Ethan waved off the awkward moment.
Ethan: "Just ignore him. You continue your story."
Hazel chuckled softly, shaking her head, then looked straight ahead with a small smile still lingering on her lips.
Ethan watched her quietly, his usual playful smile fading as Hazel finally began to speak—her voice calm, but layered with memories that weighed more than her tone revealed.
Hazel looked ahead, not meeting his eyes.
Hazel:
"I grew up as a rich girl. Like... very rich. You know? Every day since I was five, I went to school in a car—with a bodyguard. Not with my mom, not with my dad. Just... him.
One day, I was sitting alone in my seat, like always. And this girl came up to me and asked, 'Do you want to be my friend?' I didn't answer right away... I just looked at her. She held her hand out, and I finally took it."
She smiled faintly, a hint of that memory softening her features before it faded.
Hazel:
"Every day, her dad would drop her at school. In the evening, both her mom and dad came to pick her up. I remember watching them and wishing… maybe just once, my mom or dad would come to pick me up too. Just once."
She swallowed, still looking away.
Hazel:
"When I reached home after school, the maids would take my bag and ask what I wanted to eat. I'd say nothing, but they'd still force me to eat something. My parents? They'd leave for business at 6 a.m. and come back at midnight. I didn't see them. It's like… they lived in the same house, but I never really had them."
She hesitated, her voice tightening.
Hazel:
"One day, I was playing with that one friend, and she asked, 'Why don't your parents pick you up or drop you?' I didn't say anything. Just froze. And when I finally said they were always busy… she just looked at me and said, 'Maybe they don't love you, right?'"
Her voice broke a little on that word. Love.
Hazel:
"Then her mom came, hugged her, and took her home. I just sat there like… some kid who'd lost her favorite toy. That's why I never made friends. Because I knew they'd ask about my parents. And I didn't want to tell this story to anyone."
She glanced at Ethan, letting out a small laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Hazel:
"But you forced me to, didn't you?"
She looked away again.
Hazel:
"My mom's the reason I became class leader. I hated it. At sixteen, they transferred me to a different school. Then again to this one when they had to go to Italy. And left me with my dad's aunty."
A flicker of anger crossed her face.
Hazel:
"I hate her. She threatens me. She makes my life hell. I tried to handle it… but I couldn't anymore. So I told my mom. I told her I want to live somewhere else. Anywhere."
Her voice was quiet now.
Hazel:
"She's looking for a place. I'll move into a flat soon.
A flat will be better than anything."
She finally stopped, breathing out slowly—like she'd just unloaded years of silence in a single breath.
Ethan didn't say anything for a moment. Just looked at her, then said in a gentle tone,
"Hazel, it's okay... At least you have parents. You know, I only have a little brother. My parents… they died when I was fourteen. Car accident."
Hazel turned her head slightly, a flicker of emotion crossing her face, but she didn't say anything.
Trying to lighten the mood, Ethan asked,
"By the way… what's your parents' name?"
Hazel, still calm and expressionless, replied with zero enthusiasm,
"Zayden Knight. Seraphina Knight."
Ethan froze for a second, his brain trying to process the words he just heard.
Then his voice shot up—
"WHAT the f—seriously?! You're their daughter? Hazel, I can't believe it—oh my god—"
Hazel turned to him, expression dry, clearly unimpressed with his reaction.
Ethan leaned closer, half-whispering in disbelief,
"So literally no one knows that your parents are them, huh? If they ever found out, everyone would freeze. I mean—man—ohhh..."
Suddenly, the bell rang.
Hazel stood up, brushed her skirt, and said with a deadpan face,
"Ethan, you're overacting."
Then she turned toward the classroom.
"Come on, it's time for the next period."
Present Scene
Drake slowly turned the key and opened the old door—its hinges creaked softly, as if whispering memories that had long been sealed away.
Dust floated lazily in the air, disturbed by the soft light pouring through the single window.
He stepped in.
The room smelled like old wood and time itself. On the far wall, an entire highschool photos greeted him—snapshots of laughter, mischief, youth. Photos of Drake, Ben, Caleb, Levi, Zayn, Lucas, and Hazel.
His eyes scanned over every face, but he wasn't looking for all of them.
His gaze locked onto her—Hazel.
Smiling in one, glaring in another, rolling her eyes in the corner of a group shot—his heart clenched.
So much had changed… yet something in those photos made it feel like no time had passed at all.
He took a slow step forward, eyes still fixed on her image.
"Why are you still the only one I see?" hqhe whispered under his breath.
His gaze shifted slightly—and then he froze.
Tucked in the corner, half-hidden behind another photo, was that one.
A picture of just him and Hazel.
She was on her toes, leaning in, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
And he—he was laughing.
Not his usual smirk, not a cocky grin.
A real, carefree laugh.
The kind that only ever existed when she was around.
Drake stepped closer, his fingers brushing the edge of the photo. He stared at it, breath caught in his throat.
"You ruined me," he whispered, a bitter smile tugging at his lips.
"And still… you're the only thing that makes sense.
His phone buzzed sharply, slicing through the silence.
Without looking, he answered.
"Yeah? Yeah, I'm listening…" he muttered, voice dull, eyes still glued to the photo for one last second.
Then, with a heavy breath, he turned away and walked out of the room, still on the call—talking numbers, dates, and meetings like he hadn't just revisited a ghost.
As he pulled the door shut behind him, he absentmindedly twisted the key, locking the room.
Click.
And left.
The small, silver key still hanging in the lock.
Forgotten.
Next morning, Drake woke up later than usual, his body still heavy with yesterday's thoughts. The sunlight slipped through the curtains, but he didn't bother to move right away.
His phone buzzed again.
He lazily reached out, squinting at the screen.
Text from: Ryle — "Don't forget it's mom's birthday today. Come early, she's already asking about you."
Drake stared at the message for a second… then sighed, rubbing his face.
He tossed the phone beside him, dropped his legs to the floor, and sat there for a moment—messy hair, blank stare, and a whole storm brewing behind those tired eyes.
As Drake sat on the edge of the bed, still half-awake, his mind pulled him back to that conversation with his mom at the company. The way she spoke, her sharp tone, and then suddenly hearing "She's already asking about you" from Ryle—it didn't sit right with him.
He scoffed under his breath.
"Really? She's asking about me? Dramatic…" he muttered, pulling himself up and dragging his feet toward the closet.
He dressed in a crisp black shirt and slacks, throwing on a watch, brushing back his hair with a touch of care—but not too much. He wasn't ready for the party mood just yet.
Instead, he grabbed his car keys and headed out, planning to show up at the office first. He needed to keep his mind busy, push the memories down, and save the family celebration for the evening.
As he drove, the city blurred past the windows.