Tales Of The Heart | (G)i-dle

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐲

"Yuqi, come down here please!" My mother's voice sliced through the comfortable silence of my bedroom, traveling up the stairs with the kind of authority that suggested this wasn't really a request.

"Why?" I shouted back, not bothering to lift my head from the pillow. The springs of my bed groaned in solidarity as I burrowed deeper into the blankets.

"Just come!" Her tone had shifted—sharper now, edged with that particular brand of maternal impatience I'd learned to recognize over eighteen years.

A groan escaped my lips as I peeled myself from the mattress with all the enthusiasm of someone being asked to donate a kidney. Every fiber of my being protested the movement, but self-preservation won out. The memory of last Tuesday's near-miss with a flying slipper was still fresh enough to motivate me. Mom had exceptional aim when provoked, and I wasn't eager for a repeat performance.

I shuffled downstairs, each step a small act of rebellion against consciousness itself. "What is it, Mom?"

She stood in the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel with practiced efficiency. "I need you to go to your aunt's store and buy four bottles of black sugar syrup."

I blinked, my sleep-fogged brain slowly processing this information. "Didn't you just buy some yesterday?"

"I did," she replied with the casual nonchalance of someone discussing the weather, not confessing to what was clearly an addiction.

My eyes widened. "Wait. Hold on. You bought ten bottles. Yesterday. And they're all gone? Already?"

She nodded as if this were perfectly reasonable behavior.

"Mom, that's completely insane. I couldn't finish one bottle in a month if I tried, and you're standing here telling me you demolished ten in twenty-four hours? Are you... okay? Should I be concerned? Is this a cry for help?"

She didn't even flinch, her expression remaining placid as a lake at dawn. "If I were you, I'd spend less energy complaining and more energy focusing on the task at hand."

I threw my hands up in surrender. "Fine, but can I at least have a brownie before I go? You know, fuel for the journey and all that?"

She fixed me with a look that could freeze lava. "If there's no tea, there are no brownies."

I stared at her, desperately searching for any hint that she was joking. But her face remained stone-cold serious, utterly devoid of humor. Not even a flicker of amusement danced in her eyes. This was the same woman who once chased a rat through the house with her bare hands, fearless and unstoppable. This was not someone whose bluffs I wanted to call.

Yeah. I was absolutely not about to test the boundaries of her patience today.

"Alright, alright, I'm going!" I muttered, snatching my shoes from by the door like a soldier grabbing weapons before heading into battle. Better to brave whatever dangers lurked in the streets than face whatever storm was brewing in my mother's tea-deprived psyche.

"Thank you, honey! Take care! I love you!" she called out sweetly as I pulled open the front door, her voice suddenly dripping with maternal warmth.

I didn't respond, couldn't respond. The woman's emotional range was absolutely terrifying—capable of switching from villain origin story to loving mother in approximately 0.5 seconds. It was like living with a human mood ring.

I hopped on my bike and started pedaling down the driveway, the familiar creak of the chain providing a rhythmic soundtrack to my journey. Luckily, my aunt's store wasn't too far away—just a few blocks through the neighborhood I'd known my entire life.