A HOME AWAY FROM HOME
When the final bell rang that afternoon, Kamsi waved a distracted goodbye, her eyes already glued back to a shifting crypto chart as she headed toward her own home.
But Massimo didn't turn toward his grandmother's house. Instead, he adjusted his backpack and fell into step beside Clara.
"Going the long way today?" Clara teased, though she already knew the answer.
"It's been too long since I saw your mum," Massimo replied with a grin. "I missed her.
Besides, I have a feeling she's cooked something better than my school lunch.
When they pushed through the front door of Clara's house, the air was heavy with the savory, comforting scent of beans and rice.
Clara's mother was a powerhouse; she ran a successful, large provision shop that kept her busy most of the day, but she never let her "twins" go hungry.
She had prepared the lunch in the quiet hours of the morning before heading out to open her store.
On the kitchen table, a note was left beside the steaming pots: 'Eat well, my children. I'll be at the shop if you need me.'
"See? I told you," Massimo said, already reaching for the plates.
He moved through Clara's kitchen with the confidence of someone who lived there. He knew exactly where the spoons were kept and which cupboard held the drinking glasses.
As they sat down to eat, Clara looked at him and smiled. It was a funny contrast—her mother dealt in food and household essentials at her big shop, while her father spent his days at his boutique downtown.
Her dad's shop was smaller but stylish, filled with the latest unisex trends, from sharp male blazers to elegant female blouses.
"My dad said he has some new vintage-style shirts coming into the boutique tomorrow,"
Clara mentioned between bites.
"He said there's one he wants you to try on. He thinks it would fit your 'twin' aesthetic."
Massimo laughed, his mouth half-full of beans. "Your parents really do treat me like I'm on the payroll, don't they?"
"Not the payroll, Massimo," Clara corrected softly, her eyes warm. "The family tree."
After they finished their lunch, the house felt quiet and warm, the lingering scent of seasoned beans still hanging in the air.
Massimo helped Clara clear the table, washing his plate with the practiced ease of someone who didn't consider himself a guest.
"Alright, twin," Massimo said, grabbing his backpack and swinging it over one shoulder.
"I should probably head back before Grandma thinks I've been kidnapped by your mum's cooking permanently."
Clara laughed, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I'll walk you halfway. I need to stretch my legs anyway before I dive into that history assignment."
They stepped out into the afternoon air, the sun beginning to dip low, casting long, golden shadows across the street.
As they walked, the comfortable silence between them was occasionally broken by the sound of their shoulders brushing or a shared joke about a teacher at school.
"Don't forget," Clara reminded him as they reached the crossroads where their paths usually split. "My dad said to stop by the boutique tomorrow. He really does have those new unisex shirts in, and he specifically mentioned a vintage print that would look good on you."
Massimo paused, turning to face her with a soft expression. "I'll be there. Tell him I said thanks for keeping me stylish." He reached out, giving her shoulder a playful squeeze—a gesture so familiar it was like breathing.
"See you tomorrow, Clara."
"See you, Massimo," she replied, watching him walk away until he was just a silhouette against the horizon.
As she turned back toward her house, she felt a small, secret sense of peace.
In a world that was constantly changing, with Kamsi chasing markets and the pressure of high school mounting, this—this walk, this bond—was the one thing that remained perfectly still.
"The Digital Architect"
Meanwhile on Kamsi side,soon as she crossed the threshold of her room,she kicked off her school shoes and collapsed onto her bed, but her hands never let go of her device.
She pulled up her multi-screen interface—a chaotic grid of red and green candles that would give most adults a headache.
"Come on," she whispered, her eyes tracking a downward trend in a popular cryptocurrency.
"Dip just a little more. Give me the entry point."
Most people saw Kamsi as a "money lover," but it wasn't just about the cash. It was about the power.
In a world where she was just another high school girl in a uniform, the market made her a giant.
When she placed a trade, she wasn't a student; she was an architect of her own fortune.
Her phone buzzed with a notification from a private trading group.
User_X: Market is volatile today. Everyone is pulling out.
Kamsi's lip curled into a small, confident smirk. "That's why you'll stay broke," she muttered to the screen. She knew that when everyone else was afraid, that was the best time to strike.
With a series of rapid taps, she executed a "limit order."
She sent a quick text to their group chat:
Kamsi: Just took a 'long' position on that tech stock. If this hits by morning, we aren't just getting jollof rice. We're getting the full platter with extra plantain. My treat.
She tossed the phone onto the pillow and stared at the ceiling for a moment. She loved the twins, but she often felt like she was living in a future they hadn't even imagined yet.
Kamsi's obsession with the digital market wasn't born out of greed; it was born out of a need for control.
Years ago, before the quiet of her grandmother's house, Kamsi's life had been a whirlwind of loud voices and slammed doors.
She still remembered the "Before Time"—a house filled with expensive furniture but empty of peace.
Her parents had been successful, but their marriage was a series of volatile trades that eventually went bankrupt.
She remembered sitting on the stairs as a result six-year-old, watching them divide their lives into cardboard boxes.
"You take the house," her father had shouted.
"I don't want the house! I want out!" her mother had screamed back.
In the end, neither of them seemed to want the responsibility of a child who reminded them of their failure.
Kamsi was "traded" to her grandmother—a woman of steady hands and a small, quiet garden.
Her grandmother loved her, but Kamsi never forgot the feeling of being a "devalued asset" in her parents' divorce.
That was the day she decided she would never depend on anyone else's "market" for her happiness.
While other kids played with dolls, Kamsi started watching the news.
She noticed how the world moved on numbers. If you had the numbers, you had the power to stay or leave. You had the power to never be "sent away" again.
Now, sitting in her room at her grandmother's, the blue light of her phone was her shield.
Every successful trade was a brick in a fortress she was building for herself. She didn't just love money; she loved the freedom it bought.
She looked at the group chat with Clara and Massimo. They were her only "bad investment"—the only people she allowed herself to care about without a guaranteed return.
"One more trade," she whispered to the empty room.
"One more, and I'll never have to ask anyone for anything ever again."