The rounds of games went by, one drink after another, the lights, the voices, and the charged air in the room all blending together into a feeling that made Zola feel light as a feather. She had never experienced such a high, half-drunk, half-awake kind of joy. It was as though the world had suddenly lifted her up and was carrying her to a place of weightlessness. She noticed the crowd around her thinning out gradually. Some people disappeared, others came back, their faces brighter with more smiles.
She didn't understand what was happening until, at some point, Mike appeared beside her. He stood by her side, but deliberately didn't touch her. Instead, his fingers lightly brushed her hand, as though asking: "Can I get closer?" Zola froze. Emily saw it and immediately wore a mischievous, flirtatious smile, shifting to one side as if making room for him. Her eyes clearly said, "I know what you're up to. Go ahead."
When the game ended, people were laughing and cheering. Mike leaned over and got close to her ear. His voice was low, like a breeze brushing through the air: "Would you… go out to the balcony with me?"
Zola already felt hot from the alcohol, her head spinning slightly. When he asked, a sudden "thump" echoed in her chest, and before she knew it, she nodded. When she told Emily she was stepping out, Emily winked at her with a playful smile: "Enjoy."
As soon as she stepped out onto the balcony, the cold wind hit her, and her mind cleared just a little, though not completely. The tipsy feeling still swirled in her body, like a small spark winding up her bones. She leaned against the stone railing, trying to let the wind cool the burning heat in her chest.
Mike followed her out, the door shutting softly behind him, separating them from the noise of the party. Only the moonlight, night wind, and him remained on the balcony. He walked over slowly, step by step, his footsteps quieter than the wind, but they made Zola's heart pound heavily with each beat, as though stones were dropping into water. The moonlight illuminated him, and his pale gold eyes seemed to catch the light. He stared at Zola, unabashed, as if he were seriously and openly taking her in.
Under his gaze, Zola's breath grew irregular. She awkwardly turned her head, but the next moment, Mike reached over, placing his hand on the railing behind her, trapping her gently between his body and the stone. It wasn't a hug, but it was nearly as if she were enclosed in his arms. His chest was only a hand's-width away from hers, and she could feel his body warmth growing closer with each breath. His shadow covered her, and the space behind her seemed filled with his presence. She was surrounded.
Mike lowered his head, his nose brushing her temple, and the sensation made her body stiffen as if struck by electricity.
He leaned closer to her ear, his voice low, like a current sinking into her skin: "You're shaking."
Zola took a breath, almost silently. Then, he placed a soft, slow kiss on her earlobe. It wasn't just a light peck; he gently cupped it with his lips, then let go, the warmth lingering for a moment, sending heat down her spine. Zola's legs almost gave way.
"May I kiss you?" he whispered in her ear, the words brushing against her skin like lips.
Zola could barely form a coherent response, stuttering, "Y…yes…"
Mike pulled back slightly, looking at her. That glance was tender but dangerous. Then, he kissed her. Not a simple, light kiss, but one filled with the warmth of alcohol, the restraint of pent-up desire, and the certainty of having found his prey. He started slow, like he was testing how much she could handle. But when Zola trembled slightly from the tension, his hand steadied her waist, ensuring she didn't fall back. Her breath was entirely stolen, her heart pounded in her chest, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.
Mike's lips met hers, warm with the haze of alcohol, with a bit of force, as if he was pouring all the lingering ambiguity of the night into this kiss. The wind swept across her earlobe, and she felt like she had fallen into a warm, dangerous abyss, surrounded by his shadow.
When he finally pulled away, Zola's breath still trembled as though she had just finished running a marathon but was caught by some kind of gentle embrace. Mike's forehead rested against hers, and their breaths mingled. He laughed softly, his voice low: "You taste… too sweet."
That one word, "sweet," broke the last of Zola's rationality.
Mike gently cupped Zola's face, his thumb gliding through her hair, the touch so soft it was as if he were afraid to hurt her. "You're… truly beautiful under the moonlight."
