exactly the case. Why didn't you figure it out sooner?" I retorted, tilting my head back.
"Whatever, go to hell," he muttered.
I smiled sweetly. "I'm sorry, but I'm not fond of visiting your home."
"Huh?" he said, clearly puzzled.
As I strolled toward my car, the sun casting long shadows across the pavement, I couldn't help but reflect on the absurdity of the situation. These guys—my so-called friends—had once dismissed me as just another struggling student. Back then, they wouldn't spare me a second glance, their noses buried in textbooks or huddled together in exclusive cliques.
But everything changed when they discovered my lineage. Evan's group—the name alone carried weight on campus. Suddenly, I was no longer invisible. Instead, I became the reluctant center of attention, their golden ticket to a world of privilege and connections. It was as if my bank account had sprouted legs and started walking around, drawing them like moths to a flame.
They followed me everywhere—lunch breaks, study sessions, even the gym. Their laughter echoed in my ears, their voices a constant hum of insincere camaraderie. They feigned interest in my life, asking about my family, my hobbies, my plans for the weekend. But I knew better. Beneath their smiles lay ulterior motives—calculations of how they could benefit from my proximity to wealth and influence.
And as for friendship? Well, that was a foreign concept. I'd learned early on that friends were like double-edged swords. Sure, they laughed with you, shared secrets, and lent a sympathetic ear. But when the chips were down, they were just as likely to twist that blade and leave you bleeding. Trust was a luxury I couldn't afford.
So, I played my part. I smiled when they cracked jokes, nodded when they rambled about their own lives. But behind my polite facade, I kept my guard up. I reveled in their confusion when I declined invitations, citing vague excuses. "Busy," I'd say, or "Not feeling well." They couldn't fathom why someone with my resources would choose solitude over their company.
And that guy—the one who accused me of avoiding them? His frustration was almost comical. He thought he'd caught me in a lie, unmasked my true intentions. Little did he know that I'd been dancing this delicate dance for years. "Go to hell," he spat, his anger a feeble attempt to assert dominance.
I turned the corner, my car waiting patiently. As I slid into the back seat and my driver started the car, I glanced back one last time. He stood there, still bewildered, trying to piece together my cryptic response. Maybe someday he'd understand that wealth didn't guarantee happiness or genuine connections. Maybe he'd learn that some of us preferred the quiet of our own thoughts to the cacophony of false friendships.
But until then, I'd keep my distance, my secrets intact. After all, in a world where everyone wanted a piece of the pie, I'd learned to savor the crumbs of solitude.
....
I answered the phone, my voice neutral. "Hello?"
"Good evening, boss," came the familiar voice on the other end.
"Hmmm, good evening," I replied, my mind already racing through possibilities.
"Guess what?" he teased. "I finally found what you were looking for."
"What?" I asked, my expression unchanged.
"Guess? Let's meet at the usual place."
"Alright," I said, ending the call abruptly. "I'll be there in ten minutes."
I leaned back in the car seat, instructing the driver, "Turn the car around."
"As you say, young master," he responded, and we glided through the city streets, secrets and intrigue trailing in our wake.
The café was just ten minutes away, but each second felt stretched, laden with anticipation. When I arrived, he was already there, seated at our usual spot, shrouded in the café's dim ambiance. I slid into the chair across from him, my movements deliberate.
"What did you get?" I asked, glancing at my watch—a subtle reminder of the ticking clock.
"You didn't guess till now?" he prodded, a smirk playing on his lips.
"I'm not free like you," I shot back, my words laced with a hint of impatience.
He just hummed in response, an acknowledgment of our unspoken game.
"Out with it," I pressed. "I need to get home."
He leaned forward, the light catching his eyes as he pushed a small box across the table. "Well, see this."
My heart skipped a beat as I recognized the shape of the box. "Is it?" The words tumbled out as a mix of hope and disbelief.
"Yup," he confirmed, his voice steady as I opened the box.
A smile broke across my face—the ring, 'Pyrafire,' lay nestled within. Crafted from polished silver or gold, its band sleek and unadorned. At its center, a flame danced, intricately carved into the metal. The flame appeared alive, flickering with intensity. Its curves and edges mimic the natural movement of fire, capturing its essence. This ring symbolized passion, transformation, and the eternal cycle of creation and destruction.
"Great... thanks," I managed to say, my happiness seeping through despite my attempt at nonchalance.
"No problem, boss," he said, standing up. "I'll be off then; got some unfinished business."
I nodded, watching him disappear into the crowd before turning my attention back to 'Pyrafire.' Slipping it onto my middle finger, it felt right—like it belonged there all along. But then, a strange sensation washed over me—a stirring within that I couldn't quite place.
My breathing quickened, my heart pounded against my chest as if trying to break free. My head felt heavy—a burden atop my shoulders. I blinked rapidly, trying to shake off the feeling when my phone rang.
With effort, I removed 'Pyrafire' and answered the call. It was my brother.
"Hello?" I spoke first, sensing urgency in his silence.
"Listen, Sam... you need to act fast," he said, his voice laced with anxiety.
I stood up abruptly. "Is everything okay?"
"No... nothing is alright," he admitted after a heavy sigh. "I've sent you a location. You need to reach Karrin as fast as you can; I'm still far away."
I hurried to my car. "Okay... but what happened to sis?"
As we drove off, he hesitated on the other end of the line—a bad sign. "That's what I don't know... But I think..." His voice cracked; fear gripped me like a vice.
"Wait... how is sis?" The possibility that crossed my mind was too terrible to voice aloud.
"That's the problem... I think she might have..."
"What?" My heart raced as we approached the location—a crowd had gathered around what looked like an accident site.
Silence filled the line as dread settled in my stomach like lead.
"Brother..." My voice was barely above a whisper as we stopped near a familiar car—a sight that threatened to shatter me.
I pushed through the crowd until her face came into view—the face we all treasured—and panic took hold.
"KARRIN!" My scream tore through the air as I shook her gently. "KARRIN... please sis..."
Tears blurred my vision as I pleaded with her—pleaded with fate itself.
"KARRIN…please I beg you sis…. "
" Please Don't die... not again..."
Did I just said again?
I don't care what I just said…she has to live…she can't die yet
The word 'again' hung in the air—as sirens wailed in the distance. Clutching her closer, I willed her to hold on until help arrived.