Mon's POV

"Yes, Dad, I always remember to feed Singha."

It was a typical Friday night for me at my apartment, Singha fell asleep on my lap while I was studying for finals; it wasn't near yet, but I just wanted to prepare so I could keep my scholarship. Besides, we're talking about finals here, I have to focus if I want to be a psychiatrist.

My father called while I was in the middle of studying because he always checks up on me every Friday. "Yes, Dad, I remember to visit my therapist when we have scheduled sessions."

I love how deeply my father cares about me, but sometimes I can't bring myself to face him because of what happened that night. It was my fault, even if he constantly tells me it's not. "Yes, Dad, I will make sure to eat dinner this time. You too, okay? Okay, I love you. Bye!"

But then comes the part I don't like about our phone calls...

"Mon, it's not your fault."

Shivers ran down my spine as I closed my eyes before taking a deep breath.

It is, Dad. It is, and I'm sorry. "I have to go, Dad. I'm studying. Bye!" I quickly pressed the red button on my phone screen before placing it on the study table in front of me. Clutching the locket wrapped around my neck, I sighed.

That night was my fault, Dad. You don't have to lie to me.

 

...

 

THIRD PERSON POV

Mon woke up to a single ray of light sneaking past her curtains and directly onto her face. Her eyes slowly fluttered open as she started to familiarize herself with her surroundings. Soon, she realized she had fallen asleep studying, but Singha was no longer on her lap. Reaching out for her phone, she checked the time.

Heaving a sigh of relief, she was only a few minutes ahead of her alarm. Mon got up and started to tidy her belongings: textbooks, binders, pens, you name it. After she finished, she started getting ready for the day by taking a nice shower.

Forty-five minutes pass, and she's all dressed up, wearing a white camisole top under a cream-colored cardigan along with a pair of high-waisted, wide-leg pants. Her long brunette tresses were tied in a half ponytail, secured by a white ribbon.

"Now, where is my phone?" Mon asked herself, looking around the living room of her apartment. Yet there was no sign of a smartphone in sight. Not to mention, Singha was already scratching at her leg, basically begging to be fed. "In a minute, baby."

But Singha wouldn't stop, so Mon had to look down. What she saw took her by surprise; Singha was looking at her with her missing phone on the floor next to the dog. "Why, thank you, you little cutie!"

Singha barked in happiness as Mon rubbed her chin and head. "Hungry?" The woman asked, followed by a bark of approval. Mon giggled and stood up after grabbing her phone. She led Singha to the kitchen and poured dog food into one bowl and water into another.

"Be good while Mami whips up her own breakfast, okay?" She ordered. Mon knew her dog wouldn't miraculously start talking, but she knew Singha was obedient enough to understand what she was saying.

As she cooked her breakfast—well, boiled water for her instant noodles, rather—Mon thought about her plans for the day: go to the café near campus with Yuki and Nop, walk Singha, then study more. There was not much planned for today, but that was good news for Mon.

After successfully making instant noodles, Mon sat down by the kitchen island and started to eat while scrolling through social media on her phone. There was nothing new, other than the fact she almost choked on her food when she found out Taylor Swift and Joe Alwyn had broken up.

"WHAT?!" She suddenly screamed out, even Singha got startled.

 

...

 

Sam's POV

Another day, another shift at the café—it's a never-ending cycle, really. But I can't bring myself to get sick of it because my managers and coworkers are so nice, and nothing beats the fresh smell of coffee first thing in the morning. I prefer a simple life over an extravagant one that requires more work; as long as I'm getting along just fine and I'm able to treat myself from time to time, I'm content.

"Morning," I said to our cashier, Kirk. "Good morning, beautiful!" He smiled at me.

I can't believe this guy still has a thing for me despite the fact that I rejected him multiple times—thirteen if you're counting. He's persistent in a bad way, it annoys me. I ignore him as per usual and greet the other staff members.

Life as a barista is peaceful; I get to smell, make, and serve freshly brewed coffee every day. No drama nor high expectations are involved; that's all I want.

That's all I want.

 

...

 

A few hours pass, and I look over at