"𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒" followed by Chasing Love is finally here!
One year ago, Samanun Freen vanished without a trace, making Mon devasted and heartbroken. Just as Mon thought she was getting better, Samanun reappeared. Stran...
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C H A P T E R W H O A R E Y O U?
I could practically choke on the tension swirling in my chest. Mon—she's a walking riddle, like a locked diary with pages torn out. My grandma used to call me a giggling box, and said I could light up a room just by being in it. But now? I'm not so sure. Mon invited me to the party, personally. I have to go. When she called, I smiled like I'd just been handed the keys to the universe. But there was something off. Like, off-off. Her sparks—the ones that usually flicker bright—turned into dark roses when she looked at me, wilting before they could bloom. It was like she didn't expect me to show up. Not the real me, at least. But then again, what is the real me? I'm not crazy. She said she saw some distorted version of me. What the hell does that even mean? There were hundreds of students drifting past the gate like ants, and yet, only she saw this twisted, broken version of me. And don't even get me started on Archer. He keeps dropping hints about some girl who wrecked Mon's heart. The whole thing feels like a twisted, sick game—like we're all just players being moved by someone else's hands. If only I could remember. If only I could piece together the life I've lived, moment by moment. But it's all just...blank. Archer and Mon? They seem tight, too tight. And it's gnawing at me, dragging me into this mess, her mess. Why do I care? Why am I getting sucked into Mon's tangled life? I need answers. Now. I was thumbing through this old diary I found buried in the back of my closet earlier. It's ancient, practically falling apart at the spine. Maybe it's mine. I mean, it's filled with journaling, but nothing that helps. Funny, I don't even remember ever being the "dear diary" type. Not that it matters. I don't remember much of anything these days, do I? The party's tonight. Archer's picking me up said we'd go together. But I don't know if it's worth it. There's something about Mon that doesn't sit right with me, like a puzzle with one piece jammed in the wrong spot. I swear, when she saw me, it was like she was hallucinating. She saw something—someone—that wasn't me. She probably thinks I'm some kind of psycho, but I was smiling, looking like I just walked off a runway. She's twisted, not me. This whole thing...ugh. Life's a joke. Stupid. "Sam, darling, come down for lunch!" My grandma's voice cuts through my thoughts, sugary sweet but dripping with something darker like she's trying to curse me in the same breath. Perfect. "Coming!" I shout back, just to keep things smooth. Class ended early today, and now I'm stuck having lunch with her after what feels like forever. Sigh. I close my laptop, leaving the old diary cracked open on the table. Something about it nags at me, like a whisper just out of reach. The dining table stretches out, big enough for sixteen, but today, like always, it's just the two of us. Should've been six, but no, it's only two. The rest? Gone. Either dead or vanished, like some twisted fairy tale I keep wanting to unravel. "This much food for two people?" I ask, voice flat, eyes scanning the spread. "It's all your favourites, honey. Dig in, sweetheart." She takes her seat at the head of the table like she's the queen of some lonely, empty kingdom. I'm not about to start a fight over it, not with this suspicious old woman. She's hiding something. I can feel it. Glance. As I chew, I study her, watching her every move, like a detective sizing up a suspect. Her eyes flicker between me and the food. "So... you know anyone named Mon? Mon Patricia?" She choked a bit, but covered it up quick, like she's rehearsed this moment a hundred times. "No, sweetheart. Never heard the name." I nod slowly, not buying it. "Mmhm. You sure?" She laughs awkwardly. "Yes, darling." I pause, my fork hovering over the plate. "Oh, and one more thing..." I don't even look up. "Can you stop with the weird nicknames?" Her face twitches, like she felt that hit somewhere deep. "W-why, sweetheart?" I roll my eyes, tired of her scripted sweetness. "Just stop. It's not your place." Her smile wavers, her practised lines crumbling. "I'm your grandma, sweetie. It's nothing serious." Her concern feels fake, like a mask she's worn for too long. "Well, Granny, those words are for my lover. I don't wanna hear them from anyone else." I catch the flash of sorrow in her eyes before it vanishes, buried deep. "A lover won't stay with you forever. Besides, you've never been capable of having one, Sam. You're just a frozen princess, stuck in her little world." Her sharp words hit like a dagger, and then—bam!—a searing pain rips through my skull, hammering from the inside out. I crash to the floor, clutching my head, desperate for some kind of relief. "Oh, shit! What's happening?!" My vision blurs, pain flooding every inch of me. Voices—muffled, distant—two women, arguing. I can't make sense of it. "Sam, Sam, Sam! Are you okay, dear? I'm sorry!" Her hands are on me, panic flooding her voice as she pulls me into the chair. "W-water..." I grab the glass and down it in one go, my heart still racing as the pain starts to fade. My head smacks back against the chair, and I stare up at the chandelier above the table, its gleaming gold and silver mocking me with how perfect it looks. My hands rake through my hair, trying to steady my breath as the adrenaline slowly drains out. "What the hell was that?" "S-Sam?" Her voice shakes, laced with fear—not for me, though. Fear for herself. There's something she's hiding, I know it. I can see it in her eyes. I take a breath, levelling her with a look. "I told you to stop calling me those names. Not even Sam." "Th-then?" She stares at me, wide-eyed. "Call me Samanun. Or better yet, Freen. You didn't earn those names." I pause, locking eyes with her. "Please." She lowers her gaze, and for a moment, I almost feel guilty. Almost. But my instincts are screaming at me. She's a damn good actress, flawless even, except for the cracks that show when she slips up. Something's off. And that vision—what the hell was that? I stand, heading for my room, feeling her eyes burning into my back like the devil himself is watching. She's waiting for me to fall, to lose this game we're playing. Heh. Try me. You can't break a girl who's danced with demons and lived to tell the tale. I sit in my room, letting the thoughts swirl, letting them live. That vision...it was a memory. It had to be. And the argument—it was almost a mirror image of what just happened downstairs. They're connected. It's like the past is bleeding into the present, and my mind is finally starting to crack open. Shit. Shit. Shit. Why can't I remember anything else? I press my brain, begging for just one more clue, anything. But my head's either too fried or too lazy to give me more. Great. Guess it works as hard as I do during exam season. Okay, seriously, what the fuck is going on? Maybe I should just sleep. I'm still recovering from whatever the hell that was. But something about that vision, about Grandma's voice, it won't let me rest. There's a detail I missed, but I can't quite pin it down. Not yet. I need something—no, someone—to help me sort through this mess. Sigh. Just sleep, Freen. You might find some answers at the party tonight. Honestly, I've been excited ever since Mon invited me. Yay. Maybe she doesn't hate me as much as I thought. Then that quiet voice in the back of my head asks, "Did she ever hate you in the first place?"
