The air in the opulent boutique was thick with the scent of designer perfumes and polished leather, a luxurious haze that seemed to shimmer under the soft glow of crystal chandeliers. Rack after rack of exquisite garments lined the walls, each piece more stunning than the last. In a private fitting room, three girls stood before a full-length mirror, their laughter bubbling and echoing off plush velvet walls. "I can't believe we're finally doing this," Priya exclaimed, twirling in a shimmering blouse that hugged her curves perfectly. "The semester starts soon, and we've barely even begun shopping. This is a nightmare." "Not even nightmares come with a price tag like this," Sophie chimed in, her deep blue eyes sparkling mischievously as she held up a pair of stiletto heels that seemed to defy gravity. "But honestly? Who cares? We deserve it!"Meanwhile, Lina, the quietest of the trio, studied her reflection, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. "Is this colour too bold? I think it's a little too bold," she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. Sophie and Priya's eyes lit up as they took in the sleek burgundy top that hugged her slender frame—her small, delicate build making her look almost needle-like.
It was 3 p.m. on an early January Monday, and the boutique had been closed for the day—an unusual sight. But that's because the three girls were shopping for outfits to wear for their upcoming third year at Melbourne University. If you're wondering why the store was closed, here's the scoop: Lina's mother, Mai Zhang, owns the hottest fashion magazine and website targeting Australia's ultra-rich, called The ZANG—a playful nod to her last name. She called ahead, letting the boutique know her daughter and friends would be shopping that day. In exchange? A spot in next month's issue. The boutique had graciously agreed to help them look their absolute best—and to make sure they made an unforgettable impression.
We stepped out of the boutique, bags in hand, the sounds of the shopping centre still buzzing around us. Lina glanced at her phone, her eyes narrowing as she checked the time—3:20 p.m. Her stomach twisted. She knew what was coming next, and honestly, she wasn't feeling it. Priya was already flipping through her new purchases, her eyes gleaming with excitement. I laughed, feeling the familiar warmth of our perfect trio — the kind that only comes from years of friendship. "Okay," I said, glancing at the time. "Time to switch gears. Let's head to the studio before we lose all motivation." We made our way to the parking lot, the city noise fading behind us as we slid into the car. Lina sank into the passenger seat with a dramatic sigh. Priya was already rummaging through her bag for her new accesories, and I started the engine, a short forgetable drive, less than 10 minutes through the busy melbourne city streets before the neon sign of the Pilates studio flickered into view. Here we were: ready for another round of sweat, laughs, and maybe some serious complaining.
We're sitting in the car, parked right outside the Pilates studio, and I already feel the exhaustion creeping in. Lina slumps back in her seat, rubbing her eyes. "Ugh, I'm already so tired. Did you have to book us into that class today, Priya? Seriously?" Priya's body is the way it is for a reason — toned, fit, and effortlessly desireable, complemented by her rich caramel skin tone. She works out like a athlete and eats like a bird. Me and Lina, we like to keep it simple: takeouts and the treadmill after a late-night regret. Priya, on the other hand, is the queen of the kitchen, always experimenting with recipes and somehow making time for gym sessions too.
Priya flashes a mischievous smile. "Listen, babe. You're the one who said you wanted to struggle putting your pants on before classes start. Remember? 'I want to show off my cute ass,' you said. Now you're regretting it?" Lina groans. "Yeah, well, I didn't realize you'd be force-feeding me an entire chicken every day or making me lose feeling in my legs after every workout. Plus, you know how much shopping drains me—" "I already know what you're going to say," Priya cut in, laughing. "Nope, we're not skipping today. And Sophie's coming too, so you'll have twice the moral support." It's funny how we argue about this every time — even when we're right outside the studio. That's just Lina for you: so reserved, so shy. We've all known each other since second grade, which makes it thirteen years of friendship. And still, she waits until the last second to speak up — classic Lina. After practically dragging Lina out of the car and into the sleek, mirror-lined studio, we force her into the changing room. The space smells faintly of lavender and sweat, a typical Pilates studio vibe—soft instrumental music playing low over the hum of women chatting and stretching all around. We quickly change into our matching gym outfits—cute, tight pink leggings that hug every curve and matching sexy sports tops that leave little to the imagination. They fit so snugly to the skin, I can't help but admire how good Priya looks. Her toned body is downright enviable, every muscle perfectly defined, Lina too in her own way, a body so slim and tight, bouncy in exactly the right places, I feel my cheeks flush just thinking about it. Now, don't get me wrong—I love the way my body looks. But next to Priya? Honestly, I feel like a potato. My perky boobs are practically mosquito bites compared to her stunning assets. And what makes it worse? I know that half a million followers are about to see this photo Priya's about to post on Instagram. I'll probably get a flood of comments from girls wanting to be us, and guys wanting to be with us. So, I push my hips out a little, strike a sexy pose, and put on my best flirtatious face, knowing the likes will roll in.
