I woke up to the smell of burnt toast and my mother humming off-key downstairs. The kind of morning noise that pretends everything’s fine. My throat still hurt from all the crying I refused to admit happened last night.

The rain that started midnight had stopped sometime before dawn, leaving the street outside washed and new, but I didn’t feel new. Just puffy-eyed and hollow.

I pulled my blanket tighter, wishing the world would give me one more hour before questions started. But then—

“Yara!”

The sound of my mother’s voice climbed up the stairs. Sharp, curious. Too awake for a Saturday morning.

I groaned, dragging myself out of bed. My hair looked like something a raccoon might live in.

“Coming!” I yelled, even though I wanted to stay hidden forever.

When I got to the kitchen, she was already standing by the counter in her worn robe, a mug of coffee in one hand and suspicion in her eyes.

“Morning,” I said, reaching for a piece of toast.

She didn’t answer. Her gaze flicked to me, then to the window. “Who was that man who dropped you off last night?”

There it was. The question I knew was coming.

I chewed my toast slowly, pretending to be fascinated by the crumbs on the counter. “Just… someone from Alora’s house.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Someone? Because that someone was driving a black car that costs more than our house. And he looked old enough to rent it himself.”

I rolled my eyes. “He’s not old. He’s twenty-something. Twenty-eight maybe.”

She frowned. “That’s not better.”

I sighed, pressing the toast back onto the plate. “Mom, can we not do this now? Please.”

“Yara, you got home late. You didn’t answer my texts. And then some stranger—dressed like a damn CEO—drops you off at night. What am I supposed to think?”

“You’re supposed to trust me,” I muttered.

Her eyes softened for a second, then narrowed again. “You said you were meeting Kevin after school. What happened to that?”

My chest tightened. Kevin. Right. The part I wanted to forget.

I looked away, tracing the rim of my mug. “We… had to cancel.”

“Cancel or fight?”

Her voice was too gentle, and that was worse.

I swallowed. “Does it matter?”

“It does if that’s why you looked like you’d been crying when you walked in last night.”

My jaw clenched. “You noticed that, too?”

She set her mug down. “Yara, I’m your mother. I notice everything.”

“Clearly,” I mumbled, crossing my arms.

For a moment, the kitchen filled with quiet — the kind that sits between two people who both want to speak first. I hated that kind of silence. It always meant she was about to dig deeper.

So I tried to steer it elsewhere. “Hey, um… when’s a good time to call Dad? He texted last week but I didn’t get to reply.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Your father?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged like it didn’t matter. “He said he wanted to talk about my college options.”

“Hmm.” Her tone flattened. “I’m sure he did. Maybe he’ll ask if your stepmother approves.”

I stared at her. “Can you not?”

“Can I not what?”

“Turn every conversation into something about him.”

Her lips thinned. “You brought him up, not me.”

The air between us crackled with unspoken history. The kind where love still existed but got buried under the ruins of disappointment.

I picked at my toast again, feeling smaller by the second. “How are the twins?” I asked quietly.

Her shoulders dropped. “Still obsessed with that stupid cartoon. He lets them watch it every night.”

I smiled faintly. “Figures.”

She looked at me then — really looked. Her eyes softened just a little, like she remembered I wasn’t the enemy. “You don’t have to protect him, you know. He made his choices.”

“So did you,” I said before I could stop myself.

She froze. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Yara.”

“Mom, can we just—”

“No.” Her voice sharpened. “You’re avoiding my question. And by the way who is he?”

I stared at her, then sighed. “Rayan.”

Her brow furrowed. “Rayan?”

“Alora’s stepbrother.”

Her face went still. “The one from the wedding last summer?”

I'm surprised she remembers the random guy she had told me she saw when she went to the wedding in Dubai. I couldn't because I had a summer class.

I threw up my hands. “Yes, Mom! That one. You met him, remember? A tall guy in white who you said barely smiled? He just gave me a ride. That’s all.”

Her mouth opened, then closed. “And why would he be the one to give you a ride?”

“Because Alora’s mom asked him to. I changed clothes there after we got drenched in the rain.”

She folded her arms. “And what were you doing in the rain?”

I rubbed my forehead. “Our car broke down, Mom. It’s not like we were dancing in puddles for fun.”

Her silence stretched long enough to make me uncomfortable.

Finally, she said, “You’re telling me a grown man—your best friend’s stepbrother—picked you up at midnight, dropped you off, and that’s it?”

I met her eyes. “Yes.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I don’t care if you believe it,” I snapped.

She blinked, taken aback. The air went cold.

Then she sighed, quieter this time. “Yara, listen to me. I’m not judging. I just—” she paused, choosing her words carefully— “if you don’t want to end up like me and your father, don’t entertain men like that.”

Something inside me flared.

“Men like what, Mom?”

“The kind who look at you and see a distraction,” she said softly. “The kind who know better but won’t care once you stop being convenient.”

Her words cut sharper than I expected.

I laughed, but it sounded more like breaking. “Wow. You think that little of me?”

Her voice softened. “I think that much of you.”

I pushed back my chair. “I’m eighteen, Mom! And for the record, that’s Alora’s stepbrother — not some random man from the street!”

She lifted her chin. “Eighteen doesn’t make you immune to mistakes.”

I waved my hand toward her, anger rising like static. “You went to their wedding last summer, remember?”

“I remember,” she said quietly.

“Then stop acting like he’s some stranger! Alora’s mom asked him to drive me home. That’s all that happened.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “And Kevin?”

My throat closed.

“Didn’t you say you had a date last night?” she pressed. Again “Before school?”

I hesitated. “We… canceled. I already told you.”

Her expression softened again, the way it always did when she realized she’d hit too close. “Yara—”

“Just forget it,” I said, grabbing my plate and storming toward my room.

Behind me, her voice followed, tired and heavy. “I just don’t want you to make my mistakes.”

I stopped halfway up the stairs, heart pounding, but I didn’t turn around.

Some mistakes, I thought, feel a lot like choices.