I want to mention this before we get further into the book. I once read a tweet that changed my perspective on family dynamics in communities of colour:

White supremacy will steal so much love from you.

And by that, they meant that if you look at your immigrant parents through a Keeping Up With the Joneses way, demanding perfect grades, judging your appearance and restricting you from going places, you will get it into your head that they somehow don't love you as much or in the 'correct' (read: Western, liberal) way.

In an earlier chapter, Krista mentions that she hated her mother's nagging until she was sick on her own for the first time, and realised that her nagging = profound care. Throughout the book, I'm trying to walk the line between resentment (which Krista's mother does not deserve) and dissatisfaction (which happens when two different ideologies clash).

Aimee x

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to please.

I knew Mom only made her judgments and gave advice from a place of concern for my well-being, but I could only ever take about ten minutes of it before it began to grate on my nerves. I was twenty-one, I didn't need to be told how to dress myself.

The family WeChat group consisted of me, my older sister—Olly—my two older brothers—Kevin and Tommy—and my parents. Ever since we had all moved away from home to attend university, work or travel, except for Kevin, my parents mandated regular updates on our lives.

I had sent the group chat a picture of Riley, Viv and me at an event we had attended on Saturday evening. It was the monthly quiz night held at the Foxhole, Halston's student bar, hosted by the Women in STEM Association. Viv was the treasurer of WISA, and she mandated our attendance at as many of their events as possible.

In the picture, I was wearing a light yellow dress with spaghetti straps. The bar had been air-conditioned to a perfect temperature, we had each ordered a glass of wine for the night, and we'd even placed second in the quiz. I hadn't thought much of the photo, but Mom thought I'd underdressed and would catch a cold.

Which was typical of her.

"你需要穿多一點衣服," she iterated once again. "It's getting colder. No more dresses."

My regularly scheduled phone call with her had been productive in that I got to catch up with her about Mao Mao, check up on Dad's health—of which he'd never, ever inform me himself—and other tidbits about what Olly, Kev and Tommy were up to, that I usually discovered first-hand from them anyways, through text.

But now Mom was getting into the draining part where she fretted over every single factor in my life, and I could only sigh, nod and reassure her.

"Mm. 我會," I said. "I have to go study now. I love you."

"Okay," She rattled off more instructions, "You should close your windows at night to keep yourself warm. But remember to open them during the day. 讓風進進出出."

"我會. Bye, Mom. Talk later."

With a relieved sigh, I got up from the wooden bench I was sitting on and threw my phone into my tote bag. I loved Mom, but damn, was she hard to please.

As I strolled towards the classroom which held my Biophysics tutorial, I heard a voice calling my name. "Krista!"

I turned to see a girl approaching me on the footpath, her bleach blonde curls falling down her back. Her face was immediately familiar because I saw it every week.

"Hey, Joelle," I greeted her as she fell into step with me. "How are you doing?"

Joelle was a girl in my Biophysics tutorial. We had a few mutual acquaintances, but we'd never really spoken to each other since we sat with different groups of people during the tutorial.

"Honestly, not too good," she admitted.

With her dark undereye circles and blanched skin, Joelle looked a bit of a nervous mess.

"I knew this deadline was coming up, but I got carried away focusing on my other assignments. I pulled an all-nighter trying to get the answers down, but only managed to get two of them. It probably was counterproductive to stay up so late."

Grant had made it clear to everyone that he wanted to review our work on the latest assignment before we submitted it. That meant coming to today's tutorial with a completed first draft of the lab report, which Joelle seemed to be lacking.

"But how are you going?"

"I have a first draft, at least. Do you want to walk super slow to class, and I can tell you my answers on the way?"

Joelle's eyes widened with surprise, bringing a spark of life back to her fatigued, dull irises. "Would you really? That would be amazing!"

I smiled, shrugging my shoulder nonchalantly. "No problem, love."

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"—and for the last question, I got thirteen-hundred kilojoules. That's only two significant figures, but I can show you my exact working out if Grant's not already there."

Joelle smiled at me, her fingers noting down my answers in her phone. "You're a lifesaver, Krista! Thanks so much."

As we rounded the threshold to the classroom, I saw that Grant was indeed already there. He was generally kind and understanding, but he wouldn't tolerate blatant copying right under his nose. I shot Joelle an apologetic smile as we parted ways. She understood, too, and made her way to her usual table with a worried frown.

Quen gave me a tired smile as I sat down next to him.

I asked, "How's your assignment going?"

Quen perused the papers held in his hand, his lips pursed in concentration. He eventually concluded, "I've got the bones of it written down. Most of the meat, too, if Grant accepts my messy working."

I pulled out my own workbook from my tote book, flicking through to where I had scribbled all around the data tables and drawn up my preliminary graphs. "I'm about at the same point. It's nice that he called for those who are ready to see him first."

I watched as Grant sat down at his desk, and the first of the students went to discuss their work. He wouldn't let anyone leave until they had been seen, but did let people work on their assignment right up until they had to show him. That meant those who were already prepared could leave class early while more time was afforded to those who needed it.