Lina, on the other hand, has the right idea—she hugs Priya tightly in the photo, her side profile sharp and stunning. Priya, ever the social butterfly, quickly pulls her phone out of her bag and then pauses, pulling out a small bottle of pills. I raise an eyebrow. "Really? Steroids too?" I tease, knowing Priya's the wild card of our group—she's been known to take a few party drugs when she's out having fun on weekends. "Just regular vitamins," she snarks back, smirking. "Steroids might actually be the answer to my problems, though." Lina remarks, making a quirky sad face as looks down at her ass. The three of us breathe in sync, a calming ritual before the chaos begins, then step out of the changing room. The studio isn't loud, but it's lively—women of all shapes and ages stretching and chatting, filling the space with energy. Priya leads us confidently to the front of the class, her natural habitat. The instructor, a tall, fair, athletic woman with a warm smile, and short brown hair greets Priya with a hug. I've always remembered her name—Jules, thanks to those big diamond earrings she's always wearing.
"It's great to see you girls again," she says, her voice friendly. "Priya's always talking about you two." I joke, "Don't get used to it Jules. If I keep trying to follow Priya around, I might end up dead," which makes Lina chuckle and add, "Go easy on us today." Priya laughs, a little awkwardly, then peels away to join her friends. We follow behind, smiling at the other women she chats with, clearly a social butterfly. Lina, more reserved, pulls out her phone—though we both know she's not texting anyone. She just needs something to keep her grounded in moments like this. I'm less awkward; I can jump into conversations if I make eye contact, but beyond small talk, I don't really feel like I fit in with this crowd. Still, I enjoy the energy. Then, my world spins.
From across the room, I notice her as she steps into the studio—someone I've never seen before. She's small, with a slender, delicate frame that somehow feels both effortless and commanding. Her long black hair flows straight and glossy down her back, catching the soft studio lighting as she moves with a quiet confidence I can't quite place. She's dressed in tight, sexy blue gym clothes—short shorts that cling perfectly to her hips and thighs, and a matching blue sports bra that leaves just enough to the imagination. The fabric molds to her skin, highlighting every curve, especially her incredible ass—tight, rounded, and utterly tempting. From a distance, I can't help but be drawn to the way she carries herself: a subtle sway in her hips, a poised yet daring stance that hints at a rebellious streak beneath her polished exterior.
Her features are striking—almond-shaped, warm brown eyes that sparkle with a mischievous glint, high cheekbones, full lips curling into a teasing smile if she catches someone's gaze. I don't know her name, or anything about her—she's just a new face, yet there's an undeniable magnetism in her presence, an energy that feels both playful and dangerous, like she's always on the verge of doing something just a little naughty. She turns slightly, and I find myself captivated, instinctively pulled in by that mischievous look in her eyes. Her entire vibe is intoxicating—confident, daring, unafraid. It's the kind of person who makes you wonder what secrets she's hiding behind that bold exterior. I catch myself wanting to get closer, to find out what makes her tick. Finally, we make our way to the workout stations, listening to Priya's animated chatter along the way. When the instructor finally counts down to zero, everything shifts. The fun stops. It's just pain, sweat, and suffering from here. Priya's sadistic smile never wavers as she pushes through, while I look like I might give birth to a small animal, gasping for air. Lina's eyes, usually bright and sharp, have gone vacant. Her spirit seems to have disappeared into the brutal workout. When I finally stumble out of my fog—completely wrecked, out of breath—I see Priya hovering over us, her pretty smile almost mocking as she looks down at us sprawled on the cold wooden floor. "You're driving home," I manage to croak, voice hoarse, as Priya laughs cruelly in our faces.
