chapter 1

Diana's pov

As I stood at the threshold of the unfamiliar apartment, the weight of everything that had led up to this moment hit me. The air smelled like fresh house and cardboard boxes, a scent I could never quite place. The world outside New York felt so distant, a lifetime away from the sunny streets of California where I'd spent my whole life. My dad stood beside me, his fingers gripping the edges of a large box, looking both exhausted and excited. I knew he was nervous, too, though he hid it well.

"Well, Diana, this is it," he said, his voice cracking slightly as he stepped inside, giving the place a quick once-over. "Our new home."

I followed him in, my sneakers scuffing against the wooden floor, feeling like an outsider in my own life. My heart was a mix of emotions—nervousness, excitement, and a quiet sadness for everything I was leaving behind. The California sun, the familiar smell of the beach, and most of all, Chloe. She wasn't far away, though; she lived in another apartment with her family, and we'd be seeing each other soon enough.She lives in new York too now. But still, this was a huge change for me. I was no longer in the place where I had felt most myself.

"Diana?" My dad called from the kitchen area, snapping me from my thoughts. "What do you think?"

I took a deep breath, looking around. The walls were bare, waiting for our own touches to bring them to life. The windows were wide, giving me a glimpse of the busy streets below—so alive, so full of possibility. I smiled, a little shaky. "It’s perfect," I said, though I wasn’t sure if it was for me just yet.

This was New York, the city of dreams, and I was here to make my own. The sound of car horns outside was deafening, and somewhere in the distance, I heard the faint hum of a subway train. It was a world so different from California, but as I unpacked the last of my things and settled into this new life with my dad, maybe I could finally figure out where I belonged in it.

I stood at the bottom of the staircase, taking in the sweeping expanse of the entryway before me. The walls were a soft, muted gray, sleek and modern, with large windows that stretched from the floor to the ceiling, letting in the daylight in soft streams. There was an artful stillness in the air, the kind that only wealth and careful design could cultivate. I could feel the space around me, expansive and open, the modernity of the design making it feel almost too perfect to be real. There was no clutter here, no dust or stray objects. Everything had a place, and each thing seemed placed with purpose.

With a glance toward my dad, who was busy unpacking boxes in the kitchen, I turned toward the staircase. The wide, dark wood steps had an almost regal quality to them, like they were inviting me into something bigger than just a house—it felt like a world unto itself. The railing, made of sleek steel, curved gently upward, gleaming in the soft light filtering down from the skylight above. It was minimalist and elegant, the polished finish reflecting the quiet elegance of the rest of the house.

I made my way up the stairs slowly, my feet padding softly against the smooth wood. The stairs seemed endless, and as I ascended, I noticed how quiet the house was, the only sound being the soft noice of my sneakers hitting åagainst the floor. It felt like I was walking through a museum, everything placed with such care and precision. The walls were adorned with abstract art—huge canvases filled with splashes of color and geometric designs that screamed sophistication. I knew this wasn’t just a home; it was a statement.

At the top of the stairs, I paused for a moment, standing on the cool marble floor of the landing. The second floor opened up in front of me, revealing a hallway that led to several rooms—mine included. The entire floor felt like a sanctuary, the muted tones of the walls and the polished floors giving the space an airy, almost ethereal quality.

I walked toward the door to my room, each step feeling more significant than the last. This was it—the moment when I would enter my new world. I reached out for the handle, the cool metal against my fingers, and pushed the door open.

My new room was a study in modern luxury. The walls were painted a soft dove gray, and the large window on the far wall offered a view of the sprawling city below. The skyline of New York stretched out, the buildings catching the light in a way that made everything look like it belonged to a dream. I could hear the distant hum of traffic, the city alive in a way that was thrilling and strange all at once. The window was framed with crisp white curtains that caught the light, glowing softly as they swayed with the slight draft from the open window.

