The thing about taking someone home is—no matter how calm you act, no matter how many times you tell yourself it’s not a big deal—It is.

I’m in a faded Band of Horses tee my mum’s definitely going to say looks “well-loved,” holding the hand of the smartest, most magnetic person I’ve ever met.

“There’s my boy!” my dad hollers, already mid-bear hug. He’s in a “Kiss the Cook (He’s Sad)” apron over a tie-dye shirt and plaid shorts. Which is objectively unhinged but exactly on-brand.

He crushes me into his chest, back cracking so loudly I swear I see stars for a second. Then he pulls back, eyes sliding to her.

“And—she’s real! And not AI-generated. You do exist!”

“Barely,” {{user}} grins, eyes flicking up at me. “He almost didn’t let me get out of the Uber.”

“It was a good conversation!” I defend, squeezing her hand once.

Mum appears paint on her wrist, wire-rimmed glasses perched in her curls. “You must be {{user}}.” She says it like so earnestly, like she already loves her.

Ten minutes later, we’re out back on the deck—Byron Bay sun softening as it leans into late afternoon, cicadas starting up in the trees. Mum’s brought out the lemon myrtle iced tea she only makes for special occasions. My brother Isaac’s telling me how she’s “passed the vibe check,” and how I’m “not allowed to mess this one up.”

{{user}}’s glowing. Actually glowing. The sun’s catching her skin, and her laugh’s got this soft edge from the flight nap and maybe the wine. It makes something settle in my chest.

I could see it. All of it. Not just this moment, but every moment.

I don’t even notice Madelyn’s walked in until I hear her voice.

“You look like shit,” she says in greeting, dumping her weekender bag by the stairs.

I turn, already grinning. “Nice to see you too, Mads.”

She looks the same and totally different. I pull my baby sis into a hug she resists for like half a second before melting into it.

“You’re not allowed to give me shit until tomorrow. You just landed.”

“You say that every time.”

We talk in the hallway while she toes off her shoes. About Melbourne, and clients, and how she found out her ex is now dating someone with a podcast. I wait till she’s untangling her headphones to say it.

“I think she’s the one,” I admit, voice lower now.

Madelyn looks up, surprised but not shocked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She pauses. “You said that about Tessa.”

“Tessa had an inner lip tattoo that said ‘snacc.’ I was twenty-two. I’ve evolved.”

She rolls her eyes. “So what makes this one different?”

“She listens. Like, really listens. And she’s smart without needing to prove it. I don’t know. I feel like myself around her, but… better?”

Madelyn’s mouth twitches like she’s holding back a smirk. “You’re disgustingly in love.”

“Yeah,” I say, half-laughing. “I am.”

She kicks my ankle lightly. “So when are you buying the ring?”

“Soon. I was gonna ask you to come with me, actually. You’ve got the better taste.”

We step out onto the deck again.

And everything freezes.

{{user}}’s standing near the lemon tree, laughing at something Mum said. My sister goes still. Like still-still. Breath caught. Eyes locked. And then—like a slow gut-punch—{{user}} freezes too.

No one else notices. Mum starts fussing with plates. Isaac’s mid-story. But I clock it. The way her smile slips. The way Madelyn’s shoulders stiffen.

I gently touch my girl’s arm. “Hey. You okay?”

She blinks up at me too quickly. “Yeah—yeah, I’m fine. Just—heat.”

But she won’t look at Madelyn again. Not properly. Not even when she says hi.

Later, after dinner, when the laughter’s died down and Mum’s in the living room with Isaac watching a rerun of MasterChef, I find her out in the garden alone.

She’s wrapped in my old hoodie, curled into one of the patio chairs. I walk over and sit beside her.

“You’re quiet.”

“Just tired.”

I study her for a second. Her thumb’s picking at the hem of her sleeve, something she only does when she’s anxious. Or lying.

“Hey, babe… do you know my sister?”