His voice was deep and clear, like a distant reverent admiration. Zola lowered her eyes, unable to meet his gaze. She felt the warmth rising in her face, whether from the alcohol or from the weight of his gaze. The two feelings intermingled, and she felt more fragile than she ever had before.
Seeing her uncertainty, Mike slowly bent down and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. That kiss was tender and light, no urgency behind it, as if a breeze had swept through her heart. Zola's heartbeat lost its rhythm; she felt as though she were dissolving in the warmth of that moment. He didn't speak, just gently embraced her.
"Let me hold you for a while, okay?" His voice was soft in her ear, full of a tenderness that made it impossible to refuse.
Zola froze for a few seconds, then she felt herself being enveloped—not just in his arms, but in a sense of safety she had never known. It was as if the world had shrunk to just the two of them. He held her close, his chest against her back, his heartbeat steady and strong next to her ear.
The night wind blew, bringing a chill, but in his embrace, she felt warmth. They stood on the balcony, watching the city lights twinkle below. Zola's eyes gazed out over the view—a sea of lights mixed with the soft glow of distant hills, as if the city itself belonged to her and Mike in a small, quiet world. She rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes, listening to his steady breathing and the soft murmur from far away.
At that moment, the world seemed to slow down. There was no clamor, just the night air and the warmth of his embrace.
"You're beautiful," Mike whispered in her ear. "My little princess."
Zola smiled softly, her face still red—not from the alcohol, but from the tender words he had just spoken. She unconsciously pressed herself closer, her heartbeat erratic like a gust of wind.
When Zola and Mike walked back inside, Emily was already looking unsteady. She staggered, her high heels clicking awkwardly on the smooth floor, clearly drunk, completely losing the usual composure she maintained. Zola felt a pang of worry.
She watched Emily sway and couldn't help but quicken her pace. "Emily, are you okay?"
Emily turned, her face fuzzy, and then gave Zola a drunken smile. She threw herself at Zola like a big kitten, pulling her close, and then shoved Mike aside. Mike took a few steps back, a helpless smile on his face, his eyes soft with affection but also a bit resigned. He could only watch the scene unfold.
Zola smiled helplessly, but deep down, she was concerned. "She's not really that drunk, is she?"
Zola half supported, half dragged Emily forward, her drunken sway making Zola quicken her steps. Emily's head nearly touched Zola's shoulder. Mike walked beside them, a hint of worry in his eyes.
He leaned in slightly. "Do you know where Emily lives?"
"Mm, I've been there before. It should be fine," Zola nodded.
Mike casually ordered a car for them, standing quietly to the side while they waited. When the car arrived, Zola helped Emily into the backseat. As the car drove through the brightly lit streets of the city, Zola felt enveloped by the midnight atmosphere. Outside, the city glimmered, but she was lost in the gentle intoxication and dazed feeling from earlier, her mind still replaying the moment on the balcony. She instinctively pursed her lips and shook her head slightly, forcing herself to disconnect from the emotions.
The car finally stopped in front of Emily's apartment building. Just as Zola was about to get out, Emily suddenly let out a loud "wow!" and threw up on the side of the road. In that instant, the previously flirtatious atmosphere was completely shattered. Zola frowned, but seeing Emily in such a state, she quickly jumped out of the car and hurried to help her. Mike didn't show a hint of disdain, standing beside them with steady support, helping Zola assist Emily into the building lobby.
The security guard at the door immediately came over to help, guiding Emily as he kindly asked, "Need any help?"
Zola nodded. "Thank you."
With the security guard's help, Emily was escorted to her apartment door. She leaned against the doorframe, eyes half-closed, clearly exhausted. Zola supported her, softly asking, "Emily, where's the key?"
Emily looked down, fumbling through her bag for a while before finally pulling out the key and handing it to Zola. Her eyes were glazed over with drunkenness, a tipsy smile on her lips. "You're so nice… little Zola."
Zola couldn't help but laugh softly, inserting the key into the lock and opening the door.
Mike followed them inside, helping Zola get Emily onto the bed. As soon as Emily lay down, she immediately rolled onto her side, closing her eyes and falling into a deep sleep, her body still.
