Glenda glanced at Amy and smiled faintly, sliding over a cup of coffee while sipping her usual green tea. Her thoughts circled, trying to make sense of Amy's odd mood.
"This is weird," Amy muttered, gaze fixed on the window — dim, disappointed.
"What's weird?"
"The situation I'm stuck in," she replied coldly.
Glenda's brows furrowed. "What situation, Amy? What exactly are you talking about?"
Amy spun around, blood boiling, heart slamming against her ribs. She clenched her fist, swallowing down the ache.
"What am I supposed to say, Glenda? Do you even remember the condition I agreed to when I joined Sandra?" The words tore at her throat on their way out.
Confused, Glenda gave her a flat look. "I remember — but I also said it would take time, and understanding. Didn't I?"
"Understanding? You haven't given me time, space, attention, or even a chance to talk. How exactly are we supposed to build any understanding like this?" Amy's voice cracked with strain, the tension visible at her temples. Glenda watched, swallowing hard.
"I hear you, Amy. But the fashion events are coming up fast, and the company's under pressure — there's a lot riding on this. Once we're through it, I'll keep my word. Trust me." Glenda reached for her hand, but Amy shoved it away and shot up from her chair.
"I don't want to hear your excuses, Glenda. If you don't have the guts to admit what you're hiding, just leave." Her cold tone rang through the room like a second voice. Glenda stared at her, stunned. "What— what do you mean, Amy? I'm not hiding anything."
"Oh really? Then what's your relationship with Sandra? What were you doing at her house?"
Glenda's brows lifted, amused. She laughed softly. "You've got the wrong idea, Amy. We've been close since way back — practically family. I'm not going over there for whatever you're imagining. I go to help with her balcony."
Silence settled over Amy like rust. Her throat went dry, breath thinning.
"We had an agreement about it, but Sandra broke her end and dumped the whole thing on me," Glenda continued.
"So... nothing's ever happened between you two?" Amy asked, reluctant.
Glenda laughed, shaking her head. "Are you nuts? Neither of us could imagine being anything more than friends."
Amy nodded quietly, breath hitching, thumbs fidgeting under the table. "But you two never sound like that."
Glenda smiled again, refilling her cup, catching Amy's flat expression. "I don't think we have to." She continued, "Because we both know exactly where the lines are. Honestly — we're complete opposites." A laugh from one side, silence from the other.
Amy watched her from behind the walls she'd built out of doubt and distrust. Her heart ached quietly, and she could only blame herself — for doubting first, resenting it, and regretting it all soon after.
She rose abruptly. The untouched cup sat silent on the table, but one word held the room steady.
"Amy, I know this whole thing feels off. But I don't break promises." Glenda stepped in front of her, taking her hands gently. Their eyes met — the kind of look that felt complete.
"Give me some time to sort things out." The quiet plea sent a warm prickle up the back of Amy's neck. She blinked, hesitating, as if about to turn and walk away. Her heart didn't race — if anything, it felt calmer than it had in a long time. Her silence crept under Glenda's skin like something unwelcome. Then—
"...How long?" she whispered. "Will it cost me something, later on? I'm not trying to force anything — but I can't just let you go, Glenda."
The words sounded wrong somehow — strange. A quiet discomfort settled into Glenda's bones, like anxiety had found its voice. Her head moved on its own, completely involuntary.
"It'll cost you nothing but my love for you, Amy. I won't leave without your permission. Trust me." The voice barely sounded like her own. Glenda felt less like she was speaking, and more like something was speaking through her.
Amy smiled — completely calm, completely normal. And in the blink of an eye, she was gone. Before Glenda could process it, the room dropped into a deafening silence.
She looked around quickly — the balcony, the corners, the couch — until her gaze landed on the untouched coffee cup. "Amy...?" she whispered.
"Glenda!" Her body jerked at the sound. Pounding on the door. "Hey, Glenda! What are you doing in there? Open the damn door!"
The door swung open before she got there. Sandra stood in the doorway, straightening herself out.
"How did you get in?" Glenda asked, checking the lock, half-expecting it to be broken.
"The key — you gave me one for New Year's. Forgot already?"
"...! So it wasn't Amy who let you in?" Glenda asked. Sandra studied her, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me? Did I say anything about Amy? I let myself in, obviously."
"Then why would Amy even be at your place?" Sandra walked in like she owned it. Glenda's mind raced back through her conversation with Amy, tension creeping up her spine. "No — I'm sure she was just here," Glenda murmured.
