A fancy way of saying: Maybe it was the curse. Maybe itwas just nerves. Maybe—annoyingly—it was her.
Kian was still watching her, so Riya stared at the page. Her notes were a mess of scratch-outs, half-formed conclusions, erratic handwriting.
She took a deep breath.
“You’re fully compelled by the curse,” she said. “No natural resistance. No signs of independent emotional response.”
Kian sat up straight. “What does that mean?”
“It means”—Riya slammed her notebook shut—“we’re screwed.”
The moment hung in the air.
But instead of reading the room, her stomach decided to let out a low rumble.
Kian’s smile widened. “Hungry?”
“...Work burns calories,” she muttered.
Kian stood and stretched his arms overhead. “We did do a lot. Come on—let’s raid the kitchen.”
But before they could move, another figure appeared in the doorway.
Kian’s dad.
He looked almost exactly as he had in the photo: same sharp black eyes, same thick brows Kian had inherited. The bright-yellow tank top had been traded for a soft-blue sweater, frayed at the cuffs. His hair, now dusted with gray, was longer but still enviably full. Riya’s dad would’ve been jealous.
Kian changed like a light flicking off. Shoulders locked. Warmth drained. There was the boy who’d wrecked Mel’s mousetrap car. The mask.
“Oh!” his dad said, brightening. “I didn’t know you had a guest.”
“Yeah,” Kian replied flatly.
Riya stepped forward. “I’m Riya. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Kho.”
“Riya! What a pretty name,” his dad said. “Is that Sanskrit? Arabic? I think I’ve heard it before—”
“Dad.”
His father chuckled. “Kian never has friends over. I’m just glad he finally—” He stopped, forced a smile. “Are you hungry? I made lumpia. Have you ever tried it?”
“We can handle ourselves,” Kian interrupted. “You don’t need to feed us.”
The air tightened.
“I’d love to try it,” Riya said quickly. “I’ve heard of lumpia—you eat it with banana ketchup, right?”
“Some people do! I make my own dipping sauce, though—vinegar, fish sauce, chili—”
“We’re fine,” Kian snapped.
His dad flinched. “...Oh. I just thought she might be hungry.”
Kian didn’t respond. Just stared at the floor.
Riya bit her lip.
“I’ll leave some in the kitchen,” his dad said at last. He lingered for a moment, then left without another word.
