Finding a way back to her!

Freen Sarocha rarely invited people into her life—let alone her home. But when Becky Armstrong decided she wanted to visit, there was no stopping her. Becky’s determination was relentless, her reasoning utterly insistent: “You visited my parents, so now it’s my turn to meet yours. Fair is fair, Freen!”

Freen had resisted for a full week, offering every logical counterargument she could muster. But Becky was immune to logic. Eventually, Freen sighed in resignation. If there was one thing she’d learned from Becky, it was that arguing against her persistence was a losing battle.

The day finally arrived, and Becky found herself standing on the porch of Freen’s house, clutching a bag of snacks she’d brought as a “peace offering.” She expected the house to be as quiet and orderly as Freen herself, and she wasn’t wrong. The home was neat, clean, and unusually quiet—not a single sound apart from the faint ticking of a clock.

Freen opened the door reluctantly, her expression unreadable. “You’re early.”

“Always,” Becky said, stepping inside with her usual bounce. “And by the way, this house is so you.”

Freen frowned faintly. “It’s not me. It’s my mother’s aesthetic.”

Becky grinned. “Uh-huh. Sure. Let me guess—minimalist, logical, and symmetrical?”

Freen didn’t respond, instead gesturing for Becky to remove her shoes before leading her into the living room. Becky followed, her eyes scanning every detail. The furniture was elegant yet simple, the walls adorned with tasteful artwork. Freen’s mother entered the room, smiling warmly.

“Hello,” she said, her tone welcoming but reserved. “You must be Becky. Freen’s mentioned you.”

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Becky replied, offering the bag of snacks. “These are for you—thought I’d bring something since I’m invading your space.”

Freen’s mother laughed lightly, accepting the bag. “That’s very kind of you. Freen, why didn’t you tell me Becky was so thoughtful?”

“She’s... persistent,” Freen said, adjusting her glasses. “Not thoughtful.”

Becky chuckled, nudging Freen playfully. “Oh, come on, Freen. Admit it—you love having me around.”

“Debatable,” Freen muttered, though her lips twitched into a faint smile.

Becky quickly struck up a conversation with Freen’s mom, her natural charisma putting her at ease. They talked about everything—Becky’s state competition, Freen’s tutoring skills, and even Becky’s obsession with jasmine tea. Freen stood quietly to the side, her gaze flickering between them.

But the moment was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. Freen stiffened immediately, her posture rigid as her father entered the room. His presence was imposing, his face unreadable as he glanced between Becky and Freen.

“Freen,” he said, his voice low and curt. “Who’s this?”

“She’s... a classmate,” Freen replied, her tone clipped.

Becky’s grin faltered slightly as she noticed the sudden shift in Freen’s demeanor. The warmth she’d seen minutes ago had vanished, replaced by a guarded stiffness. Freen’s father nodded briefly before turning his attention to Freen’s mother, discussing something Becky couldn’t hear.

Before Becky could say anything, Freen abruptly turned and left the room, her movements stiff and hurried. Becky watched her retreat, her brows furrowing in concern.

Freen’s mother sighed, shaking her head. “I’m sorry about that. She gets like this when her father is around. We don’t know why—she won’t talk about it.”

Becky frowned, the wheels in her head turning. “Can I check on her?”

Freen’s mother hesitated, then nodded. “If she lets you in.”

Becky found Freen’s room upstairs, the door firmly shut. She knocked gently but received no response. “Freen?” she called softly.

Still nothing.

Deciding to risk it, Becky opened the door slowly. Freen sat on the floor, her back against the bed, her knees drawn to her chest. Her gaze was fixed on a spot on the carpet, her expression blank.

“Hey,” Becky said gently, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. “Your mom’s worried about you.”

Freen didn’t respond, her hands resting limply on her knees. Becky sat beside her, careful to keep a respectful distance. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Freen blinked, her voice quiet. “It feels like I have.”

Becky tilted her head, studying her carefully. “You want to talk about it?”

Freen shook her head, her movements stiff. “No.”

“Okay, fair,” Becky said, leaning back on her hands. “But, uh, you realize you have me trapped in here now, right? So if you want me to leave, you better speak up.”

Freen’s lips twitched faintly, though she didn’t say anything. Becky took it as a win.

“I mean,” Becky continued dramatically, “this carpet’s nice and all, but I wouldn’t say it’s the most comfortable place to hang out. You must have better spots than this.”

Freen finally glanced at her, her expression softening just slightly. “You’re impossible.”

“Thanks,” Becky replied brightly. “I try.”

For a moment, the room was silent, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Becky let Freen sit quietly, not pushing her to talk, not demanding explanations. Instead, she picked up a stray book from Freen’s desk and flipped through it casually.

“So,” Becky said after a while, “what’s the probability you’ll come downstairs for tea and let me teach you how to prank your dad?”

Freen blinked, clearly startled by the suggestion. “Prank... him?”

“Yeah,” Becky said, grinning. “You know, something harmless but hilarious. Like, we could hide all his shoes and replace them with bunny slippers. Or stick googly eyes on his work files.”

Freen stared at her, torn between disbelief and amusement. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But I’m funny,” Becky countered, giving her an exaggerated wink. “And admit it—you’re tempted.”

Freen’s lips quirked into a small smile, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Tempted, but not convinced.”

“Close enough,” Becky said, shrugging. “Come on, Freen. Life’s too short not to have a little fun.”

Freen shook her head but finally stood, brushing herself off. “Fine. But no googly eyes.”

“Deal,” Becky replied, offering her a hand.

Freen hesitated for a moment before taking it, her grip firm yet cautious. And as Becky led her back downstairs, she couldn’t help but feel a spark of pride. She’d managed to make Freen smile—something that felt more valuable than any competition trophy.