STRINGS BETWEEN US

CHAPTER THREE: OF PANCAKE CHAOS, SYRUP DOODLES AND AND PAIN-STREAKEDWALLS

CHAPTER THREE: OF PANCAKE CHAOS, SYRUP DOODLES AND AND PAIN-STREAKED WALLS

Riyee's POV

It's been a few weeks since I crash-landed here in Forever City. And no, I still don't like it. But where else would I go? Disneyland? The void? Both sound better, honestly.

Mom-yeah, we're calling her that now-has been showing up almost every night. Like a robot set to "try again." She doesn't say much. Sometimes she just sits beside me while we pretend we're watching TV like we're... normal.

Spoiler alert: we're not. But hey. Points for effort.

The bigger surprise? KD.
Khaizer-freaking-Dylan.

The boy next door who's basically claimed the second house like it's on his deed.
He's here. All. The. Time. I'm not even kidding-he has a toothbrush here. A toothbrush. At that point, he's not a guest. He's practically the co-owner. 

And yes, I've met his mom. Sweet. The kind of sweet that feels like she'd bake you cookies while gently unpacking your childhood trauma. Gross. In the most polite way.

One day, I got just bored enough to wander back to the orphanage. I regretted it the moment I stepped past the gates. The staff looked at me like I was an unresolved plotline. The volunteers? Whisper city. Yes, I have ears. Yes, I heard you. Yes, I'm that daughter.

But guess who was the only one who didn't look at me like I was a walking tragedy? KD. He was fixing books in the reading corner. Chill, like always. Like the room wasn't buzzing with weird tension and half-swallowed opinions.

I dropped onto the tiny couch beside him.

"Why are you even here? Don't you have, like, friends or beach trips this summer?"

He looked up, half-smirking. "I have my reasons."

That's it. No context. No follow-up. Mister Mysterious, episode ninety.

Then this tiny girl-Loti-walked over and handed me a drawing.

"This is you, Ate Ree-Ree," she said.

It was a stick figure with a crooked crown. I almost cried. Almost.

Another day, I decided to stay overnight at the orphanage. Big mistake. I thought I'd have the living room to myself, just me, a blanket, and some quiet 2AM crying like any self-respecting emotionally wrecked girl.

But no. There he was. Walked in like a ghost. Perfect timing, of course. I wiped my face fast, but too late. He saw. He didn't say anything. Didn't ask. Just sat beside me. And I told him, about Xythe. About how I thought I was over it, until I saw kids hugging their moms and realized I used to have someone who held me like that too. Before it all blurred. He didn't give me some dramatic comfort speech. He just listened and stayed.

Then came the morning chaos.

Someone was screaming about a burnt hotdog. Someone else cried because their milk wasn't cold enough. Then KD barged into my room like he owned the place-apron, spatula, and a smug face.

"Good morning, Ate Ree-Ree," he said like it was his grand debut.

"I will throw this pillow at you," I warned, deadpan.

He smirked. "Do it. Pancake exhibition starts in five."

When I got to the kitchen? War zone. Pancake batter everywhere. A scorched pan sitting sadly in the sink. One pancake literally died mid-air and face-planted on the floor.

"I'm calling the fire department," I groaned.

"Relax. I got this."

"You got nothing. Sit. You're on timeout."

He mock-saluted and stepped aside.

I took over. Pancake queen mode. Flipped them like a pro. Fried hotdogs without committing arson. Poured milk into cups like my life was completely together.

Then one of the kids-Brixter-tugged on my sleeve. "Ate Ree-Ree, can you draw a smiley face with chocolate syrup?"

I sighed. "You guys are so demanding."

Still did it. Then someone wanted a star. Another wanted a lightning bolt. Someone else requested a dinosaur.

"I'm not a syrup artist!" I snapped.

KD? Just standing there. Arms crossed. Watching me with that unreadable look on his face.

"What?" I snapped again.

"You're kinda good at this," he said.

"Help or shut up."

He helped. Surprisingly, not useless.

After breakfast, while we were cleaning the kitchen like it had survived a food tornado, Loti came in with paint all over her shirt and that innocent little smile.

"Ate Ree-Ree, Mommy Dana said we can paint on the wall."

I paused. Looked at KD.

He shrugged. "I mean... it's art."

So we did. I painted a sun-big, bright, messy, smiling-the same way I used to draw them when I was five. KD painted clouds beside it.

"They need balance," he said.

Such a dork. But... not the annoying kind. Not always.

After that day, I kept coming back to the orphanage. Again and again. I still tell myself I hate it here. But I keep showing up. And when KD's around-reading, helping, laughing with the kids, I forget, even just for a second, why I ever wanted to leave.

KD's POV

I don't think she even notices it. How the whole room shifts when she walks in. She acts like she hates it. Like she's too cool, too broken, too detached. But she shows up.

Draws smiley faces with syrup while pretending to be annoyed. Remembers every kid's name, even when she claims she doesn't care. Sits beside me, muttering sarcastic comments but never really leaves.

This morning, she yelled about my burnt pancakes like it personally offended her soul. She bossed me around like she owned the kitchen. And for the record? I didn't mind.

And I just stood there-flour on my shirt, spatula in hand-thinking: I kind of like it when she yells at me.

Later, we painted the wall together. She painted the sun-loud, messy, warm. And for a second, I saw her. The version of her she keeps buried under eye rolls and comebacks. The five-year-old who still wants to believe things can be bright again.

She says she's not staying. That she doesn't care. That she hates it here. But she keeps coming back. And maybe she's not ready to admit it.

But me?

I don't mind waiting. Not if it means being around when she finally decides to stay.