The morning began quietly, except for the smell of burnt toast and a classical melody being hummed from the kitchen.

Maribel stepped out of her room with the expression of someone nearing their limit. Misty, holding a spatula, smiled at her as if they'd been sharing breakfast for years.

“Want some? They’re a little... abstract,” she said, holding up a few pieces of toast.

“No.”

Maribel walked straight to her phone, picked it up, and dialed. Misty kept humming softly as she washed the pan she hadn’t even used.

Three rings. On the fourth, he answered.

MARK:
“Hello?”

MARIBEL:
“Why is there a stranger in my kitchen?”

MARK (groggily):
“Oh, Misty’s there already. Good. Did you two say hi?”

MARIBEL:
“That’s all you have to say?”

MARK:
“You two fought already? No way, she’s not like that. I told her she could stay with you.”

MARIBEL:
“Without telling me. In the place I live. Alone. For almost two years.”

MARK:
“Technically, the building is under my name so…”

MARIBEL:
“Don’t try that with me.”

Misty, in the background, had stopped humming. She was sitting on the edge of the sofa, discreetly listening, half a piece of toast in hand.

MARK:
“Look, Misty’s an old friend. Do me a favor—it’s just for a while. You and I went through worse and no one helped us. Help her. Be patient.”

MARIBEL:
“This isn’t about ‘patience.’ It’s about my space. And you didn’t ask me.”

MARK (sighing):
“Misty’s easygoing. Talks a lot, but she’s trustworthy. Besides, you’re not so different. You actually look alike—pale skin, black hair, curious eyes…”

MARIBEL (flat):
“We’re not alike.”

MISTY (cutting in, softly, to Maribel):
“Come on, sis. I promise I won’t hurt you. I’m here to help…”

Maribel raised her hand to silence her. Misty raised her eyebrows—offended, but resigned.

MARIBEL (on the phone):
“You really think this is okay?”

MARK:
“I think Misty will be good for you. You need to talk to someone who isn’t a book. You could even tell her about your stories.”

MARIBEL:
“I don’t need company. I didn’t need it—not even when you left me.”

MARK (silent for a moment):
“You’re exaggerating. Give it a week. I should’ve talked to you first, but I promise Misty isn’t bad. I know her.”

Silence.

MARIBEL:
“One week.”

MARK:
“That’s the spirit. I’ll drop by another day to visit you two.”

MARIBEL (before hanging up):
“And next time, let me know in advance.”

Click.

Maribel hung up, but with a deliberate pause. Misty was still sitting on the sofa, waiting for a sign of some kind.

“Are you taking a shower first?” she asked in a neutral tone.

Maribel didn’t reply. She walked to the kitchen, threw the toast in the trash, and began making her own coffee.

And Misty, just like that, stood up and went to the bathroom—smiling at Maribel as she passed.