Chapter 3: All I can say is "What?"

Lilly

I received no explanation for what had happened outside—or who that girl was. I didn’t bother asking, but I knew I deserved more than silence.

I deserved an explanation.

I deserved an apology too.

For the awkward exchange between me and his supposed friend… or flirt.

Soon, I realized my joy had been built on something that was never going to exist. The house was empty—no surprise, nothing like what I had imagined. It all unfolded so quickly, and just like that, my mood shifted. It was bad. Really bad.

Philip showed no remorse. None at all.

I walked up to him, confronting him, and asked—

“Why did you invite me over when you planned nothing?” I asked, trying as much as I could to hold back my annoyance. My restraint was so tight I felt my veins might pop at any moment.

“It’s a month. Don’t get too excited. It’s nothing really special,” he said. That was all he offered before walking away, heading God-knows-where.

I didn’t let it end there. I had to let it out.

“Philip, really? That’s what you’re going to say?”

Soon, I realized I had been overly excited for nothing. It was a month—not a milestone. But where had the sweet Philip gone? He had always been thoughtful whenever we celebrated our friendship. What had changed?

I felt the excitement I’d carried all day slowly die in the middle of the chaos. To me, it hadn’t just been about surprises. It was something else—something I couldn’t yet place.

Perhaps I had been channeling my joy into the wrong place.

The night grew cold, and nothing I had imagined came to life. Philip stayed glued to his phone, drowning in texts, abandoning me to myself. After a stretch of silent minutes, I finally asked,

“Since you didn’t plan anything, how can we make this work?” I asked, hoping to hear his ideas.

Maybe he had been planning something. Maybe I was at fault for coming early. Perhaps he had been trying to keep me from seeing something—and I arrived too soon, only to stumble into what he had been protecting me from.

“Nothing much. Fix something—perhaps prepare dinner, or should I place an order?” For a few seconds, he seemed to care. Maybe he had been thinking, the same way I had during the silence, and finally came to a conclusion. A mental fix.

I didn’t want to ask for anything. Since he chose not to. Or maybe I simply didn’t want to ask at all. I thought making something for him—for us—might loosen him up. Yes, it wasn’t the first time he would eat my cooking, but tonight it felt different. Special. Perhaps only to me, and not to Philip.

“Don’t bother. I’ll make something,” I said, staring at him, a teasing smile playing on my lips—meant only for him.

But his face… his face was washed in the blue glow of his phone screen, his gaze completely glued to it.

Not a glance at me.

A pause.

Philip stopped typing and lifted his gaze, staring at nothing. His eyes rose above the screen, unfocused, then he became still—as if giving himself a second to think.

“There’s nothing,” he said. “I have nothing. I cleared my fridge.”

“Oh…” I murmured, subconsciously, lost in a daze. I blinked, shifting my gaze away from him, already reasoning what I could do to save the situation. I didn’t want this day to pass without something—anything—special.

“Don’t bother. I’ll place an order.”

As the words left his mouth, he stood and headed for the stairs.

No explanation. No hint of where he was going.

I watched him leave the living room, and just before he disappeared from view, he asked bluntly, without looking back, “Are you staying the night?”

I lifted my gaze toward the stairs, hoping to catch his face.

Disappointment.

He stood upright, his face buried in his screen.

“No,” I said—pure anger pushing the word out.

Why all the coldness? What was going on?

I didn’t even know how those two letters slipped out of my mouth, shattering my chance to pull words from him. Not that Philip seemed ready to talk anyway.

Maybe he’s just busy, I told myself, reaching for excuses—anything that might make me feel better.

It worked… but only long enough for the lie to reach my ears.

The moment I said no, he kept moving—without another word.

…

Silence swallowed the room.

Not just the room, but the house. The compound. The entire estate. Pure, aching silence.

We barely spoke after that. Only a few exchanged glances—me staring, hoping, and him offering shallow, fleeting looks that never stayed.

Dinner came and went. Nothing special.

For a moment, my excitement rose again, erupting like a volcano at the thought that maybe—just maybe—he was being moody on purpose. That out of nowhere, a surprise would appear. That all of this was leading to something.

But the expectation slowly faded.

It faded until my alarm pulled me awake the next morning.

I changed my mind about leaving. I stayed the night, telling myself the journey back home would have been too stressful, too much to deal with after everything. The truth was simpler—I wanted to keep dreaming.

Maybe, if I stayed long enough, something would still happen.

I realized Philip was already up and no longer in the room. Only a few minutes past six.

Does he get up this early?

I asked myself, not expecting an answer.

I headed downstairs to check if he was still around. As much as I wished I knew what he actually did for a living, I didn’t. All I knew was that a friend he never spoke about helped him secure a high-paying job—a job that stole all his time. All the time in the world.

