"I ordered pizza for dinner. Want some?" Danish set a medium pizza box on the dining table.
"I'm not hungry."
Danish stood in the doorway, watching the girl sitting on the living room sofa. She had been engrossed in her thick novel for a while now. Judging by the author's name displayed on the cover, Amora was reading a translated novel.
"You're already so thin. Why are you dieting? Aren't you afraid you'll end up as nothing but skin and bones?"
"You're so annoying!" Amora's voice sounded hoarse as she took a tissue and wiped her damp eyes.
Was Amora crying? Good grief, how sad could the story in that trashy romance be to make its reader cry like that? To Danish, it was ridiculous. Maybe he should try reading Amora's novel sometime so he could cry too.
Yeah, Danish couldn't even remember the last time he'd shed a tear. Maybe it had been several years ago, when he met his biological parents. After that, he swore he would never cry again. His tears were too precious to waste mourning the twists and turns of life.
"Your refrigerator is empty. You should keep vegetables and fruit in it. Don't eat instant food so often. It's unhealthy."
"Even if I get sick, it's none of your business."
"Oh, right. I forgot you're already tired of living."
"Could you stop talking? You're ruining my concentration." Amora returned her focus to her book.
Danish snorted. It was a good thing Amora didn't want pizza. That meant he wouldn't have to share, and he could fill up on his dinner. Maybe Amora felt full just from reading the letters on the pages. Hah. Women were impossible to understand.
The distinctive aroma of pizza filled the room when Danish opened the box. It was topped with beef, mushrooms, onions, and bell peppers—utterly mouthwatering. Danish took a slice and bit into it. The soft dough, sauce, toppings, and mozzarella cheese blended together into a delicious bite.
Danish had just picked up his third slice when the doorbell rang. From the sofa, Amora shouted, "What else did you order?"
"No! I didn't order anything."
Amora jolted, hurriedly tossed her novel onto the table, and ran to the door. She peeked through the peephole, then approached Danish in a panic. "My mom's here. Hurry and hide!"
Danish stopped just short of taking a bite of pizza and looked at Amora lazily. "Aish... what's the big deal? Just tell her I rented a room here."
"I can't do that! Mom can't find out I'm living under the same roof as a man. Hurry and hide."
"Okay, I'll go into the bedroom." Danish reluctantly left behind his favorite pizza. His broad-shouldered body headed toward the bedroom, but Amora grabbed him first and shoved him inside her room.
"Hide in my room, idiot! Mom often rests in the room you're staying in!"
"Hey, my phone's still out there!"
"I'll get your things!"
Amora ignored Mia—her mother—who had already rung the bell several times and was shouting for her. In a hurry, the girl grabbed Danish's phone and jacket and handed them to him.
"Remember, don't come out of the room." Amora warned him. "If Mom finds out, I'll never forgive you."
"Okay, I understand."
Amora snorted. As usual, Mia arrived in a mess. Her curly hair was disheveled, and when the woman walked past Amora, the overpowering smell of alcohol filled the air.
"Mom, you're drunk," Amora said coldly.
Mia waved a hand in front of her face. A faint smile graced her lovely features. Even at forty-seven, the woman still had smooth, fair skin. All the treatments that had cost tens or even hundreds of millions of rupiah made Mia look younger than her age.
"A little." Mia dropped onto the sofa. Her slender fingers moved nimbly as she fixed her hair.
"Which young man has you this messed up now, Mom?"
"I'm sleepy. Give me some time to rest, okay?"
"I'm just feeling dizzy, Amora. Stop interrogating me."
"Why do you never understand? Those young men are only playing with you, Mom."
"You're the one who doesn't understand!" Mia's voice rose an octave. "You have no idea what it's like to be in my position!"
From inside the room, Danish could clearly hear Amora and Mia arguing. They kept bickering, and neither of them was willing to back down. It was about Amora disliking Mia's relationships with men younger than her. From that, Danish could conclude that Amora was a victim of a broken home.
"Mom, I transferred money to your account just a few days ago. You spent it on a man who doesn't even love you?" Amora's voice sounded hoarse. By now, tears were probably welling in the girl's eyes.
"You have a problem with that? Your dad still gives you a monthly allowance, doesn't he? What's wrong with sharing it with me?"
"If only you hadn't chosen to divorce Dad!"