This is my perfect life, surrounded by my perfect friends. Honestly, the hardest part of today was just the workout—and the only thing that slightly annoyed me is how long it takes for the elevator to rise up to our penthouse apartment. That's right: Lina and Priya are my housemates, and honestly, we wouldn't have it any other way. We drag ourselves out of the elevator and into the entrance of the penthouse. The floor is done in sleek quartz tiles with subtle gold accents, and the white walls are decorated with artwork I've never really taken the time to appreciate—just more decor that comes with the territory. Through the only doors on this floor—our main entryway—we step into what we call the Pixie Perch. We jokingly named it that because, honestly, it feels like a little fairy tale. Dragging our gym bags and designer clothes behind us, the moment we walk inside, we all drop everything with a collective sense of relief. The energy surges through me, knowing that just beyond the next set of doors is a soft, plush couch waiting to swallow me whole. All I need to do is wash off the sweat, and then that cloudlike throne is all mine. I catch Priya's eye and then Lina's, and we exchange looks—bags on the floor, clothes scattered around—each of us silently agreeing to leave the mess for now. We've earned this break. Priya, still bubbly and brimming with stamina, flashes her signature smile. I lock arms with Lina, and we stumble forward, like zombies, through the wide-open doors into the living quarters. At first, I was exaggerating my fatigue, making it seem way worse than it was—Priya scoffs and smirks at us as we waddle through the space. But honestly? I'm starting to feel like if I let go, I might actually collapse. Lina, clearly over the stairs, makes a beeline for the elevator that leads up to the second floor. I don't blame her at all—just thinking about climbing those stairs gives me flashbacks. As the elevator doors slide shut behind her, she salutes me with a tired smile. Priya, still full of energy, is already at the far end of the room, opening the large red double doors that lead into her space. I turn left and make the long, slow trek to the end of the room—my own sanctuary, the 'Pixie Perch.' This place is quite the residence: a two-story modern penthouse spanning over 3,000 square feet, with eight bedrooms, six bathrooms, three living rooms, a cinema room, and even a bar. From the elevator, you step into the foyer—a spacious square room with marble floors and a soaring ceiling. Two doors lead into the main living areas, and in the center, a spiral staircase winds its way upstairs to the bar and cinema, as well as Lina's master bedroom. She picked this place herself, so she got first dibs on the best room—though I think she might have regretted that decision shortly after moving in. Down on the lower floor are two master bedrooms at each end, each with its own living room, plus five guest bedrooms sprinkled throughout. We each have an extra room for studying and another for wardrobes—although Lina's closet is already bursting, and she has less clothes than me. Imagine that. Thank goodness for the extra rooms, because we definitely need them. The last two rooms, with beds in them, have never been used in three years—I guess we don't get that many unexpected guests. To the right past the elevator, there's the kitchen—though I can probably count on one hand how many times I've actually made my way down there. I claw my way into my space, the moment my feet hit the plush rug of my room, and immediately start shedding the sweat-drenched layers of the day. The room itself is a sanctuary—walls painted in a soft, muted taupe, accented with sleek gold trim that catches the light just enough to add a touch of understated luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the city skyline, the glass reflecting the late afternoon glow. The bed dominates the space—a massive, cloudlike haven dressed in silky, champagne-colored sheets and an abundance of plush pillows, inviting me to sink into its comforting embrace.
My room is a carefully curated retreat—artwork hanging on the walls, modern sculptures on side tables, all tastefully minimalist but undeniably opulent. The walk-in closet is a sprawling space, filled with designer racks and cabinets, clothes arranged effortlessly by color and style, yet somehow overflowing with more than I could ever wear. It's a sanctuary of fashion, a testament to my love for beautiful things—though I'd never boast about it. I begin with my workout top, the strings tied at the back—loose now after the sweat and exertion. I reach behind me, fingers curling around the delicate fabric. With a slow, deliberate pull, I loosen the strings, letting the top slide down my shoulders. My chest, still tinged pink from the workout, glistens with sweat that catches the fading sunlight—tiny beads that trace the curve of my breasts. The cool air brushing over my exposed skin feels like a balm, a soothing contrast to the heat that's still radiating from my body. Without hesitation, I slide my fingers down my pelvis, curling beneath the waistband of my pink panties—the cute, lacy thing I threw on this morning. I let my fingertips trail downward as I slide my leggings down my hips, the fabric peeling away like a second skin, the sweat making it slide effortlessly. The leggings peel off in a slow, sensual motion, revealing skin slick with moisture, every inch still coated in the residual heat of the workout. I leave my clothes in a crumpled heap on the floor—tempting to just collapse onto the bed, but I resist, knowing I want a proper cool-down. I make my way toward the ensuite, the door swinging open to reveal a spacious, luxurious bathroom that's more like a spa. The large walk-in shower dominates one corner—its glass walls sleek and frameless, the marble tiles beneath my feet cool and polished. It's a hot summer day; I didn't check the weather, but I can feel the heat pressing in from outside—probably over 30 degrees. I turn the tap to cool, the water rushing out in a crisp, invigorating stream. There's something utterly satisfying about a cold shower after pushing my body so hard—the shock of icy water awakening every nerve, making me feel alive, refreshed, almost reborn. As I step beneath the spray, the cold droplets cascade over my heated skin, washing away the sweat and fatigue. The sensation is pure bliss—refreshing, almost addictive. I close my eyes, letting the chill seep into my muscles, the cool water a perfect antidote to the lingering heat of the day. The heat dissipates from my skin, the rosy flush fading as my body cools under the shower's icy spray. Yet, inside, a different fire ignites, spreading from my core to the tips of my fingers, each nerve ending alight with anticipation. The water, now freezing, cascades over my face, a stark contrast that sharpens every sensation. With my eyes closed, I surrender to the torrent of memories that flood my mind, each drop tracing paths down my skin, mimicking the trails of desire that course through me.