Zola stood beside the bed, watching Emily, and breathed a sigh of relief. She turned to Mike, suddenly feeling a little shy. "Thank you, Mike. Tonight… you've been so helpful."
Mike smiled gently, his eyes warm. "It's nothing, Zola. She's my friend, taking care of her is the least I could do." He paused for a moment, his eyes scanning her face. "I'm really glad to have met you."
His gaze lingered in her eyes, carrying a hint of something deeper. Zola's heartbeat quickened. That familiar fluttering sensation returned. She lowered her head slightly, her voice faint. "Mm, goodnight."
Mike sighed lightly, seemingly a bit helpless. As he reached the door, he pulled a napkin from his pocket, quickly scribbling his Instagram handle with a pen and handing it to her. "Make sure to contact me."
Zola took the napkin, her heart still racing uncontrollably. She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Okay, I will."
Mike smiled back at her, gently closing the door behind him. The world outside seemed to fade away, and the air settled into silence. Zola stood by the door, looking down at the napkin with his number written on it. A new wave of emotions surged inside her—intense and complex.
Standing by Emily's bedside, looking at her lying there in a daze, Zola's mind felt adrift, caught between the whirlwind of the night and the growing uncertainty within her.
Zola stood by the bed, watching Emily's unsteady form. Her breath was shallow and steady, though occasionally interrupted by small sounds. She didn't seem to be in any immediate danger, but Zola's worry didn't ease at all.
She had heard countless stories of people who got drunk and then suffocated on their own vomit, those tragic tales of people dying alone in bed. She couldn't ignore these details, though she knew she might be overreacting. That deep, lingering sense of responsibility wouldn't let her ignore it. She had to check everything, just to be sure.
She gently rolled Emily onto her side, ensuring she wouldn't suffocate. Then, she stood by the bed for a moment, hesitating, before softly asking, "Emily, are you sure I don't need to stay with you?"
Emily opened her eyes just a little, giving her a drowsy smile. She waved her hand dismissively, showing some impatience. "Go to sleep, Zola. The guest room's over there, and the bathroom's right there. Just rest. I'll be fine."
Zola was still unsure, but Emily's eyes had that look, the kind that subtly urged her to go, as if she no longer needed anyone with her. Zola nodded reluctantly, though still uneasy, and turned to head to the guest room.
In the guest room, Zola remained unsettled. She left the door slightly ajar, just in case something happened to Emily and she needed to hear it. She took out her phone, glancing at the time—it was already 1 AM. She sighed deeply, the events of the evening and everything she had experienced still swirling in her mind, making it hard to calm down.
As she was about to wash up, her phone suddenly rang. She glanced at the screen, seeing a call from a number in Country C, and felt a flicker of hesitation. She had expected it might be a scam call, but she still couldn't resist picking it up.
The moment the call connected, a familiar voice came through, filled with a mixture of hysteria and helplessness, laced with accusations. "Sister, why did you go abroad?" The words came with deep anger and pain. "Why did you go and waste all the family's money? I should be the one going out too."
The voice no longer sounded like the weak child Zola had known. It was a scream, a tearing shout. Zola froze, her heart suddenly leaping. She knew who it was—it was Yan, her so-called sister.
Yan, her younger sister by two years, had always been in competition with her, for anything and everything. No matter what it was, Yan always wanted to compete, to outdo Zola. But that competition never made Zola feel proud. Instead, it had made her feel increasingly suffocated and anxious. Zola had always known that their parents seemed to favor her, but deep down, she knew the true bias was always with Yan. Yan always got more love, whether from their parents' eyes or through those silent hints. Zola knew she was destined to be the outsider, no matter how hard she tried to fit into that family.
Yan didn't understand. Her spoiled arrogance and sharpness had long been rooted in her, growing into something deep. Zola knew her sister was like a force of nature, a whirlwind. No matter how strong she became, deep inside her was an emptiness she could never fill. Zola took a deep breath, lowering her head, trying to calm her racing heartbeat. Her decision had been made from the start. She had escaped the family, escaped that fake love, because she simply didn't want to face them anymore. She knew Yan and her parents weren't really her family. She didn't like any part of this family, didn't like the unease and pressure she felt in this place.
