Rosalie sat quietly, staring absentmindedly at the book in her hands. Despite the familiarity of Calla’s memories, she still found it difficult to fully embrace this new life. Conversations that used to flow easily with her “parents” now felt stilted, and she wasn’t sure how to interact with people who expected a different version of her.

Suddenly, Damian’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “What’s with the silent treatment these days? Are you secretly plotting my demise or something?” he teased, his tone lighthearted as he settled down beside her.

Rosalie looked up, startled by his presence. The genuine curiosity in his eyes was disarming, but she quickly composed herself, offering a small smile. “Plotting your demise?” she repeated, as if tasting the words. “Why would I go through all that trouble?”

Damian blinked, then grinned as if relieved to get even a semblance of a reaction. “Because you used to find my very existence annoying. Now you’re all quiet and proper—it’s almost like you’ve been replaced by someone else.”

Her heart skipped a beat at how close to the truth his words were. For a moment, she hesitated, unsure of what to say. How would Calla have responded? she wondered. A sly comeback, maybe a playful shove? But she just shook her head gently. “Don’t be ridiculous. I simply have more important things to focus on.”

“Oh, really?” Damian leaned in slightly, narrowing his eyes in mock suspicion. “Like what? Reading the dictionary for fun? Or practicing how to avoid my amazing company?”

“I’m trying to develop my skills and… refine myself,” she said, maintaining her formal tone.

He let out a dramatic sigh and leaned back, stretching his arms over the back of the couch. “Man, I really do miss the old Calla. She used to argue with me over the silliest things, like whether milk chocolate or chocolate milk has the better name.” He chuckled softly. “She’d get all riled up, saying I had it completely wrong.”

Rosalie felt a twinge of guilt. Did Calla mean this much to him? The way his eyes softened as he reminisced made her chest tighten. She wondered what kind of friendship they’d shared—how close they must have been. A pang of envy struck her. Would he ever look at her, the real Rosalie, with that same fondness?

Feeling an unexpected urge to put him at ease, she tried to emulate the spirit of the girl he remembered. “Well, if you really want to know… I still think chocolate milk is way better. I mean, the name just sounds smoother,” she said, surprising herself with how easily the words came out.

Damian’s eyes widened slightly before a broad smile spread across his face. “There you are,” he murmured softly. “That’s the Calla I know.”

The sudden gentleness in his voice made her pulse quicken. There was something disconcerting about the way he looked at her now—like he could see right through her attempt at pretense. He shifted closer, his gaze never leaving hers.

“Don’t go all quiet on me again, okay?” he said softly. “It’s… unsettling.”

Rosalie blinked, surprised at the sincerity in his tone. The tension in her chest eased just a little. Despite not being able to respond in the exact way Calla would have, she could sense Damian’s relief. He wanted his best friend back, and in a way, that desire touched her deeply.

“I’ll try,” she whispered, a small, genuine smile tugging at her lips.

“That’s all I ask.” He reached out and ruffled her hair lightly, his touch gentle. “But don’t think I’m going to let you off that easily. Just because you’re quiet now doesn’t mean I’ll go easy on you. You still owe me an explanation for why you think chocolate milk is the best name.”

Rosalie let out a small laugh, surprised at how natural it felt. “That’s easy. Chocolate milk rolls off the tongue. It’s simple, classic, and everyone knows exactly what you mean.”

Damian raised an eyebrow, a spark of challenge in his eyes. “Oh, is that so? Because milk chocolate clearly has the edge. It sounds rich, fancy, like you’re about to enjoy the best treat ever.”

Rosalie shook her head, amused by the argument. “Milk chocolate? It sounds like you’re just switching the words around to make it seem fancier. It doesn’t even describe what it is—it’s chocolate with milk in it!”

“Exactly! It’s the chocolate that comes first,” Damian shot back with a grin. “Which is why it’s superior. The chocolate is the star, and the milk is just the supporting act.”

Rosalie’s cheeks flushed slightly at his playful jab, but she couldn’t help but continue. “You’re overcomplicating it. Chocolate milk is straight to the point—it’s a drink. You sip it. Everyone loves it.”

“Sure, but it’s just milk trying to be chocolate,” Damian said, feigning seriousness. “At least with milk chocolate, you’re eating something, savoring it.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at his exaggerated expression. “Okay, fine, but you’ll lose this argument. Chocolate milk is unbeatable.”

“Is that so?” Damian said, his eyes gleaming with challenge. “We’ll see about that, Miss ‘I-Can’t-Even-Defend-A-Drink.’”

Her laughter bubbled up, feeling light and genuine. “I’ll make a note to remind you when I win,” she replied with a hint of a smirk, surprising herself.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Damian said, his grin widening. “But don’t expect me to go easy on you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Rosalie murmured, her smile lingering as she turned her attention back to the book in her hands. She could feel Damian’s gaze on her for a moment longer, his presence a comforting weight beside her.

