Chapter 3
1357 Words
Iris woke the next morning to the sound of voices—sharp, hushed, and tense. Not fighting yet, but close. The kind of argument that tries to stay behind closed doors but leaks through anyway.
She sat up slowly, blinking into the soft morning light spilling through her curtains. The house felt too still, like it was holding its breath.
Her mother’s voice came first.
“I’m just trying, Thomas. I’m trying to make her feel welcome.”
Her father’s reply was lower, clipped.
“You’re smothering her. That’s not welcoming, it's pressure.”
Iris froze. Her stomach tightened.
She hadn’t been back long enough to deserve being the center of any conflict. The idea of causing trouble—before she even got her footing, made her chest ache.
She stepped quietly into the hallway. The voices sharpened as she reached the stairs.
Her mother sounded brittle, like she was holding herself together with thread.
“I lost her once. I’m not doing it again.”
Her father exhaled, long and tired.
Not angry—guilty.
“You didn’t lose her. We didn’t lose her. Well you did but, I mean...”
Silence. Then,
“You still blame me,” her mother whispered.
“Even after all these years.”
Iris’s heart clenched. She hated this. Hated being the fracture line.
She backed away, retreating into her room before either of them caught her listening. Her pulse thudded in her ears as she shut the door gently.
A knock came seconds later.
Her mother peeked in with a too-bright smile. “Good morning, sweetheart! I thought… maybe today we could get you something nice to wear. You know, something that fits in here. Everything you brought is so… worn.”
She meant it kindly—of course she did, but the word landed like a bruise.
Worn.
Like Iris herself.
Still, she nodded. “Yeah… okay.”
………
The drive was quiet. Her mother hummed nervously at stoplights, fingers tapping the steering wheel. She was trying so hard to be light, cheerful, normal.
It hurt more than the fight.
Inside the upscale boutique, everything smelled like perfume and new fabric. The clothes were all soft neutrals and expensive cuts—Ava’s world, not hers.
Iris browsed awkwardly, touching racks hesitantly, like she was afraid of breaking something.
A voice behind her said, “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
She turned.
Ethan stood a few feet away, hands in the pockets of a navy jacket, hair slightly mussed, like he’d rolled out of bed and into effortless attractiveness. He looked surprised, but not annoyed… Curious, if anything.
Great. Exactly who she didn’t want to run into while holding a shirt she had no business buying.
“Oh—hey,” she stammered.
He glanced at the sweater in her hands.
“Ava would never wear that.”
“I’m not Ava,” Iris said softly.
His expression shifted—something apologetic, something aware.
“I know,” he said.
And his voice had none of yesterday’s awkwardness. Just warmth.
She didn’t know how to respond.
Her mother appeared at her side before she had to, arms full of clothes Iris hadn’t chosen. “Oh! Ethan, honey, look who it is!” she said brightly, too brightly.
He smiled politely. “Yeah. Ran into her.”
Her mother nudged Iris toward the dressing rooms. “Go on, sweetheart. Try these on.”
Ethan stepped aside, watching her with a small, unreadable expression. Not staring—just… noticing.
Iris felt heat creep up her neck.
She disappeared into the dressing room, closing the door between them.
………
The clothes didn’t feel like hers. They were soft and elegant and structured in ways that made her look like someone who belonged in this world.
Someone who hadn’t disappeared.
Someone who didn’t have scars.
When she stepped out to show her mother, Ethan was still nearby, leaning against a display table, scrolling his phone but not really reading it.
Her mother clasped her hands. “Oh, Iris… you look beautiful.”
Iris glanced at herself in the mirror.
She did look beautiful.
And unrecognizable.
Her mother touched her shoulder gently. “Maybe… maybe this can be a fresh start.”
Iris nodded, even though she wasn’t sure what she was agreeing to.
As she went back into the dressing room, she caught Ethan’s reflection in the mirror—just for a second.
He wasn’t staring at her.
But he’d looked up.
And something in his eyes flickered—quickly, quietly, almost nothing.
Almost.
_______
Ethan hadn’t exactly planned to be here.
He wasn’t a boutique guy. He wasn’t even a mall guy.
But Ava had texted him twenty minutes ago asking if he could pick up a specific lotion she liked from the store near the entrance, and he figured he’d do it before heading to the gym.
Quick in, quick out.
Except then he’d seen her.
At first, he thought it was Ava. The posture, the hair, the way she held her hands lightly at her sides like she was always ready to move. But then she turned, and he realized instantly—this wasn’t Ava.
There was a softness to her, something tentative under the surface. Something Ava didn’t have and never had or needed.
He wasn’t sure what made him walk over. Curiosity, maybe. Or guilt from yesterday’s mistake.
Now, he watched her disappear behind the dressing room curtain, fabric whispering shut.
He shouldn’t be here.
This wasn’t his moment or his place. He should text Ava back, grab the lotion, and leave. Pretend this didn’t feel strange or charged or like the ground had shifted half an inch under his feet.
But he stayed where he was, leaning against a display table, pretending to scroll through his phone.
He could hear her mother’s voice through the curtain—bright, nervous, trying too hard.
Ethan glanced toward the fitting room, then looked away quickly, annoyed with himself.
She wasn’t even doing anything. Just trying on clothes.
Ava’s Twin.
That should’ve made things simpler, but somehow it didn’t. Ava was precise, polished, loud when she wanted to be and sharp when she didn’t. Iris felt like the opposite—quiet, unsure, but observant. Like she took in a room before deciding where to stand.
He exhaled, annoyed at himself for noticing any of this.
When the curtain pulled back again, he lifted his eyes before he could stop himself.
She stepped out in a soft, cream-colored sweater and tailored pants. Nothing dramatic. Nothing flashy.
But something about her looked… new. Like she wasn’t trying to be anyone’s version of herself yet.
Her mother clasped her hands, glowing with relief. Iris stared into the mirror, studying a reflection she didn’t seem to fully recognize.
Ethan dropped his gaze before she caught him watching.
What was he even doing?
He told himself it was just curiosity. A natural human reaction to something unexpected. A girl returns after seven years, looks like his girlfriend but doesn’t act like her—anyone would be thrown off.
He rubbed the back of his neck, irritated at the prickle running down his spine.
Ava was going to ask about this later. She asked about everything. She noticed everything. And Ethan wasn’t sure he wanted to explain something he didn’t understand himself.
He glanced at the dressing room door again.
Iris’s mother said something softly. Iris nodded, polite, quiet, small. Ethan wasn’t used to small. Ava wasn’t small.
He wasn’t sure whether that difference made him uneasy…
or intrigued.
Maybe both.
When Iris stepped back to change again, Ethan pushed himself off the display table and finally turned toward the exit.
Yeah.
He needed to leave.
He didn’t want to be the guy who lingered around a dressing room watching his girlfriend’s sister try on clothes. He didn’t want to be the guy who felt anything other than polite guilt and basic curiosity.
But as he walked out into the mall’s cool air, he knew two things with frustrating clarity…
One, he’d noticed her
And—
Two, he didn’t want Ava to know that.
- Writer
