Leila Chen

  Yesssssss…………..?

  is the other resident super hot or something?

  It’s worse than that.

  Leila Chen

  SUPER HOT AND TAKEN?

  It’s Perrin.

  Leila Chen

  What?

  Perrin Pavlou is my Sunlit roommate.

  Leila Chen

  you’re lying

  otherwise that would be SOO FUNNY!!!!!

  Well.

  What am I supposed to do? She’s about to come upstairs

  Leila Chen

  give her a kiss mwah

  Leila.

  The partition creeks as it’s moved to the side and now it’s too late to run into my room. We’re in the same space and she’s wheeling her luggage towards me. She stops, maybe to look around, but all I know is the heat from the sunroof beating down on my back and the intense, intense wait for Perrin to realise this mistake.

  Leila Chen

  I’m sorry,, that was a bad joke.

  but it can’t be a coincidence right?

  Leila please

  I don’t want to see her.

  I don’t know if I can see her.

  Leila Chen

  you’re going to be okay. Text me later xx

  I shut the app and the screen lands on my outline doc. At least the laptop knows how to look normal.

  She steps closer. Closer. Silence.

  All my senses are on high alert. She’s right behind me.

  I turn around and the first thing I notice are her widened eyes. Her lips part but nothing comes out.

  This is the worst possible situation.

  She’s just as pretty as the last time I saw her, perhaps even more. Where her hair used to go down to the middle of her back, it is now a silky shoulder-length bob. Her fashion sense ignores the summer heat with a light woollen pullover and denim shorts over leggings. Her slightly broad shoulders remind me of the hugs I used to chase from her.

  The memories flood in before I can get a word out. Of meeting Perrin some random morning during year seven and asking her what she liked to do. Of when she’d sit with me during recess and take her tablet out to show me a few photographers she liked. She’d tell me about Jane Burton. Her favourite collections: ‘The Fall’ and ‘Ivy’. Her very favourite was ‘When under ether, 2008’. I remember printing #3 from that collection, with the library’s printer, and keeping it in my planner to remind me of her.

  And like a dreadful pit in my stomach, I remember the day I fell in love with her. It was year nine and we spent more time together than I did with Leila. Perrin would show me the pictures she took on her phone and I’d write short stories about them.

  Sometimes, I’d write love stories. And I was usually pretty bad at them. But to be inspired by Perrin’s photographic vision, the way she was inspired by Burton’s ethereal collections, made it easier. I wrote about us.

  I realised that writing love stories about yourself and your close friend wasn’t exactly usual. I grew more shy about my stories that day.

  Maybe that was the day I realised was different from the day I actually fell, but realising still brought butterflies and clammy fingers and knowing I will never tell her.

  But then I did anyway, letting my heart come before my mind when the crush wouldn’t go away after a few years. And it ruined everything.

  I look down at the hardwood floors and rub my eyes, before risking another glance at her. Her, here, right now, in front of me.

  She’s smiling.

  “Inari!” she says once the shock has worn off and she lets go of her luggage to throw her hands in the air. “Is that really you?”

  Her smile stirs a whole lot of confusion within me, from sources past and present. She doesn’t seem the slightest bit put off. If anything, she’s bouncing on her feet.

  “Perrin,” I whisper. My throat has gone dry. I quickly grab the glass of water and gulp it down.

  She paces around the room, her words filling the space at the same time as her gaze takes everything else in. “Oh my gods, what are the chances of being chosen at the same time?” She peeks into the only open archway up here which leads into a large storage room with art supplies. “Which ones are the bedrooms?”

  I point to the door in front of my desk and the one on the left wall. “Those ones.” Disbelief holds me in place but I make sure to point at the door closest to a corner as well. “That’s this floor’s bathroom.” Treat her like you would if she were anyone else, my mind is rationalising, as a means to coax words out of me.

  She stands still for a moment and closes her eyes, pointing here and there. After she mumbles something about the pool and the kitchen, I realise she’s drawing a map of the place in her mind.

  “Hey, there’s a map here if you need it.” I slip the welcome package towards her. Ironically, today was the first time I’d put her phone number in my contacts since it was more trendy to text by social media or other messaging applications in high school.

  She comes close again as she traces a finger over the map. I do my best not to stare and move my chair away to give her space. I try and fail once again to get into writing so I can escape to that world instead of staying in this one.

  Embodying the characters becomes an impossible task. My vision of the fantastical world I’ve spent so long creating draws a blank. All I can think about is how this is all wrong.

  Perrin isn’t supposed to be here. Or maybe I’m not. Maybe neither of us are. We were never meant to see each other again.

  “Okay, got it now.” She straightens up and then heads towards the left door.

  “Oh—” I stand up, reaching out and then bringing my hand back to myself quickly. “My stuff is in there.”

  She pauses and then comes back to the map. “That’s the room looking out to the front, right? With the hedge garden?”