＊＊＊

Damian and Rosalie had been invited to hang out with their high school classmates. She hadn’t been able to refuse—it wouldn’t be something the previous owner of this body would do. Calla would have jumped at the chance to meet her friends. So, once again, Rosalie resolved to rely on whatever lingering memories she had of Calla’s life.

She sighed softly as Damian pulled up in front of her house to pick her up. Damian glanced at her, noting how quiet she seemed. She had been uncharacteristically silent these past few days, but this time, there was something different—a nervous energy surrounding her.

“Calla, you okay?” he asked gently.

“I’m okay. Just… a little nervous,” she admitted, her voice almost a whisper.

Damian’s eyebrows furrowed in surprise. Nervous? It wasn’t a word he was used to hearing from her. Calla was always the outgoing one, the one who could keep up with any conversation and brighten any room.

He studied her for a moment longer, concern flickering in his eyes. “Nervous, huh? That’s rare for you.”

Rosalie forced a small smile, trying to keep up appearances. “Yeah… rare.”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

But the truth was, every interaction with Calla’s friends felt like stepping into a role she didn’t fully understand. And for once, she couldn’t help but wish she could just be herself—whoever that was now.

Damian and Rosalie arrived at the café and immediately spotted a lively group of people sitting and laughing together. One of the girls waved excitedly at them—a girl Rosalie vaguely recognized. Mary? she thought, but Calla’s memories quickly surfaced. No, in this world, her name was Mia.

“Hey, Calla! Damian! Over here!” Mia called out, her voice cheerful and welcoming.

Rosalie took a deep breath, steadying herself before approaching the group with Damian. Everyone greeted her with hugs and warm smiles, but each embrace and every cheerful remark felt like a reminder of the person she was supposed to be—someone she still didn’t fully understand.

She sat down stiffly, her fingers fidgeting nervously with the edge of her sweater as the conversations shifted rapidly from one topic to another. They talked about shared memories, inside jokes, and school gossip—things she had no grasp of.

“So, Calla, did you remember about the time Damian ran around with a broom trying to chase us down because we were avoiding cleaning duty?” one of the boys teased, grinning mischievously.

Rosalie blinked, her mind racing. What? No, I haven’t… But instead of admitting her confusion, she forced a weak smile, hoping it looked convincing.

“Oh, come on, Calla, don’t pretend like you don’t remember!” another friend laughed, completely unaware of her discomfort. “You were there too, waving a broom around like his accomplice!”

Damian’s gaze shifted toward her, his brow furrowing slightly as he observed her uncharacteristic silence. He leaned closer, his voice low and filled with concern. “You really okay?” he whispered, making sure only she could hear.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled, looking away quickly. She didn’t want to make him worry. But she wasn’t fine. The pressure to keep up, to pretend she knew what they were talking about, was suffocating.

“Calla, do you remember when we all sneaked out to watch that late-night movie last summer?” Mia asked with a conspiratorial grin. “You were the one who convinced us to go in the first place!”

Rosalie’s heart pounded painfully. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her, waiting for her to respond. What should I say? Admit I don’t remember? Would they think I’m acting strange? This gathering felt even more daunting than the formal tea parties she’d attended in her own world.

A nervous laugh escaped her lips. “Oh, uh… yeah, of course. That was… fun,” she said awkwardly.

The words felt hollow and unnatural even to her own ears. Mia’s smile faltered slightly, and an awkward silence fell over the group.

Without thinking, Rosalie abruptly stood up. “Excuse me, I just need some fresh air,” she said quickly, her voice strained. Before anyone could respond, she turned and walked briskly out of the café, her heart hammering in her chest.

She stepped outside, taking deep breaths of the cool air. Without thinking, she started walking down the unfamiliar streets, her pace quickening as if she could outrun the discomfort building inside her. The city around her blurred as she moved faster, her mind clouded with confusion and anxiety.

Then, out of nowhere, the sky opened up, and rain began to pour. It fell hard and fast, drenching her in seconds. She shivered, cold and disoriented, trying to turn back to the café—but nothing looked the same. She turned left and right, searching for the entrance, but it was nowhere to be found.

Panic set in as she wandered aimlessly. Her heart pounded, and her breaths came in short, desperate gasps. The more she searched, the more everything blurred together in a mess of rain and confusion. She stumbled to a stop, her legs trembling, and blinked against the tears mixing with the rain on her face. I can’t do this… The thought struck her hard, raw and painful. I don’t know how to be her. I don’t know what to say…

She clutched her arms around herself, her mind spiraling. I’m not her. I’ll never be her. Everything felt wrong. She couldn’t keep up with their conversations, couldn’t fit into their world. I’m not what they want.

Tears mixed with the rain running down her face as she stood in the middle of the empty street, completely lost in this world she didn’t belong to.

