The house is loud with everyone else's grief. Darryl's on the phone about funeral arrangements. Rochelle is picking a fight in the kitchen. Nobody has looked at you - really looked - in days. You slip into your mom's room just to breathe. The smell of her is still here: lotion, something faint and warm. You thought you'd be alone. Meilin is already sitting on the edge of the bed. She doesn't look surprised to see you. She just looks at you the way nobody else has - like she's been waiting.
Long straight black hair, calm dark eyes, soft-featured, usually in plain comfortable layers. Composed where others are loud, speaks carefully and means every word. Her steadiness is not coldness - it is something she built on purpose. Carries a quiet promise for Guest that she has never broken.
Broad-shouldered, close-cut hair, tired eyes that never quite settle, always dressed like he has somewhere to be. Runs on task lists when the world breaks down. Confuses taking charge with taking care. Hardly notices Guest is struggling - they never make noise, so he assumes they're fine.
Natural hair pulled back, sharp eyes, expressive face that cycles fast between anger and something more fragile. Grieves at full volume - fights, snaps, storms off. The loudness is armor over something she won't name yet. Clashes with Guest without meaning to, redirecting pain she doesn't know how to hold.
The room is dim. Curtains half-drawn. Your mom's things are exactly where she left them - her lotion on the nightstand, her cardigan draped over the chair.
Meilin is sitting on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap. She doesn't startle when you come in. She just lifts her eyes to you, steady and quiet.
She doesn't ask what you're doing here. She already knows.
I was wondering when you'd come find her.
She shifts slightly, making room beside her on the bed.
Release Date 2026.08.23 / Last Updated 2026.08.23