Out of a hundred thousand people living in the same city as you, what are the chances of meeting someone at the mall, on a Sunday mid-afternoon?

I knew that it was him the moment I turned my head around. After all these years, with my mind still clouded with anger, and no matter how much I wanted to forget him, a part of me very much knows that I still recognize him.

The way he was standing there with his hand in the pocket of his jeans. The way he bends forward to get a better look at things as he examines them. The way he tilts his head from side to side as he weighs the pros and cons, whether or not to buy the product, and how his forehead wrinkles as he does so. I wanted to forget all of the little details I knew about him, but I couldn't seem to.

I could tell the moment my parents sat us down for a discussion that they wanted to put an end to things. I've witnessed my mom and father fight several times, and I knew they had a way to resolve things quickly as they seem to be in a good mood the next day, acting as if nothing had happened the night before they fought.

"Your dad and I..." Mom hesitates for a second as she gave a look at Christopher who didn't return her gaze. I watch him stare at his hands, silent.

Mom sighed. I gave it meaning in the back of my mind. Maybe when she looked at him, she thought that if he gave her one last look—a look that could stop her from potentially ending a marriage, she would. But he didn't.

Mom looks at me and Jonathan, "We're going to file a separation."

She told us that, and I knew she wasn't going to give it all up, so I think I know a lot about people, especially my family. She had the option to file for divorce, but she chose not to do so since I was aware of her persistent love for him and because I had no control over it.

She may have also not meant to prove that my grandma was right all along when she said that my father would eventually leave her—because he did. But since I knew Father, he always came back. He would leave as well as return. Repetitively, a never-ending cycle of watching my mom cry as he did what he wanted to.

We're always defeated by someone (or something). Her love for Christopher was defeated over wanting to leave. She loved him, and my love for mom defeated me over her love for Christopher. Even if people don't tell you, you know that no matter who or what you are to a person, there will always be someone (or something) bigger and better than you. Nothing surpasses a person's endurance, no matter how much you give or how hard you strive.

"Are you even listening?" Liam waves his hand on my face, snapping me out of my thoughts about the encounter I had with Christopher yesterday.

"What were you saying, again?" I ask, squinting his eyes at me.

He rolls his eyes and says, "Party. Friday night, next week."

"Oh," I say. I shake my head and continue, "I can't. My little bro has a soccer game. Big bro duties. I have to watch and support."

Liam cringes at me as Fiona laughs at the look on Liam's face.

"You two can come and watch...?" I said, unsure.

He pats my back, "No, thank you. You're the big bro. I don't want to be the one taking the credit and replace you as Jonathan's big and better version of a brother."

I scoffed at his remark, punching him on his shoulder playfully.

I cast my gaze over Lauren's seat, seeing her tilt her head as she smiles and laughs at what her friend was telling her. I grin when I see her smiling and laughing like that as if it's the first time I've seen her in that state.

"What are you—" I hear Fiona speak.

"You like her, don't you?" Liam asks as I shake my head to answer his question. "Liar."

I shake my head, smiling as I pick on my food, "I don't really know her well," I told him as he laughs at me.

"Then, get to know her well," He says, "Are you an introvert or something?"

"No," I said. "I mean, she's not really my type."

Fiona scoffs and says in a low voice, "Better save yourself from trouble."

I recall watching the news early in the morning—the day before leaving San Diego, California, and returning to Carlsbad. Lauren was being chased by the reporters when she left the house with two other women.

They were all dressed in black and rushing towards a car waiting for them outside their house, as they both attempt to hide Lauren's face for the whole nation to see.

On the day her parents were murdered, printed newspapers were sent to every home in our neighborhood.

I vaguely recall strangers in supermarkets talking about her and how sorry they felt about what had happened to her—how difficult it must have been for her to move forward and try to be okay, even though the reporters were so persistent in trying to capture her, to listen to her side of the story regarding what truly happened that particular night to her parents.

"I heard someone said she was admitted to a psychiatric ward," Fiona says, making me furrow my eyebrows at her comment. "I also heard two girls talking about her in the girls' toilet. They said that she escaped that place."

Fiona snickers while telling us that, making me a bit disappointed with her.

"And you believe in those rumors?" I ask my voice low with a hint of irritation.

She looks at me and shrugs, "Maybe," she says as I watch her twist her head back to get a look at Lauren, "Look at her, though. She doesn't look as if she's stable. It's obvious she's trying too hard but completely fails at it."

I push myself off from my seat, making a loud squeaky noise that moved the table along slightly. "What?" Fiona chuckles nervously as I glance down at her.

"I just can't believe I'd hear that coming from you," I said, picking up my things and stuffing them back inside my bad, "You, of all people, who proudly advocate about mental health in this school."

I shake my head, "I hope you heard how pathetic you sounded when you said those things about her," I swing my bag on my back.

I look at Liam as he cringes at the two of us, then proceeds to ignore my gaze.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to be like that," Fiona tries to explain, smiling nervously at me.

"I think you know too well what comes out of your mouth because you wouldn't even be saying it if you weren't aware of it," I told her, "But I don't think I should be the one whom you are supposed to apologize to. I'm not the person you were referring to as "trying too hard" anyway."

The smile on Fiona's face faded after I said that as she lowers her head, now avoiding my gaze when I air-quoted what she told us earlier.

My phone begins to vibrate inside my bag and when I picked it up, I read the message from my aunt, who wishes to see and speak with me.

"I'll update you later," I look at Liam as he nods his head at me. As I walked away from the cafeteria door, I notice Lauren looking at me with a small smile on her face. Though, I wasn't aware that most of the students who surrounded our table in the cafeteria were listening to our conversation about Lauren before I even left.