Act 3, Scene 2
The Unforgettable Past
The door creaked open, and in walked Sam—Andrew's oldest friend and most persistent headache.
"Hey," Sam said with a smug grin, "so… when exactly were you planning to tell me you're hiding a kid in your house, huh? Do you even consider me your friend? I've told you everything, and look at you—sitting here like a villain with secrets."
Andrew, lounging in his chair, eyes closed, let out a soft sigh. Then, with a cold sharpness slicing through the silence, he opened his eyes and replied,
"Shut up. And she's not a kid. She's just… four years younger than me."
Silence followed—tense and thick.
Sam blinked. "How did you even expect to keep this hidden from me?"
Andrew looked away. "How did you find out?"
Sam snorted. "Come on. That's a dumb question. I have eyes everywhere—servants, drivers, gatekeepers. My sources whisper more than yours do, clearly."
He stepped closer, crossing his arms.
"So now that I'm here, spill. Who is she? Why did you bring her here? Don't tell me—do you like her?"
He tilted his head up dramatically like a philosopher mid-thought, then suddenly dropped it, eyebrows raised. "Wait—actually, what am I saying? You've never mentioned any girl before. Not once in all these years. And now suddenly—bam—a girl shows up and you're housing her like she's yours?"
Andrew's gaze darkened.
"She's not just any girl."
The way he said it froze the room.
"You'll never understand what place she holds in my heart," he said, his voice low, edged with something unspoken. "I met her when I was eighteen. I'd just transferred to a new school… because of my father's business."
His eyes weren't quite in the room anymore. They stared past Sam, past the walls, into a memory carved deep.
"I only knew her for one month. Just one month. But that month… she ruined every other girl for me."
His voice trailed off, unreadable—like a letter never sent, like a name never spoken aloud.
And for the first time in a long while, Sam didn't know what to say.
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🕯️ End of Scene 2 🕯️