She is there, indelibly etched into my thoughts—the enigmatic woman from the pilates studio. Everything was seared into my memory: tight dark blue shorts that clung to her like a second skin, accentuating every curve, from the delicate dip of her waist to the alluring roundness of her ass. The blue gym set she wore was both modest and revealing, her nipples pressing against the fabric, a silent testament to her own arousal—or perhaps just the chill of the room. But in my mind, it's a promise, an invitation to explore. My fantasy deepens, pulling her into this intimate space with me. I imagine her standing beside me, the steam wrapping around us like a cocoon. Her fingers, slender and long, trace the contours of my beating chest, sending shivers through me despite the heat of my desire. She rougly pinches my nipples, a sharp, exquisite pain that blossoms into pleasure as she tugs gently, drawing me towards her with an invisible thread of longing. Eager to mimic this imagined touch, I run my hands over my own body, the cold water heightening every movement. My fingers dance over my hardened nipples, the chill adding an edge to the sensation, making each touch electric. Slowly, I let my hands drift lower, pausing at my pelvic area, savoring the anticipation, just as I envision she would. With deliberate slowness, I part my fingers, exposing my desperate pussy to the relentless stream. The water hits my clit with precision, a torrent of icy pleasure that makes me gasp. It's perfect, this juxtaposition of cold and heat, of fantasy and reality blurring together. I conjure her image once more—her Asian heritage evident in her delicate, young features, long black hair cascading down her back like a silken waterfall, brown eyes sparkling with mischief and promise. She's smaller than me, her toned body a testament to her discipline, her small, firm breasts and tantalizing ass fueling my desires. The intensity of my thoughts becomes unbearable. Teasing myself is no longer enough; I need release. I slide a single finger into my pussy, my index, never all the way, the wetness there a clear sign of my arousal. The sounds of my pleasure mix with the rush of water, creating a symphony of need. I move in rhythm, in and out, starting slow, building the pace gradually. Soft moans escape my lips as I edge myself, tormenting myself, closer to the brink. But one finger isn't sufficient; I crave more. I add a second, the middle, still never all the way, but deeper than when i used just my index, delving deeper, faster. Still, it's not enough. I need to be filled completely. A third finger joins, stretching me, my ring finger, thrusting with increasing urgency. My other hand finds my clit, rubbing in insistent circles, applying just the right pressure. The dual stimulation pushes me towards the edge. I feel the orgasm building, a crescendo of sensation that threatens to overwhelm me. My body tenses, every muscle coiled tight. I hold my breath, and then it hits—a powerful spasm that starts at my core and radiates outward, shaking me to my very foundation. My spine arches, my knees give way, and I collapse against the shower wall, my fingers still moving, prolonging the ecstasy. The world narrows to this singular moment, all thought erased by the intensity of my release. A sharp exhale accompanies my climax, and as the waves subside, I let my hands fall to my sides, spent and satisfied. The cold water continues to pour over me, now a soothing caress, washing away the remnants of my tension. Oh, sweet satisfaction indeed. In this moment, alone yet not alone, I am complete.
