When the World Watches, True Friends Stand By

I hesitated, eyeing the screen as the unknown number flashed. The last thing I needed was someone else trying to drag me back into today’s mess. Still, something in me—  desperation for any distraction—or maybe it was the faint hope that someone, anyone, might actually have something helpful to say urged me to answer.

With a sigh, I pressed "Answer" and lifted the phone to my ear.

“Hello?” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

A pause, then a deep voice, smooth yet unsettling, came through. “Mila. I’ve been waiting to talk to you.”

My grip tightened on the phone, a chill running down my spine. There was something familiar about the voice, though I couldn’t place it. No name, no explanation—just a tone filled with a strange confidence, like he already knew everything.

“Who is this?” I demanded, my words sharper now.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he replied, his tone calm and almost teasing. “Meet me tomorrow. I’ll send you the location.”

Before I could respond, the line went dead, leaving me staring at my phone, pulse racing. It was as if today couldn’t get any stranger, any worse.

I threw the phone aside, my heart still pounding from the unsettling call. I didn’t have the energy to dissect what had just happened; I just wanted to escape the chaos in my mind. Maybe sleep could offer a few hours of peace.

I drifted off, sinking into the stillness, hoping the darkness would wash over all the noise and confusion. But peace didn’t last long. Just as the clock struck 6 p.m., the doorbell started ringing, loud and relentless, pulling me out of sleep with a jolt. Frustrated, I stumbled out of bed, determined to give whoever was disturbing me a piece of my mind.

I yanked open the door, words ready to fly, but before I could get a single word out, I felt myself nearly knocked off my feet. Arms wrapped around me in a tight embrace, and I realized I was on the ground, enveloped in the familiar scent of vanilla and roses. Sally.

“Mila!” she squealed, practically squeezing the life out of me, acting like a playful child. “I’ve been worried sick! What happened today?”

She pulled back, her face a mix of concern and that infectious grin of hers. But I was too exhausted to play along with her antics.

“Sally,” I sighed, gently pushing her off. “Do you have to act like a complete brat?”

She pouted, blinking up at me like a scolded puppy. “Oh, come on, Mila! You can’t just brush me off. Spill the tea! What happened with Alex?”

Ignoring her questions, I slipped into the kitchen, hoping a distraction could help clear my head. “I’m making something to eat. Maybe you can entertain yourself while I cook,” I said, pulling out a pan and grabbing ingredients, hoping the warmth and simplicity of cooking would drown out the chaos of the day.

Sally, undeterred, followed me, leaning over the counter with a determined look, ready to pry for answers.

I tried keeping Sally busy with small talk, giving her random tasks like chopping vegetables or stirring the sauce, but she wasn’t letting it go. She kept glancing at me with that look, arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently. Finally, with a defeated sigh, I threw in the towel.

“Fine, I’ll tell you everything,” I muttered, wiping my hands on a towel and bracing myself. “Alex slapped me at the mall. Apparently, someone recorded it, and now the video’s viral. Everyone I know has probably seen it, and everyone I don’t know, too.”

Sally’s eyes widened, and in a split second, she transformed from a curious friend to an avenging warrior. “That sorry excuse of a human! And that’s just for starters,” she snapped, her voice dripping with disgust. “Who does he think he is? And don’t get me started on his so-called ‘perfect’ mistress. What’s her name again? Ugh, Lily! Honestly, they’re both delusional if they think they can do this to you without consequences.”

She ranted on, badmouthing Alex with an intensity I hadn’t seen before, throwing in a few choice phrases that made me laugh despite myself. It felt good to have someone fully on my side, someone who saw the absurdity of it all and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind.

As we finished up our venting session, I focused on the dish we’d been preparing—something comforting. I’d decided to make a creamy pasta with a rich, savory tomato sauce, loaded with fresh herbs, garlic, and just the right amount of spice to give it a kick. I added fresh Parmesan on top, letting it melt into the sauce, and garnished it with a sprinkle of basil. The aroma filled the kitchen, warm and inviting, and even Sally’s ranting was cut short as she took in the scent.

“Mmm, Mila, this looks amazing!” she exclaimed, practically drooling as I served us both heaping bowls.

We sat down to eat, savoring each mouthful. The pasta was perfectly cooked, the sauce clinging to every bite, the creamy texture balanced with the tanginess of tomatoes and a hint of spice. Each mouthful felt like a momentary escape, as if the day’s problems could dissolve, even if only for a while.

As we finished our meal, we fell into easier conversation, reminiscing about old times, laughing over small things. But before long, a sudden queasiness crept up on me. I brushed it off, thinking maybe I’d just eaten too quickly, but it grew stronger, making my stomach twist. I tried to push it down, but the nausea rose, and without warning, I found myself dashing to the bathroom.