INT – HOSPITAL ROOM
Dear diary, today I found out that there are scarier things than needles and weird hospital machines.
It's Ice. My cold-blooded, eye-stabbing, no-remorse, emotionless caretaker.
"Thank you, Doctor," he said as the doctor exited the room.
Yes! Finally, freedom!
But then… he turned to me.
And I knew.
He was mad.
His face didn't change—still the same icy glare—but somehow, the air around him shifted. Like even the wind didn't want to mess with him. That's how you know it's bad.
"What?" I said, trying my best to look pitiful. Maybe, just maybe, he'd spare me.
He stepped closer to the bed, looming like some judgmental ghost of responsibility.
"When was the last time you ate before you came to my place?" he asked.
I smiled nervously. "Uhm… the day before?"
His jaw ticked. "What were you eating?"
Why did that question feel more dangerous than it should?
"Junk food?" I offered, with another awkward grin.
His silence was louder than any scolding.
"When was the last time you drank water?"
"I drank… coffee?" My words came out shaky, like they were checking if they'd chosen the right door on a game show.
His eyes narrowed.
"And when did you last sleep?"
That one. That question hit like a boss level. I froze. My mouth opened with a hopeful "Ha—" and then closed again.
I had no answer.
He stared, holding what looked like my charts in one hand like he was about to slam a grade F on my forehead.
And now? Now he definitely looked pissed.
Mommy… help me.
INT – PHOTO STUDIO
The photo studio was transformed into a dreamscape—soft pastel flowers curled delicately around an arched frame, forming a near-perfect halo above a large circular pillar at center stage. Everything shimmered under the glow of studio lights. Gold accents gleamed subtly along the arch and props, adding a divine touch of elegance.
The theme: Greek gods and goddesses.
And at the center, a gentle slope was designed for the models to either stand or sit—like thrones carved for immortals.
Dhylan stood silently on set, adjusting the gold laurel accessory resting across his neatly styled hair. His tailored black tuxedo clung perfectly to his frame, refined yet bold. He blended with the grandeur of the setting, yet his eyes searched for the one person who could make all this decoration fade in comparison.
He smirked, trying to keep it casual.
"My Ori, you have to hurry," he called out, voice teasing. "You're making them wait."
But if anyone listened closely enough, they might have heard the tremor of anticipation in his tone.
"Coming!"
Her voice echoed.
And when she appeared, time—for Dhylan—ceased to exist.
Oriel ran toward the set, but to him, it was slow motion. Every step she took seemed suspended in a frame of light.
Her hair was swept up in a soft, messy bun, strands of it curling freely around her cheeks, kissed gently by the studio's warmth. A golden-plated headpiece crowned her like a halo, its delicate vines encircling her head. Her makeup was subtle—barely there—but it only made her natural beauty more vivid.
The white dress hugged her silhouette flawlessly, the mermaid cut accentuating her curves with understated elegance. A halter neckline framed her shoulders, and around her waist was a gleaming gold belt, cinching the look together. Matching earrings shimmered as she moved, and a gold armband clung gracefully to her upper arm.
Like a goddess, Dhylan thought, breath catching.
No. My goddess.
The words repeated like a mantra. His chest tightened. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. For a second, he forgot the lights, the crew, the camera. Even his breath felt foreign in his lungs.
He stood there—utterly stunned. Like a fool blessed by something too good to be real.
She was radiant.
She was his—at least for this project.
"DJ!" Oriel called, snapping him from his trance. She was suddenly right in front of him, laughing lightly. "What are you waiting for?"
He blinked, fighting to control the rush of emotion on his face. He probably looked like someone who had just seen a ghost—no, something far more miraculous.
He couldn't let it show. Because if she saw what he truly felt… Oriel would never let him live it down. She'd freeze, flail her arms, cover her face like he just confessed under a stadium spotlight, and probably speed-run the shoot just to escape. That's just how she was—dramatic, adorably panicked, and emotionally allergic to moments like this.
That's how sadistic you are, my Ori, he thought, chuckling under his breath.
But even with her mischief and the way she loved to mess with him, Dhylan knew one thing for sure:
If he could pause the world right now and live in this moment a little longer, he would.
Because today, in this make-believe set of gods and myths, the goddess standing in front of him didn't feel like a fantasy.
She felt like home.