[170 Days Left to Live]
By the ti the first rays of sunlight broke through the blinds of their luxurious apartnt, the internet was already drowning in it.
Last night’s performance at the National Arena didn’t just make headlines—it shattered silence, rewrote old narratives, and put two nas back into the mouths of millions.
The coback of the once-unstoppable teens, Zephany and Kendrick, had spread like wildfire.
On social dia, tilines were flooded. Clips of a younger Zephany—her fingers dancing across piano keys with a grace far beyond her age—were stitched together with footage of her playing the violin, the guitar, even singing with eyes closed and soul wide open.
Her voice, raw and pure, echoed in every post’s comnt section.
"Where has she been all these years?"
"The musical prodigy is back!"
"This made cry—again."
And then there was Kendrick.
Not just the martial arts tournants he won with sweat dripping and knuckles bruised, but videos of his school achievents, debates where his calm voice silenced rooms, sports clips showing his precise form, determination in his eyes. One caption read: He was never just a fighter. He was the mind behind every win.
Together, they were trending since midnight. Zephany. Kendrick. The golden pair.
But inside their apartnt, the two stars of this virtual storm looked far from their glamorous profiles.
Zephany yawned as she trudged into the kitchen, her hair a wild ss tied into a loose ponytail that did little to ta it. She wore an oversized hoodie, the sleeves nearly swallowing her hands.
Dark circles hung under her eyes. Even after turning off her phone, she could feel it—people were talking about her. The thought alone had kept her from sleeping.
Kendrick followed a few seconds later. His hair stuck out in different directions, clearly uncombed. He had dark circles under his eyes and wore a plain white shirt and gray joggers. Both looked like they had been awake for days.
They let out a simultaneous sigh, unintentionally synchronized. Then, they turned to look at each other.
Their eyes t.
Zephany raised a brow.
Kendrick stared for a beat longer before muttering, "We look terrible."
Zephany let out a breathy laugh, and Kendrick soon chuckled along with her.
"I thought I looked bad until I saw you," she teased softly, her voice slightly hoarse.
Kendrick smirked. "Thanks for the confidence boost."
Zephany rubbed her eyes. "Morning."
"Yeah... morning," Kendrick replied, scratching the back of his neck. "Not exactly a good one, is it?"
She shook her head. "Not at all."
He moved toward the counter and grabbed a pan. "Want to cook?"
Zephany blinked a few tis, as if realizing how hungry she was only now. Then she gave a small, sheepish smile. "Please. I might accidentally set the kitchen on fire."
Kendrick gave a soft chuckle. "Noted. No experints from you today."
"I an... ever."
He began pulling out ingredients from the fridge with practiced ease. She watched him quietly, her eyes following his movents.
She always knew Kendrick was capable—disciplined and responsible—but seeing him like this, calmly preparing breakfast with half-shut eyes and an apron loosely tied around his waist, gave her a strange sense of warmth.
He cracked eggs into a bowl, chopped shallots and garlic, then reached for a container of leftover rice. Zephany’s nose twitched when the aroma of sambal hit the air as he stirred it into the pan. A few more ingredients followed—fried anchovies, slices of cucumber, and crispy peanuts tossed into a small bowl.
She blinked in awe. "You’re actually good at this..."
Kendrick gave a modest shrug. "Mom made sure I knew how to cook. Said it was basic survival."
"Well, thanks to that, I might survive today," she replied with a quiet laugh, taking a seat at the small table in the corner of the kitchen.
A few minutes later, Kendrick plated the dish—fried rice topped with a sunny-side-up egg, sambal on the side, with anchovies, peanuts, and sliced cucumber arranged neatly.
Zephany’s eyes widened. "That slls amazing."
He set a plate in front of her. "Eat while it’s hot."
She took her first bite and closed her eyes. "This... this is exactly what I needed."
Kendrick sat across from her, finally digging into his own plate. They ate quietly, the hum of the refrigerator the only sound in the room for a while.
Between bites, Kendrick asked, "So... what’s your plan for today?"
Zephany wiped her lips with a tissue and sighed. "Honestly? Stay here. I don’t think I can face the outside world yet. Reporters are probably swarming the area. I’ll wait for things to calm down."
He nodded, chewing thoughtfully. "Yeah. That’s smart. I was planning to visit my studio, but... it’s probably a bad idea. They’ll be waiting there too."
Zephany smiled slightly, appreciating the unspoken agreent of solidarity. "Guess it’s a day of being stuck together."
They finished breakfast, cleared the table together in silence, and made their way to the living room.
It felt... strange.
The two of them sitting on opposite ends of the couch, not speaking, just existing in the sa space. Usually, they were too busy to even bump into each other, only exchanging brief greetings at night before disappearing into their rooms.
Now, they were just... there.
Kendrick flipped through a magazine but wasn’t reading it. Zephany hugged a pillow to her chest, her knees tucked up, watching dust float through a sunbeam.
Their eyes t briefly.
Zephany looked away first.
Kendrick smirked. "Awkward, huh?"
She laughed nervously. "A bit."
Just then, Kendrick’s phone buzzed against the coffee table.
He glanced at the screen and froze.
Zephany noticed. "Who is it?"
"My mom," he muttered.
"Oh." Zephany straightened. "Does she... know?"
Kendrick stared at the screen for a mont longer, then sighed. "She probably does. There’s no way she missed last night."
The phone continued to ring. He exhaled, then finally swiped to answer.
"Hi, Mom."
There was a pause, then a sharp voice on the other end. "Kendrick Montclair, is this true? Did you get married and not tell your mother?"
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