Perhaps that was why he had been so glued to his phone yesterday.

After descending the first flight of stairs, I found him sitting at the dining table. Not alone.

A woman stood beside him, serving food. A neatly packed lunch box rested on the table near his plate.

What’s going on here?

I wanted to ask, but something told me it wasn’t the right moment. I continued down the remaining steps, announcing my presence with soft, deliberate footsteps.

His attention lifted to me—briefly. In a blink, his gaze shifted back to his food.

“Good morning, madam,” the young lady greeted formally, bending slightly at the knees.

Now I understood. A maid. Or a chef.

I wasn’t sure which.

But even as I settled on that explanation, another question surfaced.

Despite knowing we were almost the same age, why madam?

“Good morning m—”

The last word hung in my throat. Subconsciously, I refused to let it out, yet part of me wanted to. My ego liked it. Being called madam meant I belonged to someone—someone important enough to hire help.

“Ma’am,” I corrected myself.

That was me choosing modesty. Choosing reality. Remembering what last night—and the afternoon—had truly been about. Not out of regret for what Philip did, or because of everything that had happened, but because respect from someone my age wasn’t something I particularly enjoyed wearing like borrowed clothes.

“Good morning, Philip,” I greeted.

I stood behind a chair directly opposite him, waiting—for permission, for instruction, or for words I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear.

“Good morning,” he mumbled through a mouthful of food, nodding slightly.

Silence followed.

Awkward. Heavy. Unavoidable.

I wanted him to talk. I wanted us to talk—to clear everything, to name it, to fix it. But silence swallowed the thought whole, and fear tugged at me longer than I wanted to admit.

I didn’t want to make him bitter this morning. He was eating. That alone felt like a rule I shouldn’t break.

Minutes ticked by.

Eventually, perhaps uncomfortable with me standing there doing nothing, he gestured for me to sit.

The maid returned shortly after with breakfast for me. I hesitated. Philip said nothing—only motioned for her to place it down.

I had no choice but to eat.

Just a little. At most.

I knew if I didn’t talk now, the day would pass us by—quietly, cowardly—without ever touching this.

“Philip,” I called, careful with my tone, making sure it reached him in the right state of mind.

“Sorry to cut in amid your meal, but… can we talk?”

I held his gaze.

He paused, set his cutlery down slowly, and looked at me.

“What’s there to talk about?” he asked.

“Don’t get me wrong,” I said, steadying myself, “but everything that played out yesterday—didn’t you find it awkward? At least… off?”

He leaned back slightly.

“To me,” he said calmly, “I’d say, Lilly, you were overly excited about a one-month-old frie—”

He corrected himself.

“—relationship.”

What the h£ll just happened?

Friend?

Did I hear that right?

My ears rang.

In that moment, everything rewound itself. I replayed every smile, every touch, every assumption. Had I been dating myself all along? What state of mind was he in when he asked me out? Did I even consider that? Or was he simply trying things out—testing, passing time—until he got tired?

Questions flooded me. Too many. Too fast. They pressed against my chest until breathing felt heavy.

No. Not now.

I clenched my cutlery, grounding myself. I refused to cry. Not a tear. Not here.

“Friend?” I repeated softly.

“Philip?”

“Don’t get me wrong, Lilly,” he said quickly, as though pulling the words back. “Don’t hang everything you carried overnight on one silly mistake of mine. Right?”

He paused, cutting me off before I could speak—before I could say the things already burning my tongue.

His interruption helped stop the tears that were already threatening to spill the moment he slipped.

He slipped—just as he had made me believe.

“Lilly, it’s a month,” he said. “And I don’t see a reason to celebrate. Yes, we’ve come far in a month, but it’s not as if others haven’t achieved the same milestone. Don’t get me wrong—I just don’t feel the need for it. I hope you understand what I’m trying to say.”

“Fine,” I replied quickly. “I get your perspective. And what—”

“Thank you,” he cut in again, silencing me.

“And about that lady—she’s a colleague. Not a threat. Trust me.”

“She’s not?”

“She isn’t.”

A smile I wasn’t even aware of crept onto my face, light and involuntary. Philip smiled too.

“So get dressed,” he said. “I’ll wait for you till you’re done here.”

I thanked him immediately and rushed to his room to freshen up—hope cautiously rebuilding itself.

When I returned, I met the shock of my life.

Philip was gone.

All that remained was a note. It said—

'Got a call from work. I have to run. I’ll explain later.'

Emptiness settled first.

Then betrayal.

Then fear—the old, familiar fear of being left behind.

The house felt too quiet.

“What?” I whispered in shock.