It had been two months since the chaos breakfast collab.

  Two months since my following tripled overnight.

  Two months since I last ate anything that didn’t come in a cup, can, or emergency snack bag shaped like a cat.

  And today, I was being forcibly escorted through a grocery store by Krei, my part-time sugar provider.

  “I feel like a hostage,” I muttered, trailing behind him as he placed vegetables into the cart with surgical precision.

  “You are. You’ve been convicted of fridge neglect.”

  “My fridge has character,” I said. “Minimalist. Experimental. Inspired by depression.”

  “You had six pudding cups, three energy drinks, and one unwrapped slice of cheese just sitting there like a forgotten thought.”

  “It was a vibe.”

  Krei didn’t flinch as he added fresh salmon to the cart. “You need protein. And vitamins. Possibly a spiritual reset.”

  The cart filled fast. Spinach. Chicken. Tofu. Eggs. Stuff that had color and nutrients and didn’t come with a QR code for microwave instructions.

  I was preparing a dramatic speech about how ramen is a complete food group when I heard it:

  “Aoi?”

  I froze.

  That name only ever hits like that when it’s from someone you didn’t want to see in public. In daylight. While holding a basket full of pity kale.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  I turned.

  There she was. Florence Ito. College friend. Group project goddess. The kind of person who color-coded her planner and probably knew what a 401(k) was.

  Her oversized cardigan was beige and beautiful. Her hair was perfect. Her face glowed with the energy of someone who had never once cried into instant noodles at 3 a.m.

  “Oh my god, it is you!” she said, smiling so brightly I had to resist the urge to hide behind Krei. “Wow, it’s been forever!”

  “Yeah,” I said, laughing weakly. “It… really has.”

  Florence tilted her head. “What are you up to now? You were always the creative one. Are you still working in–”

  “Sort of,” I said, fast. “Freelancing. Mostly. You know how it is.”

  That sounded harmless. Vague. Respectable in a ‘please don’t ask follow-up questions’ kind of way.

  “Oh, that’s great,” she said, not pushing. “Actually, this is random, but Neil and I just got engaged. Finally!” She showed me her ring, and I swear it sparkled with financial stability.

  “Wow. That’s amazing.” I said it like a reflex. Like my soul had stepped out to buy cigarettes and left my body on autopilot.

  “We’re throwing a little engagement party this weekend. Just a dinner, casual. Some of the old college group will be there! You should come. I’ll DM you the details?”

  “Oh… sure,” I said, trying not to die. “Sounds fun.”

  Florence gave me one last smile, then floated away with a cart full of rice crackers, sparkling water, and emotional competence.

  I stared at the seaweed shelf for a full thirty seconds.

  Krei looked over from the next aisle, holding tofu like it was a weapon. “Friend of yours?”

  “Florence Ito,” I muttered. “College. Group projects. Honor society. Binder energy.”

  He raised a brow. “She seemed nice.”

  “She invited me to her engagement dinner.”

  He blinked. “Did you say yes?”

  “I said a noise that sounded like yes. It could’ve also been the sound of my soul leaving my body.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  I picked up a pack of miso flakes and whispered, “I want to disappear into the bean sprout section.”

  At checkout, Krei did the rich-person thing and tapped his phone without even glancing at the total. I tried to pretend I wasn’t internally spiraling while holding a lemon and a single box of discounted mochi.

  ~

  Back home, my fridge looked like it belonged to a functioning adult. For about ten seconds, I felt good.

  Then I remembered the invitation. The ring. The hair. The fact that Florence wore real shoes in public and I was in mismatched socks that said “feed me drama.”

  I stared into the fridge.

  I whispered, “What am I even doing?”

  The vegetables didn’t answer.

  Cowards.