As the day melts into night, a bubbly sense of joy dances in my chest, leaving me feeling fulfilled and delightfully alive. I yawn deeply, plopped at my dark mahogany desk, its glossy surface catching the warm, golden glow of a quirky brass lamp—its light spills across my scattered notes like a cozy hug. My study, my happy hideout, buzzes with life! Towering oak shelves brim with Dad's medical books and my university materials—leather-bound treasures, their titles like old friends—framing the walls in a grand parade of knowledge. Little peeks of soft sage wallpaper wink through the gaps, a quiet, humble touch amid the splendor. A cheery fern, Mum's sweet gift, perks up one corner, brushing a fancy crystal decanter of water that sparkles on a carved side table. Framed anatomy sketches—my nerdy pride—hang beside a corkboard bursting with colorful sticky notes, my dreams and to-dos pinned in a hopeful jumble. This big, bright room, my sanctuary through my past 2 wild years at Melbourne Uni, lifts me up—everything I want to be as a doctor lives here! Every book, from surgery guides to pharmacology, has my fingerprints on it, a testament to my curiosity. The computer screen glows cheerily, lighting up my sharp features, and the soft, warm lamps make late-night study sessions feel like a cozy adventure. It's my ritual—nearly every night of mine ends here, winding down with a grin. I flip open my journal, its leather cover soft and familiar, ready to spill the day's magic before a well-earned snooze. This is my little secret, the one thing I've kept from Lina and Priya—my cheeks warm with a giddy blush as I think of the mesmerizing woman I spotted today. i want to immortilise her in my journal
My pen races, a tingle of excitement zipping through me! I toss out words—dazzling, vibrant, captivating—trying to paint her charm. But, oh, the English language trips over itself, too clumsy to catch the spark in her laugh, words failing to capture her, the words havent been invented to describe what I saw and how she made me feel, the way her eyes twinkled like a hidden promise. I scribble on, chuckling at my own floundering, hoping to pin down this dazzling mystery. A whole page for this enchanting stranger? My heart's doing cartwheels, marveling at how she's hijacked my thoughts! I wrap up the day's tale with a flourish, still grinning, and tuck my journal into the desk's drawer, safe and sound. I power down the computer, its hum fading like a lullaby, and stretch tall, rolling my neck to shake off the day's weight. I bounce out of the room, her glow still lighting up my mind, a silly skip in my step.
Stepping back into my lavish room, I'm hit by a wave of giggles—Priya and Lina, my partners-in-crime for the last decade, botching their grand plan to surprise me. They tumble out of the wardrobe doors, a tangle of limbs and laughter, Priya's voice booming, "Lina, you absolute klutz, you still can't keep quiet!" Lina, mock-offended, fires back, "Me? Pree, You're the one cackling like a hyena!" I spot shopping bags from our earlier spree, scattered across the plush cream rug—clearly, they've been stashing my new finds, a classic move in our friendship. No thanks needed; after all these years, it's just what we do. I barrel toward them at full speed, a grin splitting my face, eager to dive into their joy and playfulness. We'd bolted out in our morning frenzy, total chaos—and Priya had sworn we'd debrief her wild weekend here, in my room. They yank me onto my sprawling king-sized bed, its velvet headboard a deep emerald, soft throws in muted golds and blues tumbling around us. The room glows under a sleek chandelier, its crystals tossing delicate light across the high ceilings, while the wide floor to celling window frames Melbourne's twinkling skyline, a dreamy backdrop to our chaos. A sturdy teak desk, piled with my third-year med school notes and a stethoscope I've been fiddling with, sits in one corner—my quiet nod to Dad's legacy. A low shelf holds quirky trinkets: a tiny glass heart from Lina, a goofy photo of us three at 15, sticky ice cream grins from that summer at St. Kilda beach. It's grand, sure, but these bits of us keep it real. Lina kicks off, sprawling across the bed, "Alright, spill! Who was he this time—law student or pre-med nerd?" We burst into giggles, our old joke about Priya's man-eater rep- years of watching her charm the shy, academic types, the ones who stammer when she bats her lashes. Priya's smile creeps up, sly and teasing, "Plot twist, girls: a high school dropout!" Our eyes pop wide—Lina's jaw practically hits the bed. "You, Miss 'I Heart Nerds,' bagging a rebel?" I laugh, nudging her. "Since when, Pree? We've known your type since grade seven—nervous, bookish boys who melt under your gaze!" She's always overshared—too many years of unfiltered tales, more guy details than I'd ever need, and I've secretly envied her bold streak, living through her stories. She leans back, smirking, "Get this: someone from high school, but not our circle." I squint, "Wait, 13 years and you hid a guy from us? You, the queen of TMI?" Lina chimes in, "Yeah, Pree, you'd describe his shoe size by now!" Priya laughs, a little coy, "He's… different. Tall, built, rock-hard confidence—total mystery." Her words fly free, no boundaries with us, and I'm half-lost in the thrill, picturing this enigma. Then she drops it, soft and shy, "I think I might like him." My brain stumbles—Priya, our chew-'em-up, spit-'em-out girl, attached? "Since when do you catch feelings?" I tease, "No crushes since we were 12, sneaking magazines in my old treehouse!" Lina bolts upright, shouting, "WHAT?" I whip my head to her, "You heard that too, right?" We lock eyes, grinning like kids. Priya sighs, gazing into the night, "He's sweet, you guys. Total opposite—never folds under my stare, bold, charming, approached me first!" We're stunned—her flirting game, flipped? "I cant believe our feirce mistress could ever be smitten by a guy who runs the show?" I chuckle, poking her side. Lina nods, "We're here for it!" We settle in, joyful, watching her glow as she rambles about this crush, her smile brighter than the city lights beyond. I'm happy for her, this new spark, a discovery after all our years together.
