# **Chapter 5 - Back to Reality**

Home didn’t feel like safety today,  it felt like a cage built from expectations.

The scent of antiseptic and jasmine oil drifted through the house, clinging to the walls the same way tiredness clung to Lia’s bones. She stepped through the front door, kicked off her sandals, and stood still for a moment — trying to reset.

It didn’t work.

She dropped her bag in the hallway and let out a long breath. Her head throbbed with a mix of sun, stress, and memory. The slap should’ve brought her peace.

But it hadn’t.

Not really.

“Lia?” her mother called from the kitchen.

“I’m back,” Lia replied, trying to smooth the emotion out of her voice.

Teresa peeked out, still in her hospital scrubs, a headscarf tied tight over graying hair. Her eyes looked even more tired than usual, but they brightened slightly when they landed on her daughter.

“You look sunburned.”

“I’m fine.”

“You didn’t get into any trouble, did you?”

Lia hesitated. The image of Alessio’s shocked face flickered across her mind.

“No,” she said softly. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Teresa gave her a look, long and thoughtful, but didn’t push. “There’s soup on the stove. Eat. Rest. I have to go in for the evening shift.”

Lia nodded and slipped into the bedroom she shared with her sisters. The room was small but familiar cracked posters on the wall, mismatched blankets on the beds.

Talia was sprawled across the bottom bunk, scrolling through her phone. Ariel was curled up on the top, hugging one of Lia’s old hoodies like a lifeline.

Talia raised an eyebrow when she noticed Lia. “So… did the beach give you that dramatic look, or did something actually happen?”

Lia blinked. “What dramatic look?”

“The broody one.” Talia sat up, smiling faintly. “You look like you just walked out of a bad romance novel.”

Lia threw a pillow at her. “I’m just tired.”

But her voice gave her away. And Talia, perceptive as always when she wasn’t being annoying, narrowed her eyes. There was a flicker — maybe jealousy, maybe curiosity — but she didn’t press.

Yet.

---

Later that day, the knock came  quick, loud, and followed by the door creaking open on its own.

Sade barged in like she owned the house. Celine trailed behind her, then Eva with a pastry box, and finally Lara, tossing her duffel onto the floor with zero grace.

“I brought sugar,” Eva announced, setting the pink box down on the table.

“And I brought pressure,” Sade added. “We’re not leaving until we know *everything.*”

“You guys…” Lia started.

“We’re staging an emotional intervention,” Lara said, flopping onto the floor. “Get on with it.”

Celine adjusted her glasses. “We saw the slap. We want the backstory.”

Lia groaned. “You didn’t *see* it”

Sade raised a hand. “We felt it in our *souls.* Now spill.”

So Lia did. She told them everything the beach napkin, the pink color-coded signal, the room mix-up, the misunderstanding, and finally… the kiss. Their jaws dropped in sync.

“And then,” she finished, “he laughed. Told me he didn’t think I’d actually kiss him. Said it was a joke.”

The silence was thick for a full five seconds.

Then—

“You *slapped* him, right?” Sade demanded.

“Like lightning,” Lia said simply.

Eva clutched her heart. “I can’t decide if I feel bad for him or want to marry you.”

“Same,” Lara muttered.

Celine leaned forward. “Okay but... do you regret it?”

Lia hesitated. The memory of his expression, stunned and confused, tugged at her. “No. I don’t.”

A pause. “But it didn’t feel as satisfying as I thought it would.”

Sade nodded, surprisingly serious for once. “Sometimes it’s not about satisfaction. It’s about sending a message.”

Lia laughed quietly, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you kissed a beautiful man,” Eva said, already halfway through a pastry. “Let me live through you.”

Celine grinned. “I still say it’s poetic. Slap a man one day, run into him in Paris the next.”

“I’m not going to Paris.”

“You might,” Sade said, eyes twinkling. “Your job starts in two weeks. Anything can happen.”

Lia smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She turned to the window, sunlight playing across the glass.

> Maybe it really was just a weekend mistake.

> Maybe she’d never see him again.

> Maybe that was best.

But somewhere deep in her chest, something said otherwise.

> Maybe it *was* the beginning of everything.

---

Somewhere in country Z;

Alessio leaned on the hotel balcony, arms crossed. His cheek still tingled faintly, though the redness was gone.

Marco joined him, sipping coffee. “Still thinking about her?”

“She kissed me.”

Marco laughed. “You asked her to.”

“I didn’t think she’d actually do it.”

A pause.

“Now I don’t know whether I’m mad or impressed.”

Marco clapped him on the back. “You’ll probably never see her again.”

Alessio didn’t respond.

Because something told him the universe wasn’t quite done with that girl just yet.

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