LOVE IN REVERSE

CHAPTER ONE Petra Daniels POV I was still in the kitchen, opening one cabinet and closing another, when a voice drifted in from outside. "Hello, baby." It was soft, sweet, and even. A feminine voice, smooth and eloquent, the kind that carried warmth without effort. It sounded confident in its gentleness, as though it belonged to someone used to being listened to. I just got the money,” the voice continued. “Everything’s settled now.” A pause. “I’m on my way to the airport. Yes, today.” Another pause, longer this time. A quiet laugh followed. The kind meant for only one person. “I know. I miss you too.” The words were lowered, almost a whisper. “More than you think.” “I love you,” the voice said gently. “I’ll call you when I land, okay? Just wait for me.” Silence. Then, softly... “Always.” The call ended. I paused, my fingers resting on the edge of the counter. The voice itself wasn't alarming. If anything, it was pleasant. But there was something about it that made me listen more closely, as if it had been carefully arranged rather than naturally spoken. I moved toward the window beside the sink and peeped through the narrow space between the curtain and the frame. I couldn't see the person's face. Only a figure standing nearby, phone held to their ear. The build was neat, well-proportioned, the kind that suggested confidence without revealing much else. They stood comfortably, as if accustomed to occupying space, but nothing I could see explained or contradicted the voice I was hearing. I pulled back slowly. The call ended soon after. *** I remained where I was, unsettled not by what had been said, but by how easily the voice lingered in my head, detached from the image I had managed to form. I left the kitchen shortly after, carrying the feeling with me without really naming it. I told myself it was nothing, just a voice, just a moment taken out of context. New places make you imagine things. Thin walls distort sound. I opened the door to pick up my last piece of luggage and paused, half inside the room, half out in the corridor. The space behind me didn't feel like mine yet. It felt temporary, full of uncertainty and excitement, as if it was still waiting to see who I would become. Neon Valley was louder than I expected. Footsteps, voices, doors opening and closing. Everything sounded close, as if the walls were thinner than they looked. As I bent to lift the bag, I felt it before I fully saw it—the awareness of being watched. A few doors down, a group of guys stood together, talking over one another, laughing freely. They had drinks in their hands and the ease of people who already knew the rhythm of the place. Their voices filled the corridor. For a brief moment, the corridor went quiet. I noticed them at the same time they noticed me. Their eyes stayed on me. My chest tightened as I straightened my slim figure quickly, suddenly aware of my body, the bag at my feet, and my long black hair down my back. I didn't know what expression to wear. I dragged the luggage inside and shut the door fast, too fast. Then someone laughed. "This newbie looks pretty and fresh, she is a shy b***h," a voice said, careless and amused. The words hit harder than I expected. I stood frozen, my hand still on the handle, heat crawling up my neck. I wasn't angry. I wasn't even hurt. I was suddenly very aware of myself; how small and unprepared I must have looked, how easily I had retreated. The click echoed in the quiet room. My heart raced. I came to Neonvale to learn not to force confidence or connections. For now, I just wanted to settle in. Being new wasn’t inferior, just unfinished. *** As the room grew less chaotic, I began to really look around. The apartment was diagonal, narrower than I expected, with angles that made it feel slightly off-balance. A single bed pressed against the wall. A small wardrobe. A desk that looked like it had seen better days. This was a self-contained apartment, or so they called it, though "shared" felt more accurate. I would be sharing the kitchen and bathroom with my neighbour. A girl, I had been told. I hadn't met her yet. I pictured someone else using the sink, leaving traces of their presence behind, footsteps, smells, and routines that would overlap with mine. ** I kept unpacking, letting routine calm me. Time slipped by. Outside, the noise softened as people drifted into the night. I stepped out, needing air. ** I walked slowly, observing the hostel, trying to understand the rhythm of the place. Then I saw them. The same view I had caught earlier—same tall height, the same build, the same way of standing. It took a second for recognition to settle, but once it did, it refused to leave. This was the person I had peeped at through the kitchen window. The one who had made the call. They weren't alone this time. They stood close to someone else, shoulders angled inward, speaking easily, like people who shared familiarity. I slowed my steps, not intentionally, my body reacted before my mind did. They laughed. And the voice that came out was nothing like the one I had heard earlier. It was deeper. A baritone that carried weight and ease, unmistakably masculine. There was no softness now. Nothing about it reminded me of the sweetness I had heard earlier in the kitchen. I felt something shift inside me. I watched them talk, watched the ease between them, the way the voice fit the body perfectly now. The question I had managed to avoid all afternoon finally surfaced, heavy and unavoidable. If that was his real voice. Had I imagined that call? Or had the voice I heard that afternoon never truly belonged to a woman at all? Then whose voice had I heard in the kitchen?