Sandra tilted her head, unfazed. "Maybe she left already." She glanced at the full cup, then at Glenda. "Can I have that?" Glenda stared at it for a long moment, then nodded, heading toward her room.
"I'm going to freshen up."
"Ho-ho~"
"Will you ever behave like a normal person?"
"You're behaving, aren't you? Shu-up."
"It's 'shut up,' Sandra!"
"Shu-up!"
"Geez!" Glenda slammed the door in Sandra's face. Sandra glared at it for a second. "Huh. As if I cared." She walked off to sip the now-cold coffee.
•••
"Your blueprint." Glenda held out her hand. No response. She turned around — empty. "Wasn't she just here?" she muttered.
Glenda: Where did you go now?!
Sandra: Typing…
Glenda: Haven't I told you we're looking at teasers, editorials, and photos today?
Sandra: Typing…
Glenda: You're supposed to be here right now!
Sandra: Typing….
Glenda: Fuck, how long does it take you to type?
Sandra: Only when you shut your mouth for a second, right?!
You were too busy nagging me, woman!
Glenda: Hm. Ok-ok, just come back soon.
Sandra: Ah ~ <(￣︶￣)↗
She tossed her phone onto the table and went back to her keyboard. For the first time, the room felt strangely quiet without Sandra around — that constant teasing now just an echo in the air.
Glenda chuckled to herself, thinking about her.
•••
Sandra took her time, noticing the small details of the world she usually walked past without a second glance. City lights shimmered in her eyes as she wandered the streets — until she ran into a crowd, gathered tight in a circle.
"What happened?" she asked, trying to peer through.
"A fatal accident," someone said. Startled, Sandra turned to find an old woman beside her and gave a reluctant nod.
"I feel so bad for his family. He looked so young," the old woman said, sniffling. Sandra glanced at her, then back at the crowd. "Did someone call for help?"
"They did. Should be on the way... but what good does that do now? He's already gone."
Sandra winced, taking in the scene — the rush, the heavy stillness that hung in the air around death. Her gaze drifted... then stopped. Something familiar.
"...Amy?" Sandra whispered. She tried pushing into the crowd, but the old woman yanked her back. "What are you doing, young lady?" she said, alarmed.
"I should ask you the same. Let me through — my friend's in there." Sandra pointed into the crowd. The old woman followed her gaze, brows furrowing.
"Who? There's no one there."
Sandra looked again — the spot was empty. Unease washed over her as the face she'd seen replayed itself, over and over.
"See? No one's there. Don't push in, you'll get crushed," the old woman warned. Sandra nodded slowly and walked off, glancing back again and again — catching another flicker of Amy each time.
But there was nothing there. She chalked it up to exhaustion and turned forward — until something at the corner of the road caught her eye. She stopped, gaze locking onto the figure.
The figure regarded her, expression blank. "Amy — weren't you just at that accident?"
Amy stepped out of the shadows, standing tall in front of her. "What accident?"
The color drained from Sandra's face. "I... I just saw you. In that crowd."
"What crowd?" Amy said. "People are always around me — you probably saw me somewhere else." She walked ahead. Reasoning that Amy was simply used to being recognized, Sandra hurried to catch up.
Still, no explanation could shake the image of Amy's eyes meeting hers at the accident.
"What are you doing out here this late?" Sandra asked, checking the time on her phone.
"Smoking," Amy said simply.
"Here, though?" Sandra glanced sideways — and froze, a fear unlike anything she'd felt before. There was no one beside her. Her stomach twisted, heart slamming against her ribs.
"Amy?" Her breath caught. She couldn't believe what she wasn't seeing — not even a shadow remained. "She— she was just here. Where did she go?" Fear closed around her throat.
She spun around, scanning every direction. No trace of Amy. She'd vanished, swallowed by the silence.
Terrified and confused, Sandra ran — toward the company. Toward Glenda.
"Gle— Glenda! Glenda!" she screamed the moment she spotted her at the gate, mid-call and visibly annoyed.
"Glenda Linohour!" Sandra yelled one last time before collapsing a few feet away.
"Sandra?! Security — help me!" They rushed to her side. Glenda, panicking, kept calling her name, tapping her cheek.
"Hey, Sandra — wake up. Don't scare me like this. Please, wake up." Glenda pleaded, trying to rouse her. "I've got her — get me water and an energy drink."
