Two

Hira's POINT OF VIEW

“I don't care what they're saying, Talia; I have seen it,” My mother's angry voice flew as soon as I opened the door to our apartment. “No, don't send it again. I've had it forwarded to me six times already.”

My chest rose and fell.

She already knew.

I stepped further into the house even though my legs were already weak. Her voice stopped mid-sentence, and a second later, she turned the corner into the hallway, phone still in her hand and her eyes landing on me.

And just like that, whatever fragile hope I had with me, some stupid, belief that maybe she would ask if I was okay, died where it stood.

“Talia, I'll call you back,” she said, already pulling the phone away from her ear before the other person could respond. Her gaze didn't leave me as she ended the call, her fingers tapping the screen with her manicured fingers.

For a moment, neither of us spoke, then her eyes dropped, scanning me quickly like she was checking for someone visible.

“Well,” she said finally, “You made quite the impression today.”

Those words came in as a hard slap across my face.

“I didn't do anything,” I replied, the exhaustion slipping through before I could stop it. “That's not even me. Can you not see?”

She let out a short breath that almost sounded like a mocking laugh. “It never is, Hira,” she said, walking past me into the living room without waiting to see if I followed. “And yet, here we are.”

I stop there for a second, staring at the space she had just vacated, my trembling hands curling slightly at my sides. Then I forced myself to move, trailing after her.

She was already sitting on the couch, her phone back in her hand, her attention split between me and the screen as it lit up again.

Buzz. Another message. Buzz. And another and another.

She clicked her tongue softly, scrolling, her expression darkening with every swipe.

“Parents’ group,” she muttered, mute to herself than to me. “Unbelievable!”

I hovered near the room, unsure if I should sit or stay standing. Everything about this felt off, like I had walked into a conversation halfway through and missed the part where I was supposed to matter.

“Mom,” I started, “Can you just. ..Can you listen to me for a second?”

She didn't look up at me. “I'm listening,” she said, though her attention was still fixed on the screen. “And what I'm hearing is that my daughter has managed to become the center of a scandal that half the city is discussing!”

“That's not fair, “ I said, the words slipping out before I could soften them. “You don't even know what actually happened.”

Half of the city was against me. My best friend, my ex, I got suspended by the hockey captain…and now, I was getting dumped over by my own mother.

Her thumb paused over the screen, and slowly, she looked up at me.

“What I know,” She said, “is that there is a video circulating with your face in it, your voice in it, your breast in it, and your name attached to it! I know that parents are calling me, asking if this is true. I know that your school has already been in contact, and I know that whatever explanation you think you have is not going to change the fact that this is happening.”

I swallowed, the lump in my throat feeling so tight. “It was not me! You know that's not even my body.” I said, forcing the words out. “He did it, trying to get back at me because I said no.”

“He?” she cut in sharply.

I hesitated and that was like an answer for her because it didn't take a minute before her expression changed into something more cold. “So this involves a boy?*

“It’s not like that,” I said quickly, even though I knew how it sounded. “He twisted things and used AI to make it look real..  It’s not full…”

“Hira,” she interrupted firmly, leaving no room for argument. “Do you have any idea how this looks?”

I stared at her.“That’s what you care about?” I asked, the disbelief creeping back in. “How it looks?”

Her brows drew together slightly, like she couldn’t understand the question. “Of course that’s what I care about,” she said. “Reputation matters. Perception matters. You don’t get to ignore that just because you made a mistake.”

“I didn’t make a mistake,” I said, my voice rising despite myself. “I trusted the wrong person and he used AI videos to ruin my entire life. That’s not the same thing.”

She exhaled slowly, setting her phone down on the table in front of her, though it continued to buzz insistently.

“You are too old,” she said, “to still be making decisions without thinking about the consequences.”

Oh now, I was the one who wanted this.

“And you’re too quick to assume the worst about me,” I shot back, the frustration finally breaking through. “You didn’t even ask me what really happened. You just…decided.”

“I don’t need to ask,” she replied. “The situation speaks for itself.”

There was a thick silence in the room.

For a second, I thought about pushing further, about trying again, about making her see that this wasn’t as simple as she was making it. But the look on her face stopped me.

She had already made up her mind and nothing I said was going to change it.

She reached for her phone again, glancing at the screen, and whatever she saw made her expression tighten even more.“This is getting worse,” she murmured.

I didn’t ask what she meant because I didn't want to know.

“Good,” she said suddenly, her tone shifting in a way that made me look at her again. “This actually works out.”

“What does that mean?”

She set the phone down again, this time more decisively, and straightened slightly, like she was preparing to deliver something important.

“I was going to tell you tonight anyway,” she said. “But given… this, it’s better you hear it now.”

A cold feeling started to settle in my chest.“Tell me what?”

She met my gaze, with a calm expression that was almost composed in a way that felt completely disconnected from everything that had just happened.

“I’m getting married.”

She blurted and the world suddenly stopped functioning.

For a second, I thought I had misheard her.“You’re what?”

“I’m getting married,” she repeated, as if saying it again would make it easier to accept. “Soon.”

I stared at her, my mind struggling to catch up.“Soon?” I repeated, unbelievable. “As in… how soon?”

“In a few weeks,” she said.

A few weeks? The room felt like it turned a little. Soon? This was the…

“You didn’t think to tell me before now?” I asked, my voice cracking in the process.

“I was going to,” she said. “When the timing was appropriate.”

I let out a short, disbelieving laugh because this has got to be some kind of joke. “And this is appropriate timing?”

She frowned slightly, like she didn’t appreciate the tone. “Given the circumstances, yes.”

The circumstances?  Like my life falling apart was just another factor in her planning.

“Who is he?” I asked.

“His name is Victor Gale” she said. “We’ve been seeing each other for a while.”

“A while?” I repeated. “And you didn’t think that was something I should know?”

She sighed, like this conversation was exhausting her. “Hira, this is my decision. I don’t need your approval.”

And it made my chest rose and fell rapidly with so much ache.

“That’s not the point,” I said. “You don’t just drop something like this out of nowhere, especially not now.”

“And when exactly would you prefer I told you?” she asked, her patience thinning. “After this situation has escalated further? When more people are talking? When it becomes even harder to manage?”

Manage?

Everything was about control, about appearances, about making things look right from the outside.

“What about me?” I asked quietly. “Does any of this have anything to do with me at all?”

Her gaze softened slightly, but it didn’t freaking reach her eyes. “This is about both of us,” she said. “Which is why we’re not staying here.”

My breath caught. “What?”

“We’re leaving,” she said simply. “New city, new school and a fresh start.”

My eyes flew up to her and I could feel the tears I didn't know was the corner of my eyes, slowly streaming down my check. “You’re serious,” I asked.

“Very.”

“You can’t just decide that,” I protested. “I have a life here. I have…”

“We leave at the end of the week,” she said, as if the conversation was over. “Start packing.”