"Yeah. We are relatively well off, I think, because we're at least done. I spoke to three other people about the assignment and they're totally fucked," Quen told me.

"I did the same," I replied, thinking back to the conversation I'd had with Joelle not ten minutes ago. "Hearing that some people are behind you is such a comfort, sadistic as it might be."

"Or hearing that they haven't started yet," he chuckled.

"That is true," I agreed. I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear and asked, "Should we go one after the other, then? We could get our feedback early and then maybe go for that lunch you promised me?"

This morning, I had purposefully put more effort into my appearance even though I knew Quen did not care at all what I wore. After the first time he saw me in my influencer clothes, he never again paid much attention to my outfits. He was the same with me if I wore stilettos and latex or sweatpants and glasses.

But I wanted to switch it up today for myself. Putting effort into my appearance could feel immensely rewarding precisely because I didn't make it routine. I was still comfortable in wide-legged black jeans and a cream-coloured sweater, but I felt markedly prettier because I let my hair down from its usual practical topknot.

If Quen noticed, he didn't say a thing.

"Yeah, about that," he began hesitantly. He was rubbing the back of his neck. "Maybe we should raincheck it."

I felt my hopeful smile freeze on my face. I had not expected that. Disappointment bloomed in my stomach like a fungus, but I was nothing if not adaptable—and great at masking my emotions.

I gave Quen a reassuring smile, and asked lightheartedly, "Do you have badminton practise soon? Or band practise?"

"No, it's, um..." Quen dropped his head. His voice had become hushed and tremulous, and it seemed like he couldn't even meet my eyes anymore. "Raincheck is probably not the word. I think... we should cancel it."

"Oh."

That disappointment thickened.

It acidified and it gnawed at me until I felt a near palpable pain in my stomach.

I tried to breathe through it, but that introduced the sour taste into my mouth. I probably was silent for a beat too long, which meant that I might give away how much I had been looking forward to the lunch, which might then reveal my feelings and complicate our friendship. Plus, Quen would worry excessively.

With a sure, steady lilt to my voice, I said, "That's fine, Quen. Don't worry about it."

"It's because, well, I feel like it wouldn't be totally innocent," Quen tried to explain anyway. "And I don't— it's just—"

He didn't need to say it.

He didn't feel the same way about me as I did about him.

It was better that he didn't say it, actually, because then we could both pretend the prospect of more had never existed between us. Perhaps, to him, it never had. I interrupted before he could speak my rejection into reality. Better to have my disappointment exist only in my gut, rather than in the air and in Quen's memories.

"Chill out, dude," I chuckled airily. "I don't need your whole internal monologue. Just make sure you do feed yourself today, yeah? Elite athletes need their carbohydrates."

"Of course," Quen rolled his eyes and smiled. That smile chased away the foulness within me, just enough that I could pretend it didn't exist.

Operation Pride & Prejudice. Abort.

I turned my head to my notebook on the desk. Most of the questions I had figured out, so I concentrated on the two that were proving hard to complete. Grant had seen about four students by now, and I planned to be the next. Some minutes later, I realised Quen was neither working on his assignment or a coding project of his.

I glanced over to him, meeting his dark, hesitant eyes already trained on me.

"I forgot to say something," he murmured. "I got you this. As compensation."

With mounting curiosity, I watched as Quen lifted a shopping bag from the floor and pushed it towards me. I hadn't noticed it coming in because it had been resting by the table leg and mostly obscured by his backpack.

"Compensation?" I arched a suspicious eyebrow at the bag, not yet touching it. "You sound like a paralegal."

A faint blush appeared on Quen's cheeks. "Okay, compensation's not the word either. It's a thank you. For looking after me every time I get myself embarrassingly drunk. And for my friends, all at your expense. I thought you deserved something in return."

I gently opened the bag and reached in. My fingers brushed against something soft and fluffy. When I pulled it out and held it before me, my heart clenched with gratitude.

It was a Kylo Ren teddy bear. His black and silver helm looked way cuter on a face with chubby cheeks and a button nose — and it even had a stuffed, red, crossguard lightsaber accessory velcroed to its hand! I was so touched by Quen's gift. I had received enough jewellery and makeup and other typical feminine luxury items for a lifetime from a wide range of sponsors, but I was sorely lacking in fandom merchandise.

I hugged the teddy bear to my chest, burrowing my nose into its head. It smelt faintly of chocolate chip cookies, and I wondered if Quen had also scented it. "If this is what I get for a cancelled lunch, I never want to eat out again. He's adorable, Quen, I really appreciate this. Thank you."

When he saw that I loved it, his brow smoothened out and his smile ramped up several notches in brightness. "You're welcome, Krista."

"I shall name him Kylo Bear," I announced, holding Kylo Bear up to the light of the morning. "What do you think?"

Quen glanced at the teddy, and then fixed me with that calm, sweet, dazzling smile of his. The smile that used to light my insides up. The smile into which, from this day onwards, I would force myself to not read too much.

It was just a smile. He was just a friend.

He said, "Kylo Bear is perfect."