Chapter 3 - Echoes of emptiness

Ray's POV

What a hectic day it’s been. But now, heading home, I know it’s only going to get more chaotic. I’ve always wondered what a real home feels like because I live in a house where the atmosphere shifts entirely with my mother’s mood. Don’t get me wrong—my parents aren’t bad people. But there are things they overdo or neglect that never sit right with me.

Their arranged marriage? Well, it’s a whole different story. The endless fights, the constant disagreements, and then the sudden agreements that seem more out of habit than affection. I won’t say marriage is a terrible concept, but I’ve never seen love between them—not the kind you read about or see in movies. It always felt more like a deal. Over the years, they’ve become used to each other, like two people stuck in a routine. No more, no less.

By the time I reached home, my shoulders were heavier than my bag. I pushed the door open, already bracing for whatever mood awaited inside.

“Why are you late, Ray?” Mom’s voice greeted me, sharp as ever.

I glanced at the clock. Thirty minutes. That’s all. “I’m just 30 minutes late,” I said, slipping off my shoes.

“Still, you should be punctual.”

Her tone was a slap to the already fragile balance of my day. I didn’t argue; it wasn’t worth it. “Okay. Sorry,” I mumbled, heading straight to my room. The door clicked shut behind me, sealing me off from the whirlwind outside.

Clothes off, folded neatly. The faint rumble in my stomach reminded me I hadn’t eaten. I wandered downstairs.

“What’s for snacks?” I asked, not expecting much.

“The same thing I made this morning,” she said without even looking up.

Of course. I sighed inwardly, grabbed the leftovers, and ate in silence. Familiarity bred numbness in moments like this. I washed my plate and returned to my room, letting the door close softly behind me.

Lying on my bed, I stared at the ceiling. My parents aren’t bad, I reminded myself. They’ve given me everything—everything material. But the hollowness in this house was something no luxury could fill.

I grabbed my phone, seeking refuge in the one person who always seemed to understand.

Heyyy there, what’s up?

One tick. The screen stayed blank. Elio must be asleep. Lucky him. I stared at the phone for a while before tossing it aside and closing my eyes.

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Aria's POV

“I’m back, Mother!” I called out as I walked in.

“How was your day?” she asked warmly.

“It was good,” I replied, telling her everything about my day—everything except the incident with Mr. Eclair. I thought I was in the clear until I made the mistake of showing her the photos I’d taken with Ivy.

As my father happened to be at home, he glanced over as well. “Who are these two?” he asked sharply, pointing at the guys in the background.

The question I had wanted to avoid was now front and center. “They’re my colleagues,” I said as casually as I could.

“But why are they in your pictures?” His voice carried a hint of anger.

“They weren’t in my pictures. Ivy and I were taking selfies, and they just happened to be in the background.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, but I cut him off. “Stop it, Dad!” My voice cracked, but I pushed through. “I’m not a kid anymore. Why do you always have to control my life?”

Without waiting for his response, I stormed off to my room. Slamming the door shut, I threw myself onto the bed, burying my face in the pillow as hot tears spilled down my cheeks. At first, I cried because of the argument with Dad, but soon it became about everything—every frustration, every regret, every moment that made me feel trapped or helpless. The weight of it all pressed down on me, and I couldn’t stop the flood of emotions from taking over.

And in that moment of despair, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about him.

No matter how much I tell myself otherwise, I still remember him. I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t let go or if it’s because I haven’t met anyone new. Either way, the memories linger.

I cried until exhaustion overtook me, falling asleep without even realizing it.

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Ray's POV

When I woke up, it was already 8 p.m. How strange that Mom didn’t wake me up.

“Jay! Jayyy!” I called out, searching for my younger brother. At just two years younger than me, he somehow still felt like the older one most days.

I found him in the dining area, glued to his phone. “Where’s Mom?” I asked.

“She went to the market. She’ll be late,” he replied without looking up. “She said dinner is in the fridge. We just need to heat it.”

Of course. That explains why he’s boldly using his phone in the dining area. I sighed, disappointed. “You eat. I’ve lost my appetite,” I said, already knowing what dinner would be: the same dish we’d had for breakfast, lunch, and evening snacks. How much does she even prepare?

I walked away, feeling the familiar ache settled in my chest. This wasn’t hunger. It was something deeper, something heavier. Another day done. Another day the same.

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Aria’s POV

I woke up at 9 p.m., as no one dared to disturb me after the way I reacted earlier. Everyone in my house knows how bad my anger issues can get. I went downstairs for dinner and saw Dad sitting at the table. To my surprise, he smiled at me. Maybe things were okay now. I smiled back, a little relieved.

“Come have dinner. Your dad’s been waiting for an hour,” my mother said, her tone neutral but firm.

“Yep,” I muttered, taking a seat at the dining table.

Guilt tugged at me, but I pushed it aside. Deep down, I knew the argument wasn’t entirely my fault. I’m so tired of this constant overprotectiveness, this incessant need for control. That’s why I didn’t apologize—I couldn’t bring myself to. But since everything seemed fine now, I decided not to dwell on it.

Dinner was quiet, and after finishing, I headed back to my room. I needed to sleep—I had college tomorrow, and a decent night’s rest was overdue. My sleeping habits are a mess. I can sleep for 12 hours straight and still feel tired.

But how could I not? My brain is always on overdrive, constantly thinking, analyzing, or overthinking. It’s exhausting carrying the weight of it all.

As I lay down, the comforting pull of sleep finally overtook me. Tomorrow would be a new day. Hopefully, a better one.

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