The morning sun filtered through the curtains as the warm notes of the tanpura hummed in the background. Alicia sat cross-legged on the floor, trying her best to match the pitch of her music teacher.
"Sa... Re... Ga... Ma..." the teacher intoned with practiced grace.
"Sa... Re... Ga... Ma..." Alicia repeated, her voice cracking slightly.
Her mother, sitting with arms crossed on the sofa, sighed in frustration. "Alicia, please! Sit straight. Use your diaphragm, not your throat."
Alicia mumbled under her breath, just loud enough to be heard, "Am I supposed to sing with my stomach or my mouth?"
The teacher chuckled awkwardly, trying to keep the atmosphere light. "She's doing fine, madam. The voice just needs a little warming up."
Her mother wasn't convinced. "Fine? You know how competitive things are in this city. Every girl wants the same man. The singing has to be perfect. One note — that's all it takes for him to fall in love. If she doesn't get that right, who's going to marry her?"
Alicia rolled her eyes but stayed quiet.
Just then, the teacher pushed his voice a bit too high while demonstrating a pitch. "Aaaaaa—"
Snap.
The string of the teacher's tanpura gave way.
His face reddened slightly. "Oh no, not again."
Her mother stood up immediately. "This is the second time! Next time, bring your own. Don't break ours."
The teacher bowed slightly in apology. "Yes, of course. I'll get a new one."
Alicia couldn't help but smile — not at the broken tanpura, but at the brief pause it brought to the relentless expectations. She stood up, politely excused herself, and walked to her room.
The door clicked shut behind her, and the change of atmosphere was immediate. No more music, no more critical eyes. Alicia let out a small sigh and glanced at herself in the mirror. Still in her simple tank top and shorts, she brushed her hair back and studied her reflection. There was a flicker of mischief in her eyes as she posed with a mock-model stance.
"You know what," she whispered to herself, "you're going to drive someone crazy one day. Maybe not with your singing... but definitely with everything else."
She smirked, ran a hand through her hair, and walked toward the wardrobe — ready to face the day.
Meanwhile, across town, Emily was having breakfast with her daughter. As she sipped her coffee, her eyes wandered to her daughter's drawing lying on the table.
"Wow, baby! That's beautiful," Emily said, pointing to the drawing. "Is this mamma, dada, Olivia, and Isla?"
Her daughter shook her head and said, "No, that's Rosa aunty."
Emily paused, surprised. "Rosa aunty?"
"Yes," her daughter replied. "Dada's friend."
Emily raised an eyebrow. "She was here for breakfast today?"
Her daughter nodded. "Yes. She made really good pasta today."
Emily, now visibly annoyed, forced a smile. "Really, baby? Since when do you like pasta? When you were a baby, I gave it to you and you spat it all over me."
Her daughter shrugged. "But I love it now."
There was a moment of silence. Emily sat there, slightly stiff, the jealousy evident on her face.
The ringing of the doorbell broke the tension. Tana... tana...
Her ex-husband walked in cheerfully. "What's up?" he said. "Is Olivia ready?"
"She's almost ready," Emily replied, then added with curiosity, "So... was she here for breakfast?"
"Who?" he asked.
"Rosa or something," she said.
Her ex-husband gave a small smile. "Rosa."
Emily looked at him, a bit too directly. "You spent the night or what?"
Her ex-husband repeated Emily's question with a sarcastic tone, "Umm... you spent the night or what?"
Then he added quickly, "No. She didn't. She just came for breakfast and to meet Olivia, that's all."
Emily crossed her arms and replied, "I'd really appreciate it if you'd check with me before introducing Olivia to new people. She's still adjusting to our divorce, and new faces might just confuse her."
Her ex-husband raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised. "She's still adjusting to our divorce?"
"Yeah," Emily said firmly.
He scoffed lightly. "That's... kind of crazy, huh? I mean, we separated when she was six months old. The divorce came when she was around one. If anything, if we had stayed together now, that would need adjusting. So I think maybe you can chill on that a bit."
Emily looked down, not responding right away.
"And since we're on the topic," he continued, "I wanted to tell you — Rosa and I are getting pretty serious now."
Emily looked up and quietly said, "Okay..." Her voice was soft, and the sadness showed on her face.
At that moment, Olivia ran into the room, calling out, "Dadda!" and hugged him tight.
"Hey, are we ready to go to school?" he asked her, crouching to her level.
"Yaa!" Olivia said with a big grin. She turned to her mom, waving. "Bye, Mamma!"
Emily managed a smile. "Bye, baby."
Later that morning, Mia stood near the treadmill section at the gym, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. She called out, firm and clear:
"Excuse me, ma'am! Whenever you complete your workout, please wipe the machine. No one's here to make sweat babies with you!"
Jennifer — a known model and actress, dressed in tight designer activewear — kept walking, pretending not to hear.
Mia, now louder and sharper, repeated:
"EXCUSE. ME. MA'AM!"
This time, Jennifer turned around, eyes wide with surprise, and said apologetically:
"Me? Oh! I'm so, so sorry — I didn't realize..."
Mia didn't break her stare, arms still folded, waiting for her to grab the towel and clean up.
Mia took a closer look at the woman and suddenly realized who she was.
"Oh... you're Jennifer, right? I'm sorry, ma'am. I'll clean it for you. You can go," Mia said, backing off slightly, trying to be polite.
Jennifer shook her head.
"No, it's okay. I'll do it."
"No, please, I insist," Mia replied.
"Really, I'll take care of it," Jennifer repeated.
The two women now both had their hands on the same wipe towel, gently tugging back and forth — a strange little standoff.
"I said I'll do it," Mia insisted, gripping the towel tighter.
Suddenly, Jennifer let go.
"Ah!" Mia yelped as she lost balance and fell backward onto the gym mat, still holding the towel.
"Oof!" she added, her pride more bruised than anything.
Jennifer rushed toward her, concerned.
"I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"
Mia sat up quickly, brushing her hair out of her face.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Totally fine."
Jennifer raised an eyebrow.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. I'm good," Mia said again, trying to sound convincing.
Jennifer held out her hand slightly.
"Can I have my towel?"
Mia blinked, then handed it over.
"Oh... yeah. Here you go."
"Thanks," Jennifer smiled politely, then turned and walked out of the gym, leaving Mia half-laughing at the ridiculous moment.