  “Yes. The other one has the pool view. I thought it might be nicer, more private if it’s not looking out to the street.” ‘But just because I’m trying to be nice!’, a tiny voice argues from within. An Inari from a younger time. ‘Not because it’s you. Not because I want something.’

  She keeps looking at the map and I have a feeling I’ve done something wrong, but I tell myself I won’t move my stuff, which I had taken all the time to sort comfortably in my lonesome, even if she asks for the room. We aren’t that close anymore.

  “Okay, that’s okay,” she finally says but it’s definitely not all okay just by the way she tucks her hair behind her ear.

  She grabs her bags and walks them to the other room, opening it up and taking it all in from the doorway.

  “Wow, are both of the rooms like this?” The cheer in her voice comes back and I work up the courage to stand by her, peeking in.

  There’s a queen size bed against one of the walls with decorative sheets and pillows—usually this bed would be split to make a room for two. Along the wall are framed stills from musicals, screen productions, and people receiving awards. In the corner of the room is a beautiful glass and wire sculpture that looks ever so fragile yet beautiful as light reflects off it and sprinkles rainbows across the carpeted floor. On the opposite side of the room is the door to the balcony. The balcony isn’t close enough to the pool to be used as a diving board—not that it should be anyway—but it still makes a nice viewing platform fit with two lounge chairs.

  “Mine’s really similar. Except there’s a mural where you have those pictures.” I gesture vaguely towards them. She nods and steps further in the room. Her luggage is left by the large dresser and then she makes a run for the bed, jumping into it.

  Of all the places to see her again, it had to be the most domestic it could get.

  “I’ll let you settle in,” I say, leaning forward to grab the door handle. I check my watch. We’re reaching midday quickly which gives me an excuse to use the kitchen. “I’m just going to be downstairs.”

  I shut the door before any answer comes to ear, swipe my phone off the table, and bolt downstairs. Being away from each other for so long makes it all the more harder to be in the same room.

  Chapter 3

  Perrin

  With a deep sigh of relief, the bed threatens to swallow me up. I spend some time staring at the pretty ceiling light, with its edges painted to look like the shiny moon. I wonder if Inari’s room has the sun instead.

  My cheeks are sore from smiling, but I didn’t really know what else to do. To question so many things at once—what is Inari doing here? Is this really happening? Do they still hate me?—is so overwhelming that it’s easier to act like things are normal.

  Should I be glad to see them? Or maybe pretend they don’t exist? Wait for them to make the call? What was I going to do when we had a week ahead of us?

  I turn my head to look out the balcony doors to a view of treetops. They’re uniform, all the same height, with each leaf perfectly trimmed like its sibling. The green is vibrant on this bright day.

  As much as I wanted that top-down garden view, I suppose I couldn’t complain about this one. From what I saw of the pool, it’d make for an interesting geometric photograph.

  Nothing like seeing an old friend could change how truly incredible this artistic holiday experience would be. Plus if making friends is what I intended, then make a friend I would. Surely it would be easier with someone I knew so much about already.

  I roll around and grab my camera off the bedside table. The current game plan: sort through more pictures and edit what remains. Settle in, as Inari put it, before attempting a proper catch-up with them later.

  Laying back, I lift the camera over my head and take care not to drop it like one would a phone onto their face. I had kept many of the photos from earlier but now that I look closer, there are little mistakes here and there. A blurry bird, an awkward composition, a photo with no inspiration.

  Each deletion is a strike upon my confidence. If I want to make good of this residency, I’d have to capture photos that inspire me just like Francesca Owen and Jane Burton. Even when I look at them for the second or third or fourth time, they shouldn’t get old.

  My greatest achievement would be curating a collection of Sunlit Creative photos that told the story of my utter love for this place and concept. I have hopes it will be worthy enough to display on one of these walls.

  I pop my camera to the side and crawl to the end of the bed to grab my laptop bag from my pile of belongings. Once it’s booted up, I open my photo editing app and plug my camera in.

  I’m only left with two photos by the time I’ve appraised all of them. Though it was only the first day so to be selective had to be good. On the laptop, I go at them with tweaks, making variations, trying different crops and compositions, experimenting with what screams Sunlit Creative Space to me.

  One moment I’m preparing a small handful of ‘Sunlit’ presets, the next I’m waking up with drool on my pillow, my hair stuck to my forehead, and two chimes from my phone.

  I roll onto my back and blink myself awake. It’s still light out but the sun is noticeably lower and since my window faces the west, light floods through the glass balcony doors. I think to myself how it could make a nice photo, but I can’t bring myself to grab my camera for it. My limbs are a bit heavy and I’ve tangled myself in the sheets. My laptop is on the other side of the bed, still on and open to my editing project. I sit up, just because I’d hate to not hit save, and close the lid.

  When I find my phone under a pillows, the messages read:

  Unknown

  Hey. I noticed you didn’t come down to get any lunch. I know because I was sitting upstairs earlier and you didn’t come out.

  It’s dinner time now. I’m making something if you’ll join me.

  Dinner already? Dang it. I wasted so much time.

