Page Two : Nice to know you...
1346 Words
“So… Aston just left us here?” Ali asked Luca, blinking at the empty park. “How are we supposed to get home?”
“Let’s go back to the studio. I’ll take the car,” Luca suggested.
“Wait,” Henry stopped him. “None of us are sober.”
They stared at one another—then burst out laughing at their own stupidity. In the end, they called their manager and chatted among themselves until he finally showed up. They jumped into the black van when a familiar man opened the door. The moment they were inside, they began explaining everything—how Aston had ditched them in the park because of “some girl.”
Andrew, their manager, looked shocked.
“I hope this isn’t a bad sign,” he muttered.
____
Aston caught a glimpse of Ariana from behind.
He rushed from the parking lot toward the exit. That girl walked fast—too fast. He drove ahead and stopped in front of her.
She froze.
He stepped out of the car, realizing how scary this must look from her point of view.
“Come on, get in,” he said calmly.
Ariana sighed. “Listen,” she said weakly. Aston bent down slightly to hear her better.
“I’m out of energy. I can’t even get angry anymore, even if I want to.”
She inhaled shakily. “I forgave you. So please leave me alone. Don’t mind me. Just go.”
She massaged the bridge of her nose, exhausted.
“Listen,” Aston copied her softly. “Just let me help you as a human being. You look like you could pass out anywhere. I’d feel really guilty if I read tomorrow’s headline: ‘A girl found dead in a drain’—or worse, ‘A woman’s body found naked on the street.’”
She glared at him.
“Sorry,” he said quickly. “That was a bad joke. I didn’t mean it like that. Just… get in. You can’t see clearly anyway. I broke your glasses, remember?”
He walked to the passenger side and opened the door for her. After a long pause, she finally gave in and got inside.
Aston lowered the air conditioner. He liked it freezing cold, but the girl beside him looked fragile. He handed her a sealed blanket.
“Just in case you’re cold.”
“So… what’s your name?” he asked.
“Ariana,” she answered, staring straight ahead.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Aston.”
Silence filled the car for five minutes. Feeling awkward, Aston turned on the stereo. Soft jazz played in the background.
“Where do you live?” he asked.
“You can drop me off in front of The Peak,” Ariana said. She was lying.
She was too tired to stay alert, but too afraid to fall asleep. This man was a stranger. The car was dark, quiet, and luxurious—too luxurious for someone their age. He looked like a rich kid, maybe even the son of someone dangerous. If she told him her real address, she could disappear without anyone knowing.
“Oh, you live there?” Aston sounded interested. “We’re neighbors, then.”
Damn it. She guessed right. A rich kid.
“What were you doing at the park so late?” he asked. “It’s pretty far from our place.”
Our place? Seriously?
“Excuse me,” Ariana snapped. “Don’t you think that’s too personal?”
Aston shrugged, and the silence returned.
When Ariana opened her eyes again, the sky was already turning pale.
Dawn.
She blinked in panic. Where was she?
She looked outside. Aston was standing not far away, sipping coffee in front of a convenience store… and reading a book
.
Carefully, she opened the door, trying to leave without being noticed.
But their eyes met.
“Good morning,” he greeted her with a smile.
“Morning,” she said awkwardly. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“You were sleeping soundly,” he explained. “You looked exhausted. I tried to wake you, but you wouldn’t budge. So I waited. Are you okay?”
He handed her a bottle of water.
“Drink.”
She obeyed, using the moment to piece together last night. She had fallen asleep in the car of the man who broke her glasses with toy guns.
Oh crap. She touched her hair. It felt stiff. The blue paint. Her heart sank.
“Oh no…”
“What’s wrong?” Aston asked, startled, glancing around as if someone had attacked her.
She suddenly screamed, drawing the attention of joggers nearby.
“Oh no, no, no…” Her voice trembled as she checked her watch.
5:30 AM.
She crouched to the ground.
“You know what?” she said shakily. “I can forgive you for my hair and my glasses. You didn’t know what you guys did to me. But why did you let me fall asleep? I have a report due in four hours!”
Her voice broke. Tears streamed down her face. Aston squatted beside her, unsure what to do. He gently patted her shoulder. Then she stood up suddenly.
“Enough. I’m going now,” she said firmly. “Thank you for the ride. Bye.”
She stormed off, leaving Aston standing there, speechless.
Ariana ran home—just one block away from the luxurious neighborhood. She kept glancing back, making sure no one followed her.
The first thing she did was text Tina, saying she’d be late because of an emergency. Then she rushed to the bathroom. The reflection made her gasp. Her hair was a mess. No matter how much shampoo she used, the paint wouldn’t come off.
Crying again, she grabbed a pair of scissors and cut off the stiff, stained parts.
Her hair was now short and messy—but she didn’t care. She could go to a salon later.
She opened her laptop and started working on the report. It was going to be a long day.
Aston parked the car in the underground lot and took the elevator upstairs. The ride was so fast, he barely had time to stare blankly at the wall before the familiar ding sounded.
His apartment was a spacious two-floor unit. He bought it three years ago, after his band’s breakthrough success.
Back then, he used to practice in his parents’ basement. Now he had his own studio at home.
Everything was white—clean, neat, almost like a newlywed’s place. He opened the windows. He hadn’t been home for three days. After changing clothes, he cleaned the house, cooked himself a hearty breakfast, and washed the dishes. He couldn’t stand mess piling up.
Then he headed to the bedroom and set his alarm for 2:00 PM. Practice started at 3:00.
As he lay down, Ariana’s face crossed his mind.
He felt guilty.
Those glasses must have been expensive. Her watch, her bag, her clothes—none of them looked cheap.
What did she do for a living? Maybe she worked in the same industry. If so, it would be easier to find her and compensate her. She even lived nearby.
He grabbed his phone and typed into the group chat.
Aston: Guys, do we know someone named Ariana?
Ali: Who’s that?
Luca: Nope.
Henry: Which division?
Aston: Maybe a singer, producer, or crew?
Three “no” replies appeared.
Aston: Okay. Forget it. What time are you guys getting home?
Luca: Not yet. We’re at the company studio.
Henry: Andrew said it’s safer if we go home together.
Ali: Yeah, less chance of stalkers.
Luca: I swear I won’t drink that much anymore.
Aston: You’d better keep that promise, Luca.
His eyes grew heavy. The concert had drained him completely.
Just before he fell asleep, another message came in. From Luca. He didn’t read it.
“I think one of our stylist friends is named Ariana.”
- Writer