The guard nodded and hurried off. Glenda lifted Sandra into her arms, glancing down at her every few seconds.
She laid her down on the couch. Sandra looked more drained than Glenda had ever seen her. She brushed a thumb gently across her cheek, worry creasing her face.
Sandra's eyes snapped open. She sat up, gasping, clutching her chest. "Sa— Sandra? Are you okay? What happened?"
"...Amy." That single word was all she managed before meeting Glenda's eyes.
"Amy? Did she do something to you?" Glenda asked, confused.
Sandra shook her head slowly. "No. It's... her disappearing. So suddenly." Her flat expression was unfamiliar — Glenda struggled to keep up. "What do you mean, disappearing?"
"I swear I felt her right there. Then she was just... gone."
"Did you actually meet Amy?" Glenda asked. Sandra nodded, meeting her eyes. "I saw her. Or — I think I did. I don't know anymore." Her voice came out flat, almost mechanical.
Glenda tilted her head. "You saw her? I drove her to the airport this afternoon — she's in Shanghai for a shoot."
Sandra's heart dropped, mind going blank. "What— what are you talking about, Glenda?!" She grabbed Glenda's collar, a sudden sharp anger flooding through her.
"What's gotten into you?" Glenda shoved her back onto the couch, pinning her wrists to the armrest. "I don't get what's going on with you." Her sharpness hung in the air. Sandra's eyes darted, unsteady, throat tight as she braced for whatever came next.
"Nothing's wrong with me. Let go." Sandra looked away, avoiding eye contact. Glenda leaned close to her ear. "Don't push me into an argument right now, Ms. Sandra." Sandra glanced at her sideways, caught off guard — something about Glenda's presence pressed down on her completely.
The guard walked in, freezing at the doorframe. "Um— Ms. Glenda?" Both of them quickly straightened up. Glenda walked over and took the items from him. "Thanks. I'll transfer the money for these, okay?"
"Sure. Anything else you need, Ms. Glenda?"
"No, that's all." She walked back in, closing the door and flipping on the lights.
Sandra glared at her, rolling her eyes. "You're so dramatic, Glenda. You didn't even let me—" Glenda shoved a piece of focaccia into her mouth, cutting her off.
"Shut up. You don't get to talk yet." Glenda said firmly, sitting beside her.
"...Mm, this is good. What is it, brown bread?" Sandra asked. Glenda raised an eyebrow and gave her head a light smack.
"It's focaccia. Ever heard of artisan bread?"
"Woman, your fancy vocabulary is too much for me. Slow down."
"Shut up." Sandra rolled her eyes, making a face. "Like I care. Hmph." She kept chewing.
"So — what made you pass out earlier?" The question echoed in Sandra's head. Her palms went cold instantly. She didn't shiver, exactly — more like a jolt running straight down her spine.
She swallowed hard, turning to Glenda. The bread in her throat didn't help — she forced it down with effort.
Glenda watched every flicker of expression cross her face, waiting.
"...Do you believe in, like — shadow hauntings?"
Glenda's brows shot up. "What's that supposed to mean? Don't make up terms, woman."
"I'm not making it up!" Sandra protested. "You know — when you think you see someone, but it's not really them. Like... an illusion." Her hands settled in her lap.
"Isn't that just called a hallucination?" Glenda eyed her carefully, reading her like an open book. "Whatever — you get what I meant, right?"
"I do," Glenda said. "So — what if I told you I believe in it?"
Sandra leaned in, locking eyes with her. Glenda flinched, searching her face.
"On my way here, I caught a glimpse of Amy in a crowd. When I looked again, she was gone."
"You probably mistook someone else for her."
"Right, that's what I thought too — until I found her again, smoking by a wall."
"...that's not possible."
"It was real. We talked for a few minutes, walked together — then I checked my phone for a second, and when I looked up... she was gone."
Silence stretched between them, goosebumps rising on the backs of their necks.
"That sounds... so paranormal."
"It was. I was so scared I just ran straight to you."
"I don't want to believe you — but after seeing the state you were in, I can't exactly deny it either."
"You heard the whole thing. Now imagine living it." Sandra clutched her chest dramatically, shaking her hand. "I thought I was having a heart attack."
"Relax. You won't die that easily." Glenda patted her shoulder. "There's plenty more torment in store for you yet."
Sandra shot her a look, scanning her up and down. "Scumbag." She knocked Glenda's hand away.