Novels by Zee

The first thing I noticed when the door closed behind us was the quiet.Not the ordinary kind of quiet that comes with a house settling at night or a street falling asleep after midnight, but a deeper stillness that felt almost deliberate, as though the house itself had grown used to holding its breath. Outside, the wind moved through the falling snow with a low, restless sound, not howling exactly, but persistent, like something that refused to be ignored. Somewhere far away, a car passed slowly along the street, its tires crunching softly against the frozen ground. But inside Julien's home there was warmth, light, and an odd calm that made the world outside feel very far away. As though the storm existed on the other side of more than just glass and walls.Lucas was the first to break the silence. The moment we stepped into the entryway, he kicked off his boots with the urgency of someone who had been waiting all evening to reach this exact moment."Hot chocolate," he declared with

Snow always looks romantic until you are standing in it with a suitcase, a rapidly numbing nose, and the growing suspicion that the universe is laughing at you.It started gently, almost politely. Small flakes drifting down like they were testing the atmosphere before committing. Pretty. Harmless. The kind of snow you admired from indoors while holding something warm.This was not that.Within minutes, the air thickened. What had started as gentle, almost decorative flakes quickly multiplied, crowding the space between sky and ground until everything felt slightly blurred at the edges. Visibility shrank in real time, streetlights dissolving into glowing halos, the world narrowing to movement and sound and cold.The taxi stand erupted into restless energy.People shifted from foot to foot, dragging suitcases closer, shoulders hunching as coats were pulled tighter. Voices rose in pitch and volume, irritation bubbling just beneath politeness. Someone complained loudly about delays. Someo

“Oh no,” I repeated quietly to myself, because if there was one thing experience had taught me, it was that those two words were never wrong.They were never casual words. They were not words you said when things were fine. They were words reserved for moments when your carefully constructed emotional neutrality cracked just enough to let something inconvenient slip through. Like interest. Or curiosity. Or, worst of all, hope.Hope, after all, was a dangerous thing.It crept in quietly, as though it belonged there. It made itself comfortable, kicked its shoes off, and then ruined your life by demanding things. Like vulnerability. Or emotional availability. Or, God forbid, expectations. Hope never knocked. It just showed up and started rearranging your furniture.I shifted in my seat and pretended to be deeply invested in the in-flight safety card, which I had seen approximately a thousand times and still could not remember. Something about oxygen masks, put yours on first, even though

If you ever want to ruin a perfectly good meal, I highly recommend eating it with relatives who believe your uterus is a ticking time bomb. You can sit back and enjoy the view as their creative approaches to ask you the ‘question that never ends’ entertain you, despite you being the star of the show.I had barely swallowed my second bite of roast potatoes when I felt it, that subtle shift in the air. The pause. The collective inhale. The shared gazes. The moment when the conversation slows just enough for someone to slide a personal question across the table like a polite accusation.If there were an Olympic sport for dodging intrusive questions, I would have won gold by now. Many, even. Possibly with a world record. I’d even smile on the podium, gracious and polite, while internally screaming.There was a rhythm to these things, an unspoken script that everyone seemed to follow. First came the food. Then the compliments. Then the updates about work, health, and neighbours, I barely r