Chapter Text
The jingle of keys fill the room. “Bye sweetie, I’m off to work!” Her mom yells, holding the door open. She adjusts the bag in her hand, turning her head to face towards her daughter, Veena.
Veena, naturally, does not care for a lot of stuff–at least, that’s what she likes to say. She gets a bit aggressive at times, but that’s probably the most emotion you could get out of her. That’s the title she has in school, ‘the girl with no emotions’. Obviously, it’s a caricature. Veena does have feelings, she just struggles to express them. The easiest she’s found to show are anger and the feelings of not caring– if that has a proper word to describe it, she doesn’t know it. She wouldn’t say she likes the nickname, but she doesn’t exactly hate it either. She likes to think she embraces it, but there's just something off with it. She doesn’t care much for it, as expected, which only supports the name and it’s meaning.
“Yes, yes, I know mum.” She says in a knowing tone, rolling her eyes to the side and crossing her arms. Her mind reeks of the words “You’ve told me the same sentence for the past 4 years, you can leave already.” Her mother points at her, “Don’t give me an attitude.” She says sternly. “You know what to do, leftovers are in the fridge.” And then she’s gone like that. The door closes, not even a hug or a kiss as she leaves the house. Veena scoffs, shoving down the feeling of want deep down inside her brain. It's not like she needs a form of love from her mother anyways, she's dealt with it for the past 16 years, so why would she need one now?
She doesn't bother to make breakfast, grabbing a half-eaten bag of some off-brand spicy chips instead. She sits down on the couch, going to YouTube and watches the first video she sees.
Before Veena decides to make lunch (which just consists of heated up pizza from last night), she hears a knock at the front door. It must be the mail, she assumes, which isn't unusual. What is unusual is that she hasn't ordered anything, and probably neither has her mom.
Veena guesses it's the unlikely possibility her mom ordered something, it's weird, since her mom doesn't know shit when it comes to technology. “Maybe she finally figured out how to work a phone.” She scoffed at the thought, her mom isn't even that old… Not that-old-to-not-know-how-to-work-a-phone old. She'll get the package in a second, she thinks as she grabs the leftover pizza from the fridge, putting the cold food on a plate, and then, into the microwave.
A few seconds later, she hears another knock on the door, and this time, the doorbell goes off. Her heartbeat speeds up a bit, this hasn't happened before. The mail being delivered at her door with a knock or two? She can recall each incident. But her door being knocked on twice, and the doorbell being rung? That's new. And while she's home alone, too.
“Please don't let me make Home Alone real. I don't have time for that..” Veena mumbles to herself, bringing a hand up to her forehead, sort of like a facepalm.
She walks towards the door, forgetting about her food in the microwave. She opens the door.
…It's not a kidnapper, nor is it the mailman.
It's a girl.
They have light brown hair--so light it's kind of hard to tell whether the girl is blonde or brunette–that ends just below the shoulder. Her bangs, however, fade from a blue to green. Her side hairs hug her jawline, coming a bit onto her cheeks. Big, deep black sunglasses sit on top of her head. She also has vitiligo, much like Veena. A tan band-aid hugs the curve of her nose, her gold star necklace shining in the sunlight. A black jacket slips off at her shoulders, revealing the top of her white shirt. Her black shorts–god this girl really loves black–are… well, short. Not so short to the point she’s flashing everyone, but they don’t reach her mid-thigh either. She wears mismatched socks, one green and white stripes, the other blue and white stripes, and that one reaches her knee. On the contrary, the green ones end at her mid-thigh. She wears black and white converse too.
The stranger gives Veena a smile. “Hello! Are you, uh.. Holly Amador? I have your package, it was wrongly delivered.”
“Wait, I thought the mail person was a man ?”