Then, through the blur of rain and tears, she saw a figure running toward her. She squinted, trying to make out who it was.

“What the hell, Calla? You can’t just run off like that!” It was Damian.

He stopped in front of her, his eyes widening as he took in her soaked, shivering state. Concern replaced his frustration, and he stepped closer, pulling her into a hug.

Rosalie stiffened at first, but then the warmth of his embrace broke through her defenses. Without thinking, she buried her face in his chest and cried. She cried hard, clutching his shirt as sobs wracked her body.

“I knew you weren’t okay,” Damian murmured softly, his voice gentle. “Just cry it out. I’m here.”

His words cut through her pain, and she let go of everything she’d been holding in—the frustration, the fear, the feeling of not being enough. She cried because she couldn’t be Calla, because she felt like a failure. She cried because she didn’t know who she was supposed to be in this world.

I can’t do it, she thought desperately. I’m not strong enough to pretend anymore.

Time seemed to stop as they stood there, rain pouring down around them. She cried until the tears slowed, until the sobs became soft hiccups.

Finally, the rain began to ease.

＊＊＊

Drenched from the rain, Rosalie stood outside the convenience store while Damian hurried inside to get them towels and something warm to drink. When he returned, he gently placed a towel around her shoulders and handed her a bottle of hot tea.

“Thank you,” Rosalie whispered softly.

They moved to a nearby bench and sat down, a heavy silence hanging between them. Rosalie stared at the steaming bottle in her hands, her mind racing with unspoken thoughts and emotions.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered suddenly, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

“Sorry?” Damian repeated, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Sorry for what?”

“For… not being myself lately,” she murmured, her voice trembling slightly. Her fingers tightened around the bottle of tea, and she took a shaky breath, searching for the right words. “I feel like I’m not… fitting in. I’m trying, but… I don’t know. It’s hard.”

Damian’s eyes softened, his confusion giving way to concern. “Not fitting in? What do you mean?”

Rosalie glanced down, her gaze fixed on the bottle as if it held the answers she couldn’t find. How could she explain it without saying too much? “I just… feel like I’m not meeting everyone’s expectations. Like I’m letting them down somehow.”

Damian studied her for a long moment, his brow furrowed thoughtfully. “Hey,” he said softly, reaching out to gently pat her head. “You don’t have to be perfect, you know. No one’s expecting you to be.”

Rosalie looked up at him, a small, bitter smile tugging at her lips. Not perfect? That was exactly what everyone had expected of her back in her old world—perfect manners, perfect behavior, perfect everything.

“I wish it were that simple,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Damian's gaze filled with quiet determination. “It is that simple. You’re allowed to have bad days. You’re allowed to be confused. No one’s keeping score here.”

“Thanks, Damian,” she said softly, the sincerity in her tone surprising even herself. “I appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” he murmured, a faint smile crossing his lips. He looked at her for a moment longer, as if debating whether to say more, but then he just sighed softly. “And if you ever want to talk, I’m here. No pressure.”

Rosalie nodded again, feeling a flicker of gratitude. He wasn’t pushing her. He wasn’t demanding answers. For now, he was simply offering her the chance to be… herself, in whatever way she could manage.

After a few minutes, the tension between them began to ease. Damian shifted on the bench, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he glanced at Rosalie. She noticed his hesitance, his gaze flickering between her and the now-empty tea bottle.

“You know,” Damian said casually, a hint of playfulness creeping into his voice, “there’s a place just down the street that sells milk chocolate.”

Rosalie raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I want chocolate milk, not milk chocolate.”

Damian paused for a moment, pretending to look confused. “What’s the difference? They’re practically the same thing.”

Rosalie let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “No way. Chocolate milk is a drink. It’s refreshing and perfect. Milk chocolate is just a snack trying to pass as dessert.”

“Ah, but milk chocolate is rich, indulgent, and it melts in your mouth. You can’t beat that,” Damian argued, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Chocolate milk doesn’t need to be chewed,” Rosalie countered, folding her arms. “You sip it. It’s comforting, and it doesn’t leave you with sticky hands.”

Damian chuckled, shaking his head in mock defeat. “Fine, fine. Chocolate milk it is.” He leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “Let’s go get some, and I’ll admit—just for today—that it’s better than milk chocolate.”

Rosalie’s smile widened, warmth spreading through her chest. It wasn’t much, but this small moment felt like a win, like a piece of herself could belong here.

“Okay,” she agreed softly. “Let’s do that.”

Damian’s grin grew, and he stood up, extending his hand to her. “Come on, I’ll even buy it for you.”

She hesitated only for a second before reaching out and taking his hand. His grip was warm and reassuring, and as he pulled her to her feet, she found herself smiling again. Maybe she didn’t know exactly who she was supposed to be yet, but sharing a silly moment like this—over something as simple as chocolate milk—felt like a good place to start