THE MORNING AFTER THE FREQUENCY
Morning came as usual.
Or at least—it pretended to.
Light slipped through the curtains of the school lodge in soft, careless streaks, touching the furniture like nothing had changed. The world outside continued its routine, unbothered by the conversations that had fractured across time zones the night before.
But inside the lodge—
Everything felt slightly off.
Clara was already awake.
She had barely slept.
She lay on her bed staring at the ceiling, eyes open but unfocused, as if her mind had refused to shut down even when her body gave up trying.
After a long moment, she exhaled slowly.
"Let's start the morning as usual," she whispered to herself.
It sounded like a promise.
Or an attempt at one.
She pushed herself up, ran a hand through her hair, and left her room.
Kamsi was already awake.
Of course she was.
She was sitting on her bed, cross-legged, scrolling through her phone like nothing in the world had shifted overnight.
Clara leaned on the doorframe and watched her for a second.
Kamsi didn't even look up immediately.
Only after a few seconds did she raise her head.
"Why are you awake so early today?" she asked.
Clara tilted her head slightly.
"Because my alarm is not available today," she replied.
Kamsi paused.
Then smiled faintly.
She knew exactly who Clara meant.
Clara stepped fully into the room. "Do you have morning classes today?"
"Yes," Kamsi said. "But not until 11 a.m."
Clara nodded. "Same for me. Mine starts at 11:30."
A brief silence settled between them—not uncomfortable, just… quiet in a different way than before.
The kind of quiet that didn't carry urgency anymore, just awareness.
Kamsi nodded again and went back to her phone.
Clara shifted her weight. "What do you want for breakfast?"
Kamsi's head snapped up immediately.
"You want to prepare breakfast?" she asked, suspicious.
Clara shrugged. "Our cook isn't around. We won't starve ourselves."
Kamsi exhaled through her nose, half amused, half doubtful.
"I'm missing Max already," she said suddenly.
Clara paused at the doorway.
Then softly—
"Me too."
She turned slightly.
"This place is boring without his nagging."
Kamsi smiled at that.
A real one this time.
Across the ocean, the sun rose over a skyline of glass and steel. Massimo woke up without an alarm. Which was the first wrong thing about the morning.
Habit was a cruel thing. He found himself looking toward the door, expecting Clara knocking on his door with unnecessary urgency.
Kamsi walking in mid-chaos just to comment on everything like a narrator of disaster.
No background noise of their small, unstable routine that somehow felt like order.
There was no drama. No burnt toast. No sisters.
He wasn't there to crack eggs or flip pancakes while lecturing them on their sleep schedules.
He was just a man in a silent room, draped in expensive silk. He let out a ghost of a smile, a sad, private thing, and stood up to face the day.
London light spilled into his room through heavy curtains, muted and distant. The penthouse felt too large again—too structured, too controlled, too empty.
Then a faint smile crossed his face anyway.
"…So this is what mornings feel like without chaos," he muttered.
A knock came at the door.
"Come in," he said.
Caleb entered immediately.
"Good morning, sir. Hope you slept well."
Massimo gave a small nod, eyes lingering on him like he was measuring something.
Caleb caught the look instantly.
"Oh—sir," he corrected smoothly. "I came to check if you're awake and ready for the day."
Massimo nodded again.
"I'll get ready."
Caleb dipped his head slightly. "I'll prepare as well then."
"Fine."
Caleb left. The door closed.
Massimo stood there for a moment longer, then finally moved toward the bathroom.
Somewhere In The Production House
Gemini had barely slept.
Technically, he had—at some point—but it didn't feel like rest. It felt like his brain had simply paused the noise long enough for his body to survive.
Now he was awake again.
Sitting on the edge of his bed.
Staring at nothing.
His jaw tightened as last night replayed in fragments.
London.
Secretary.
Control.
Distance.
He scoffed under his breath.
"Max… you bastard," he muttered.
Then he punched the air once—twice—like that somehow helped reset reality.
It didn't.
He exhaled sharply, ran a hand through his hair, and stood up.
Shoot day. No time to spiral.
Even if he wanted to.
Even if he still was.
Back At The School Lodge
Clara was in the kitchen now. Staring at ingredients like they were unfamiliar objects from another planet.
Cooking was not her territory.
Not really.
In their little routine, it had always been divided cleanly:
Massimo cooked.
Kamsi watched and judged.
Clara occasionally burned things and declared it experimental cuisine.
But today—
There was no Massimo.
Only silence and an empty kitchen.
Kamsi walked in quietly and stopped behind her. "Are you sure about this?" she asked.
Clara jumped.
"Why do you walk like a ghost?" she snapped.
Kamsi chuckled. "Because I can."
She leaned slightly to peek at what Clara was doing.
Then sighed.
"Move," she said. "Let me handle this."
Clara immediately shook her head. "No. I'm cooking."
Kamsi raised a brow. "You're cooking?"
"Yes."
"That's dangerous."
Clara pointed at her. "Just sit down."
Kamsi stared at her for a second. Then slowly stepped back.
"Okay," she said, surrendering with a small smile. "Do the cooking. Let me see the outcome."
She walked out to the living room and sat down.
Clara turned back to the cooker like she had just accepted a battlefield assignment.
The kitchen fell into uncertain motion.
And for the first time that morning—
It almost felt normal again.
Almost.