My sister's gentle shaking woke me up. "Kaya? Wake up. It's dinner time — we need to go downstairs."

I blinked through sleep-blurred vision. There she was — wearing an elegant yet modest, knee-length beige colored frock. Her eyes — just like mine. Thick, waist-length hair. A button nose.

My sister was pretty.

But more importantly — had she forgiven me?
"Get fresh, It's dinner time." She said, her tone normal.

I looked at her, confused.

"If you want to ask whether I've forgiven you or not, then don't. Because I haven't, and I don't know when I'll be able to." she said, before I even opened my mouth to say anything.

My heart sank in somewhere deeper than the Atlantic. As she was about to leave I tugged at her dress.

"Okay...no need to rush. Just know that I didn't do it intentionally, I would never." That was the truth, and I hoped she would understand. Never knew a mere dress could get me into a trouble this big and get me in the bad book of my own sister. She looks back at me—analyzing me if I was really telling the truth or not.

"Let's go." That's all she said before leaving the room. She may not have replied but judging by the way she looked at me before turning away—It wasn't sharp, accusing.

She believed me. And that was enough for now. My sister may be a bit arrogant and jealous, and perhaps a tiny bit selfish, but she was a good soul, and I knew she loved me. I would soon win her smile back, no matter what.

I went to the dining table after washing my face. Everyone was already seated. I quickly took the seat on my mother's left side because, as usual, my father had occupied the seat next to her. I adore them. A lion's share of my childhood stories was their love story.

How they had loved each other since childhood, their first meet, first sneak out together hiding grandpa and grandma, the proposal, marriage, everything. And I have idolized them as the perfect couple since them. I want a love like them.

Will I ever be lucky enough to have a love like them?

"So..." She started looking at my father. "We might need to go to Kaya's school tomorrow."

Everyone had their eyebrows raised, except me. For a minute everyone was silent.

"And why so?" My father broke the silence.

"Miss Gilmore's call." Mummy's short answer made the situation more tense.

My brother stared at me, brows furrowed, silently questioning; How big my I messed up. I gave him a something close to a smile, assuring I would be fine. He nodded. My sister looked at me once but stayed ignorant to this issue.

I caught a glimpse of my mother holding my father's hand under the table, a silent request to not to ask anymore questions, and I knew they were going to talk about it later. But I had mummy on my side, I know she will handle it just fine. As expected, my father melted.

"Fine, we will go. Now let's have dinner."He said and I took a sigh of relief.

UGHH, I just don't like that woman. If I could disappear from her class or make her disappear without harming her or anyone, I would do a charity giveaway to people worth a hundred pounds. Helping people by celebrating victory.

Two birds with one stone. Fabulous.

Nothing can be compared to the challenge of being in the same room as Miss Gilmore and listening to her when the topic isn't physics.

It's pure torture. My parents had only heard about her from me; now they were going to experience her in person. Lord, save them—and save me. Amen.

Miss Gilmore started, "Mr. and Mrs. Johansson, thank you for coming on such short notice. It's a pleasure to have you here, though not for the reason you might expect. I have always considered Kaya an attentive student; she has always been one until yesterday."

She paused, and I gulped. What kind of blatherskite person would call for a special PTM for just being a bit unmindful once in life. Too Much.

Truth be told, everyone's being a bit too dramatic recently, first my sister and now this lady.

"I hope you understand how vital it is to sow the seeds of discipline in children's lives before it's too late, so they can grow to be well-prepared for society."

I sat on the left side of Miss Gilmore(to be honest it was like death's cold breath on my shoulder), and my dear parents seated right in front of her. Her table served as a barrier; otherwise, I was imagining her jumping into my parents' shoulders and inserting her words from the holy book of strict parenting and discipline inside their head.

But when I glanced at my parents, it was clear she didn't need to do that. They both sat with one leg crossed over the other, their elegant outfits seeming to match the aesthetics of the room.

They wore neutral expressions. My father leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on Miss Gilmore. Someone might think he was unbothered, but I knew him well; he may be calm and patient, but here he was counting every second until he could leave.

My mother's head tilted to the left, resting on her fingers. Her eyes barely blinked, doing so only to acknowledge Miss Gilmore's importance. The perfectly prepared tea was barely being able to stop them looking half-dead.

They both nodded whenever she asked something, as if they were in solemn agreement with Miss Gilmore's passion and mission to make the child disciplined and perfect even before he/she is pulled/ pushed outside of the womb.

Occasionally, my mother was casting glances at my already tortured father to offer him silent support.

There were so many yummy cookies kept on the table, but I only managed to eat two. Formality or manner they say, but my fair question is why the extras are even kept here if they don't or expect us to eat them?

Un-cookies-fair.

It was one hour— ONE HOUR of agony. One hour of my parents' long sighs, one hour of despair, one hour of everything. I think I aged a year in this one hour. If i haven't, I think my parents did surely.

We came out of Miss Gilmore's office after bidding farewell.