  My stomach rumbles on cue and that encourages me to swing out of bed and neaten the sheets.

  When I peek out into the studio space, a lamp is dimmed on Inari’s desk and there isn’t much light coming through the sunroof anymore. The clattering of plates and cutlery can be heard from downstairs.

  Before I head down, I grab my camera and loop the strap over my neck. There is a chance I’ll be inspired while fuelling my body and mind, and starting with some rudimentary pictures, even if they weren’t composed the way I wanted them, was a process I was always taught during university. It was too bad my old habit of diving right into taking photos often made me forget that.

  As I approach the kitchen, I hit save on Inari’s new contact and all our messages update with their name.

  The aroma of fragrant herbs and roasted chicken wafts towards me, carried by a warm breeze, and I look up from my phone to find the sliding doors to the patio wide open and Inari setting the outdoor dining table. There's roast chicken in a glass tray on the kitchen island surrounded by crispy potatoes and carrots.

  “I didn’t realise ‘making something’ meant you were already done,” I say as I hover in the sliding doorway, wondering if I should offer to help. I rock from my heels to my toes as they place a couple cups down and straighten things here and there.

  As they walk past me to get back inside, they avoid my gaze and I can’t help but make up for it by staring at the side of their face.

  “Ah- yeah.” They bring their fist to their mouth and clear their throat. “I thought it might be boring for you to watch me cook. Or, maybe you were doing some planning or taking pictures…” My immediate thought is that I wouldn’t have minded keeping them company and that they should’ve known, should’ve remembered how much I loved cooking with them in home economics. Then again, not inviting me was probably the point.

  I notice their wary looks towards my camera as they grab the oven mitts from the counter. Now that’s something I can work with.

  With a practiced lift, switch-on and snap of my camera, I capture them off-guard as they’re picking up the tray. Even with a blurry background and their blurry moving hands, the way their open mouth and wide eyes come through clear and their dark hair contrasts the light kitchen background makes me want to keep this picture. They never were fast enough to give me a photo-ready pose no matter how often I took pictures of them without warning.

  When I turn the camera off and lower it, Inari is looking at me with brows slightly furrowed.

  I give them a smile to ease whatever it is that they’re thinking. They lightly scoff at me as they carry our dinner. I follow their lead outside.

  The rugged tiles beneath our feet, more European in design, separate this patio from typical Australian patios. The patio ceiling replicates the design of the living room, with exposed wooden beams slanted at a diagonal and large planks filling the gaps. Weathered edge bricks stack to make the pillars that stand between this space and the rest of the backyard, with arches carved out between each.

  “What was that for?” they ask, moving around the table and placing the tray carefully in between the set seats.

  “Just another point for me,” I reply and shrug as if we were back there in the school yard, keeping a tally on how many times I could get them before they knew what was happening. With nostalgic instinct, I grab my camera and hold it behind me.

  They come back around the table and open their hand to me. “At least let me see it.” Their tone is serious, like a parent scolding a child who’s taken something they shouldn’t, but their expression says otherwise with that twinkle in their eye. Looking up at them like this really affirms it is the two of us here. It really is Inari.

  I shake my head with a laugh. “Nope. That’s the rules.”

  They roll their eyes and cross their arms. “Right. Fine.” They give up quickly yet it sparks something happy within me. They remember our game. Then, from under their breath, they say, “You’re still just as petty.”

  Their words fly towards me like a tennis ball ready to be received, and like a rehearsed script I’ve quoted a hundred times over, I say, “You’re still just as pretty!”

  I don’t realise what I’ve said until seconds have passed and the words linger in the air. They were not new words. We had come up with the call and response in year eight after Inari kept calling me petty for just being good at the game.

  Though with the way they look at me now, like they didn’t expect me to respond, I want to throw myself into the pool. But nothing, not a finger, will move as I watch Inari’s face shift from surprise to concern.

  “Oh—” They take a step back and fold their arms behind them. Immediately, I notice how their warmth has left with them. They blink rapidly, like the flashing screen of a rebooting computer, and when they look my way again, their gaze wanders and their smile does not stretch across their lips in the right way. “Well. How about we have some dinner?”

  I quickly take my seat lest I make them even more uncomfortable but do so with as much grace as I have handling the situation.

  I have to be more careful with what I say. Without knowing where we stand, who knew if they still even cared about our jokes from back then.

  I try to be as normal as I can as Inari serves me a delicious plate. The chicken is juicy and the skin is slightly crispy. The potatoes and carrots are wonderfully crunchy on the outside and soft inside. It’s taking a conscious effort to not burst for joy right there and run my mouth for how I’ve missed Inari’s cooking.

  Instead, I show them my gratitude politely, like I would if I was a guest at a relative’s house. I nod in appreciation, give them a smile, and say, “Thank you for this. It’s delicious.” Sophisticated.

  It works because their apprehensive expression melts into a smile. They breathe a sigh but I don’t bring attention to it. I just enjoy the rest of dinner quietly, savouring each bite.