Chapter Text
“I don’t even like Batman,” she thinks, catching her reflection in the mall’s mirrored storefront before wincing a little. Black t-shirt with a bright yellow logo, denim shorts, sling bag cutting across her chest; she looks like she’s trying to cosplay her teenage years. Fair enough, she supposes. She feels sixteen again; adrift and unsteady, waiting for someone else to tell her what to do next. HR folded this into a letter and called it “restructuring” just two days ago.
It was a marketing job. Social media strategy for a mid-tier skincare label that wanted to sound cute but clinical. She had spent three years there, building their follower base from scratch with every caption, every campaign, every hashtag about pore-tightening toners to double-encapsulation retinol. She studied platform shifts like her life depended on it. Ran late-night A/B tests. Tracked engagement in real time like it was the stock market. It wasn’t glamorous, but it mattered to her.
They took the voice she gave them and stripped her name from the logins. At meetings, her boss would brag about engagement spikes pulled from reports she wrote. She’d forget her own deadlines, and Mingyan would quietly meet them for her, week after week. She was the one who stayed late, who ate lunch at her desk, who could tell you which product launch blew up last month. Then came Monday. A ten-minute meeting. Budget cuts. Restructuring. “Nothing personal,” they said. She nodded, packed her things, and walked out so quietly you’d think she was never there.
It felt terribly personal.
So here she is. Twenty-five, unemployed, and tagging along with her older brother like a lost child. He offered to take her out, hoping to cheer her up with dinner, shopping, whatever she wanted. He called it “sibling therapy,” on him. She does not argue. Pretending to feel normal, she figures, might eventually trick her brain into believing it.
Her brother walks slightly ahead, long legs moving with purpose. He has always been efficient and dependable. He confirms bookings twice and sends her reminders, makes lists for errands, checks the weather before she even decides what to wear and tells her to bring an umbrella, “just in case.” He does not say much, but he always shows up in exactly the way she needs.
She trails behind, eyes locked on her phone screen. Scrolling. Clicking. Anything to keep her head busy so it won’t turn on her. Her stomach gives a quiet grumble just as she comes across a post from a former colleague: “So grateful for new opportunities.” Of course she survived the cuts. That girl always greets their boss with that polished, professional kind of smile that never reaches her eyes. The kind that looks practiced in a mirror. She can charm a room without revealing anything real. Maybe that’s why they kept her. People like that don’t cause trouble. They don’t ask questions. They just smile, nod, and survive.
“Do you want to check out that store?” her brother asks over his shoulder. His voice is warm, patient. He’s really trying. “Mm,” she mumbles as they keep walking. The mall is cool and crowded, voices bouncing off tiled floors and glass railings. Everyone seems to have somewhere to go, something to do. Except her. They pass a small pop-up stall selling fried squid. The garlic oil hits her nose and her stomach growls louder. She finally looks up.
Her brother is gone. She blinks. He was just there.
She turns in a slow circle, frowning. Has she zoned out that badly? She’s usually the one who gets lost, not him. She walks forward a little, scanning the crowd. Thirty seconds pass before she spots him again a few shops down. Relief hits her in a wave so strong she almost relaxes.
But he’s not alone. He’s walking with someone. No, he’s dragging someone.
And that someone is… her?
Black Batman shirt. Denim shorts. Sling bag. The same uneven walk she had earlier. But this one is taller, with shorter hair and longer sleeves.
She stares. Her brother has his hand gently hooked through the stranger’s sleeve, tugging like he’s guiding a toddler. The stranger glances down at the hold, then up at her brother. He doesn’t say anything, just follows, a slight curl on his lips like he’s trying not to laugh.
All she can do is stare.
To be fair to her brother, this isn’t out of character. He’s always been physically affectionate in practical ways. A hand on her shoulder when she looks tired. A tug on her sleeve when they cross streets. Once, when she was thirteen and nearly walked into traffic, he grabbed her ponytail like a leash and yanked her back. She cried. He bought her bubble tea. They called it even.
They reach the escalator. Her brother steps on, still holding the sleeve. She raises her voice. “Gē!”
His head whips around instantly. His eyes go wide when he sees her, the real her, walking toward him. The sleeve in his hand twitches. Slowly, he turns to his left, looks at the stranger, then back at her, and then at the stranger again. The realization hits him like he has walked into traffic himself. He lets go so fast it’s like the guy’s arm burns him. “Oh my god,” he blurts. “I—oh my god—I thought—” The stranger lets out a quiet chuckle. “No worries,” he says, stepping onto the escalator behind him like this sort of thing happens every day. Her brother is mortified. His face flushes bright red as he turns and rushes toward her.
The escalator carries them upward. He glances back at her, hunched over in shame. She’s still frozen in place, lips twitching, because the whole thing is so stupid she doesn’t know whether to laugh or die on the spot.
He mouths, *Why didn’t you say something earlier?*
She shrugs. Then grins.