The night fades away slowly, a languid haze settling over my lavish bedroom, and I'm caught between my two best friends, a plush toy in their tender grip. Priya and Lina cling to me from each side, their warmth seeping into my skin, their reckless affection a delicious torment. They just had to crash here, falling asleep without a plan. Lina's slender arms drape across my chest, her fingers lazily tracing curves, teasing my flesh with careless, silken brushes that send shivers racing down my spine. Priya's toned leg lifts over mine, her knee grazing my pelvis, a slow, warm pressure that ignites a pulse deep within, driving me wild. These clueless girls, my heart's constants, unravel me without knowing. Earlier, before sleep claimed them, they shed their clothes with the ease of old friends, oblivious to the fire it stoked. Slipping off skirts and tops, they bared smooth skin, leaving me to wrestle this secret ache. Now, their bodies press tight, a sultry tangle against mine—Lina's velvety skin, hot and yielding, melds to my side, her strawberry-sweet scent wafting from soft, tousled hair that spills across my chest, tickling like a lover's whisper. Priya's busty curves crush against me, her full breasts straining a deep maroon bra, lace-edged and sheer, the fabric a teasing veil that reveals the gentle swell and shadow beneath, tormenting me in the dim glow. A mix of warm lamplight and Melbourne's city lights flickers through the bay window, casting a golden haze, illuminating Lina's loose, thin white top, the fabric a gossamer shroud, her dark nipples peeking through, bold and tempting as her hand roams, grazing my skin with every sleepy shift. My breath catches, heart pounding, as guilt flickers—thoughts of my lifelong friends, so pure yet so provocative, feel forbidden. I'd never cross that line, never dare a move, but their clueless caresses, the heat of their nearness, twist me into knots. My hands, restless, twitch with a primal urge; I glue them to my sides, a vow against temptation, though tonight it's a battle like never before. Yet, strangely, I savor this exquisite torture, their innocence fueling my imagination—a wild, boundless realm where desires dance free. As the night stretches, guilt ebbs like a receding tide, replaced by a swelling endearment for these girls, my anchors through 13 years of laughter and love. My body softens, the fire cooling to a gentle warmth, and I sink into rest, cradled by their closeness. I feel loved, cherished in this perfect, chaotic life, their steady breaths lulling me toward sleep, a smile tugging at my lips.
As dawn creeps through the towering bay windows of our penthouse, soft golden light bathes the room, gilding the plush velvet throws and glinting off the polished teak desk where my med school notes rest, a testament to my dreams taking flight. I stretch languidly, a smile blooming as I savor the perfection of my life—every day a flawless rhythm of bliss. My mornings burst with purpose: coffee sipped from a delicate porcelain cup, laughter with Priya and Lina still echoing from last night, their warmth a constant in our deep bond. My third year at Melbourne Uni is about to begin, Dad's legacy of medical brilliance guiding me, my path paved with endless resources and quiet confidence. The city sparkles below, a vibrant canvas of possibility, and I feel invincible—loved, driven, wrapped in a world that fits me like a bespoke gown. I pad across the creamy rug, the air scented with jasmine from a vase on the side table, and gaze out at the horizon. Each day unfurls like a gift, seamless and radiant—study sessions that thrill me, friends who lift me, a home that cradles my every whim. Yet, as I trace the distant skyline, a faint whisper of a shadow flits through my mind—a ripple, a tremor, too faint to grasp. Is it the wind nudging the clouds, or something stirring, unseen, beyond the glow? I shake it off, my heart buoyant, and step into the day, ready to dance through this perfect life, unaware of the currents that might one day shift beneath my feet.