22:00 – Crimson chord – Raspberry slice, pistachio cream, pansy
Tuesday evening, while Janka was in the bathroom trying to untangle her hair, a quiet tension was building in the other room. Zsombi was packing his backpack, searching for his earbuds, while Zoe sat on the edge of the bed, twisting her hair and visibly unsure of her place.
"So this is like... a family thing now?" Zoe asked with a half-laugh.
Zsombi didn't look up. His voice was tense, like someone who knew that whatever he said, it wouldn't be right. "It's just a project, Zoe. It wouldn't work if all three of us went. It's a short interview, and then I have to rush back to the backstage. This really isn't one of those—"
"Not one of those times when I used to be allowed to go anywhere with you?" Zoe cut in, a little too quickly. She paced the room, her foot tapping the floor. "Got it."
Zsombi sat down at the edge of the bed, silent for a moment. "Don't take it that way. It's just... different this time. We'll talk after, okay? I don't want to hurt you."
"You didn't hurt me," said Zoe. "Just don't say 'different' like it's some kind of cosmic condition. You're just not inviting me. That's all."
"Zoe..." Zsombi sighed.
Zoe tried to force a faint smile, but her eyes glimmered a little.
"Go on then. Interview away. Maybe you'll even get an autograph."
Zsombi hesitated for a moment at the door. In the bathroom, Janka was just lifting the perfume bottle to her neck. She hadn't heard a word from the other room. Only her own heartbeat, and the faint, mossy-scented air sneaking through the open window into the tiled space.
Zoe stayed behind after Janka and Zsombi left. She picked up the piece of paper tucked under the boy's pillow—the one they had once used to plan a trip together. She looked at it for a long time, then slid it back under the pillow.
The houses slowly thinned out, the lights blurred in the misty evening air. Janka wore a dark gray coat cinched at the waist, a pale beige blouse underneath, and straight black trousers, with sneakers on her feet. Her hair was down, and her perfume still lingered softly around her.
They were heading toward the greenhouse—though it was really an old, low brick building lined with long glass walls, suspended somewhere between past and present. The evening light glowed from within in a warm yellow hue, and behind the fogged windows, the shadows of plants floated. Mossy bricks lined the outer walls, a rusting drainpipe curled downward—there was something raw and strangely charming about the place. A hidden garden gate at the edge of the city stood open. The greenhouse, now lit from within by spotlights, looked from the outside like an old industrial site someone had cleaned just enough to keep it mysterious. From inside the glass walls came muffled sounds: someone was rehearsing on stage, low feedback, the occasional snapping chord.
At the entrance stood a security guard in a thick black coat, wearing a headset. He held a list but flipped through it without much interest.
Zsombi slowed down, then glanced back at Janka.
"Don't look at him too long, okay? Just act like we're in a rush."
"A rush where?" Janka asked.
"Let's say... wiring."
Janka blinked. "Wiring?"
"We're technicians. Freelance crew. Trust me, it'll work."
By the time they reached the entrance, Zsombi was wearing a confident face.
"Good evening! We're the external sound tech guys—sent in for internal monitoring. The concert's tech crew asked us to help out because of an issue with the left-side line."
YOU ARE READING
Fragile Fairytale
Teen FictionJanka is quiet. Not because she has nothing to say, but because she's learned to hide her pain where no one ever looks: behind a smile. A family that broke apart. A boy who taught her how to love and how to let go. Another who held a mirror to her...