"So...this teacher of yours, Miss Gilmore, is quite—"My father said as we passed through the

hallway.

"Quite?" I urged him to finish his line, curious to know exactly my father would categorize Miss Gilmore.

"Quite...opinionated." He stated, I chuckled.

"Is she always like this?" My mother expressed he concern.

"Well, better when the topic is physics."

They left after giving me a quick peck on the head. Miss Gilmore's problem was solved. Now I could focus on my mission: 'Mission Basketball.'

Why did I name my mission after something that caused me live embarrassment which is equal to dying my hair green ? Simple: it brought us together, and he liked it.

I wanted to check on the admissions office to see which teacher was there for the day. Knowing the enemy's position before attacking.

I had no clear plan for how I was going to obtain his details, but I knew one thing for sure: I wasn't returning empty-handed. I kept my pace steady, with confidence wrapped around me in its embrace.

His name, class, and roll number, these are the things I needed for now, and if some additional details happened to come my way—accidentally or not—I wouldn't mind.

Because today, I would find out him, no matter what.

Who knew I would be this unlucky taking the very first step in my battlefield? As I approached the office door, I heard Miss Vuture—aka Miss Gilmore—speaking. I stopped in my tracks.

"Bring me the transfer student files, now," she said in an authoritative tone, most likely to Mr. Henson, the clerk of the admissions office.

That means-Miss Vulture was in charge of the transfer students this year. This woman surely has some problem with my happiness.

By now, my hands were trembling, but I clutched my skirt tightly to maintain my composure. My brain cells are divided into two teams: Should I go inside and try? Or not?

The chance of getting caught by Miss Gilmore right after I had survived her wasn't a good sign.

A minute passed, and I calculated every single possibility. The conclusion, was clear: No, I should not go—at least not now. Maybe during lunch break. If not then, perhaps tomorrow. If not then, the day after that.

God, please send him to me like you did that day when I saw him for the first time. I want to see him again. Please, please telecast a miracle in today's episode and make him appear in front of me.

I kept praying bowing my head until I heard someone's footsteps approaching. Out of curiosity, I looked up.

He was walking toward me—not exactly toward me, but I am just a girl and it felt good to say that. I kept walking. He was moving fast, as though everything were in slow motion for me.

Our eyes met, and I could hear my heart beating like drums. How many seconds was it? Maybe 7? 6? 5? Any of those numbers could be the amount of time we stared at each other. Then he passed me as I passed him.

I couldn't bring myself to look back now and lose my self-respect in front of him, especially since my image was already tainted by that basketball incident.

But I couldn't leave—not before I found out why he was in the admissions office. I still had half an hour left, so I took a U-turn and tiptoed as quietly as I could into the restroom section right beside the admissions office. I stood pressing my ears on the door.

"Ma'am, you asked for me?" His voice was smooth and polite.

"Yes, dear. Come here," Miss Gilmore replied, her tone calm and almost affectionate. Affectionate? Dear? Were my ears deceiving me? I lightly slapped my ears twice and focused on the words again.

"I am happy to have you here. I have always had high hopes in you, and you have never disappointed me. I hope you will continue to do so in the future."

I cautiously approached the office door and peeked inside.

Careful Kaya, can't get caught.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied politely.

"Seems that you've become quite the professional, calling me ma'am instead of Aunt Gilmore." she said with a short chuckle.

I froze. Wait a second. Did she just laugh with him? And 'Aunt'? Is he her nephew? Which dear sister's son is he? Didn't she have only one sister who was childless and apparently in heaven by now?

"Make your parents proud of you," she said, running her hand through his hair.

She looked possessed. If the other students at school saw this, they would probably faint.

He nodded and I got back to my position before he turned to leave, but then turned back again as Miss Gilmore stopped him.

"Oh, and Thomas? Keep your charm in control. I usually have a hard time controlling the girls."

Thomas. I repeated the name which ended with a whisper and melody.

Was Miss Gilmore's remark too hilarious? Or was he just used to getting these kinds of warnings? Of course he was, his face was like a magnet pulling girls towards him. He's already trending in our school as the #newcampusheartthrob.

I heard him chuckling. Self obsessed, aren't we? I waited until I could no longer hear his footsteps.

Then I headed straight to the sports field. I was tense, nervous, and scared.

If Mr. Daydream was Miss Gilmore's nephew, then getting close to him meant trying to steal a chick from its mother hen, the turkey ones by the way. And when the mother hen was Miss Gilmore AKA Miss vulture—well, the rest is history.

I was pacing back and forth, worry and anxiety spreading throughout my mind. Was the fairytale going to end before it even started? Is he like Miss Gilmore? No! He is not. His eyes were trustworthy and kind. But Miss Gilmore—she wouldn't let anything happen between us.

This was dangerous—being close to Miss Gilmore's territory was risky. But I had to decide: either him or nothing. I needed help; I needed Laura.

To be continued...

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