She had struggled before, wondering if she could change things, but in the end, she chose to run away. She didn't want to keep fighting for a reality that couldn't be changed. She lowered her head and gripped the phone tightly. Zola's heartbeat was still fast, but she looked at the phone screen, feeling like the call had pulled her back to those years, to the life she had with those so-called parents.
Her fingers slid over the phone screen, and memories surged forward. She was probably in her second year of high school, attending an ordinary public school. One afternoon, she came home early because school had let out an hour earlier than usual. She had a brochure in her hand about A-Level programs. She didn't quite understand what it meant at the time, but it seemed like an interesting opportunity, like a chance to escape from her current life.
She walked into the house, holding the brochure, thinking of sharing this opportunity with her parents. She hadn't thought much about it. It seemed like a fresh, exciting chance to walk a different path, a path that might make life a little easier. She went into the living room and handed the brochure to her parents, watching as their faces broke into warm smiles. But it didn't last long. The smiles quickly froze. She vaguely remembered the silence that followed, the subtle tug-of-war in their words. They didn't immediately agree or outright reject it. Instead, they lowered their heads and discussed it, saying, "Think about it carefully."
That afternoon, when school let out early, Zola didn't tell her parents. She thought she'd go home first, sit quietly for a bit, feeling excited about the chance ahead. She went to her room, opened her books, and played with her phone. Suddenly, she heard her parents return. She hadn't expected them to start arguing about the matter. At first, their voices were quiet, then they grew louder. Zola overheard part of their conversation. Her father said, "Going abroad sounds good, but it's so expensive. Maybe Zola's father can give us more money." But her mother calmly countered, "What good is more money? What if she doesn't come back? We've raised her all these years, and now she'll just leave us. All our efforts will be for nothing."
Her father fell silent. Her mother continued, "And if Zola goes, Yan has to go too. Yan is our real daughter—how can we leave her here? If Zola leaves, how will we afford Yan's trip? Don't you remember where the money comes from?" In that moment, Zola's heart felt like it had been pierced by a cold wind. It hurt so much she couldn't breathe. She had never heard such an argument. It became clear that Yan was the only "real" daughter. She suddenly understood why she and Yan were always treated differently, why her parents were always distant, polite, but never warm. Because she wasn't truly their child.
On the other end of the line, Yan was still screaming hysterically, her voice sharp and grating, full of anger and resentment. "Why did you go abroad? Why?! Why waste all the family's money? Do you think you're more important than me? How can you be so selfish?"
Each word was like a knife, stabbing at Zola's heart. She had never heard such harsh accusations, especially from Yan. She felt not just anger but deep jealousy and dissatisfaction.
Zola had been holding onto a thread of calm, but as Yan's voice grew more intense, her inner turmoil broke free. She didn't want to hear any more.
The voice on the other end continued shouting, "Can't you hear me? Why won't you listen to me? Do you think you've done something so great?"
Zola's vision began to blur, and she took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. Her emotions were now numb, completely detached.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Zola replied coldly, her voice void of emotion. "You should talk to your parents about this, not yell at me."
Her tone was calm and firm, unshaken.
Yan seemed to want to say more, but Zola didn't hesitate. She pressed the end call button. The "beep—" as the call ended sounded like an alarm, cutting off all her emotions in an instant. That cold, numb feeling settled in her chest, like a stone sinking deeply inside her. The bubble of happiness she had felt earlier that night was completely burst.
She lowered her head, closed her eyes, and stood quietly in the guest room, breathing deeply, trying to calm the storm inside her. At that moment, she felt an overwhelming emptiness, a wave of long-suppressed emotions rushing toward her, finally finding their release. She no longer wanted to return home, no longer wanted to face those fake faces.
This phone call felt like a needle, bursting the happiness of the night, making it vanish without a trace. A tear slid down Zola's cheek.