A soft melody poured from the piano as Vicky's fingers danced across the keys. The notes fluttered like butterflies through the house, weaving around the cheerful voices of the children singing nearby. It was a rare moment of peace.
"That's magical," the teacher murmured, eyes wide with admiration. "I've always wanted to learn the piano."
"It's easy," Vicky replied, her fingers gliding effortlessly across the keys. "Once you've mastered the notes, the rest follows."
"Did you take lessons? Go to music school?"
Vicky shook her head, the corners of her lips curling faintly. "No. I just... woke up one day—five years ago—and I could play."
The teacher let out a small laugh, brushing it off as sarcasm.
"Come on, really—where did you learn?"
Vicky's smile faded. Her voice lowered, more sincere now than ever. "I mean it. I woke up one morning and knew things—things I couldn't possibly explain. Like the music was already inside me, waiting."
The teacher fell silent, caught between intrigue and disbelief, her words swallowed by the haunting echo of the keys.
At the office, Damien stepped in, noticing a lunchbox already on Nathan's table. He blinked, surprised.
Must be from someone else, he thought, but still placed Nathan's tiffin down beside it.
Nathan emerged from the washroom, glanced at the table, then frowned.
"I'm not hungry," he murmured, ignoring the tiffin. He felt full—but not just in his stomach. Something about the day already weighed heavily on him.
Elsewhere, Catty sat on the edge of her seat, her phone clutched in her hand like a lifeline. She was glowing with hope.
He must've eaten it. He has to call. He loved it—I know he did.
Her phone rang.
Without checking the screen, she picked up instantly, grinning.
"Hey Nate! How was lunch?"
"Finally, you picked my call…"
The voice wasn't Nathan's.
"Dad?" Her voice dropped like a stone. Then, click. She cut the call, her face darkening.
Evening crept in.
Vicky returned home with Emily nestled in her arms. At the gate, she stopped. There stood John—the landlord—awkwardly holding a box of gifts.
Vicky narrowed her eyes.
"Has your obsession dragged you to my doorstep now?"
John forced a grin. "Is that how you greet your future husband?"
"You still haven't woken up from that fantasy, have you?"
Vicky walked to the door. "Evan, open up."
"I'm here to apologize," John said, shuffling behind her.
"For what exactly?" Vicky asked flatly.
"I… what happened the other day…"
Evan opened the door. "Evening, sister."
"Please take Emily and put her to bed. She's exhausted," Vicky said gently.
Once Evan was gone, Vicky turned back to John. Her voice sharpened.
"Just because I'm your tenant doesn't mean you can try to take advantage of me."
"That's why I'm sorry. I brought you a necklace."
"Is it magical?" Vicky asked, eyes cold.
"What do you mean?"
"Magical—so I can forget how you tried to force yourself on me? You touched me inappropriately, John. If I wear that, will I forget the shame? The fear?"
"I was drunk, Vicky—I didn't know what I was doing. I swear I regret it. I'll waive your rent for the next three months, just… please forgive me."
"I've already forgiven you," Vicky said coolly. "But I don't need your gifts, and I'll pay my rent. This is my home, not a place you can drop in whenever your guilt eats you alive. If you want to see me, you'll see me at Sarge where I rented—not here."
She slammed the door. John is disappointed.
Outside, John exhaled and turned away. "Okay…"
From the living room, Evan called out, "Why didn't you just slap that mad man? I don't want a brother-in-law like him. He's ugly."
Vicky laughed through her frustration. "Are you serious right now?"
"Just because Sarge is in his building doesn't mean he can act like he owns you. One day, I'll kick his sorry butt myself."
"You did good, Evan. You didn't let him in—that matters."
Vicky moved to the dining table, her gaze falling on a thick paper envelope. She picked it up, eyes narrowing.
"What's this?"
"Some officials dropped it earlier," Evan explained. "It's an eviction notice—well, not in those words. They want to demolish the area and build a market, like the one near the junction. We're supposed to vacate in five days if we sign."
Vicky's breath caught. "Five days?"
"Yeah. They want us to act like cupboards—just rearrange ourselves when they get tired of how we're stacked. What about school? What about Emily? We walk there from here—no need for a cab."
Vicky's jaw tightened. "What will Mom think if she wakes up to find us gone?"
She thought of Nathan. The way he tossed money at her. The way he barred her from his store.
"If the rich already have a market, what's the need for another? Just greed..."
"They don't think like us," Evan said bitterly. "They don't see people. They see land. While we're scraping to raise money for Mom's surgery, how can we afford to rebuild anything?"
Vicky's eyes stung. Her mother was still in a coma. How could she even think of leaving?
"I'm not signing anything!" she declared, her voice steel.
She tore the agreement in half, then again—until it was shredded. She placed the pieces neatly on the table like an offering of defiance.
"When they come to collect this tomorrow, I'll hand them these pieces."