The room itself was massive. A large bed sat in the center, its headboard upholstered in sleek leather, the color a deep, almost charcoal gray. The duvet was perfectly smooth, with no wrinkles, its soft fabric blending seamlessly with the neutral tones of the room. Around the bed, there was modern furniture—a sleek, low-profile dresser, a minimalist armchair with clean lines, and a small desk that looked more like a piece of art than a place to work. The rug beneath my feet was soft, plush, and seemed to absorb the noise of the world outside. Every corner of the room felt perfectly curated, from the delicate lamps beside the bed to the small potted plant sitting on the windowsill, adding a touch of green to the otherwise serene palette.

I stepped further into the room, the weight of the change pressing in on me. It was stunning—luxurious, even—but somehow, it still felt like I was stepping into someone else’s life, someone else's dream. There were no personal touches here, no photos of family or mementos that made it mine. It was a beautiful shell, but it didn’t yet feel like home.

I walked over to the window, drawn to the view. The city stretched out beneath me, the streets buzzing with the energy of people coming and going, the sound of distant traffic a constant hum. The buildings below me were massive, modern, and somehow just as impressive as the house itself.

But as I stood there, staring out at the unfamiliar landscape of New York, I felt a slight pang of homesickness. The city was so alive, so vibrant, but I missed the quiet warmth of California. The palm trees, the beach—everything that had been familiar to me for so long. I wasn’t sure how long it would take for this place to feel like home, but I was determined to make it mine.

“Dad?” I called softly, not sure if he was close enough to hear me. I waited a beat, then added, “I think I’m going to like it here. Eventually.”

The silence in the house seemed to echo around me, but it wasn’t empty. It was filled with possibilities—some of them thrilling, others still uncertain. Still, this was my new life. And no matter how daunting it felt, I was going to figure it out. This house—this luxurious, modern home—was part of my new beginning. Now, I just had to make it feel like mine.

I stared at my room, still feeling like I was just visiting someone else's space. Sure, it was beautiful—too beautiful, like the kind of room you see in magazines and Pinterest boards, but where was the me in it? Where was the personality? I needed to make this place feel like I actually lived here, and that meant... decorating.

I started with the posters. Of course, I had a few celebrity posters—because what kind of modern room doesn't scream "I'm a fan of overpriced movie stars and overpriced film franchises"? I pulled out a few rolled-up posters from the stack I'd carried all the way from California: one of Billie Eilish (obviously), one of Zendaya looking impossibly cool and gorgeous, and of course, a few classic movie posters because I'm not that basic. I stood back to admire my first masterpiece. Who knew that a giant, glossy print of Billie Eilish with a dreamy, faraway look could really transform a room?

Next, I attempted the “artistic” touch with string lights, because apparently, that’s a rite of passage for anyone trying to make their room "cozy." After somehow tangling the lights into a hopeless mess that looked more like a crime scene than a design choice, I managed to drape them across the wall in a way that resembled a half-hearted attempt at a constellation. I wasn’t sure if it was art, or if I just accidentally wrecked an entire set of fairy lights. Either way, it was fine.

Then came the rug—oh, the rug. You know, the perfect rug I bought online because it was "on sale" and "sophisticated." It was supposed to add an elegant touch, but instead, it arrived looking like someone tried to pass off a sad doormat as high fashion. I unrolled it, and it was basically a patchwork of colors that didn't match anything in the room. So, naturally, I rolled it back up and threw it into the corner, pretending like it wasn’t an absolute disaster. Hey, at least the floor was still nice.

To round things off, I attempted the "modern chic" bookshelf arrangement. The instructions online were clear: just “arrange books and accessories so they look spontaneous.” Well, after nearly toppling over half a dozen heavy books as I tried to balance them on the smallest shelf possible, I finally managed to create a towering pile of literature that somehow made it look like I was a genius. I added a few candles—because that's what every modern space needs, right?—and placed them precariously on top. Spoiler alert: candles are not meant to be stacked like Jenga blocks.

Finally, I turned to the pièce de résistance: the plants. Because if you're living in New York, and your room doesn’t have at least three plants, are you even living? I bought a few cacti. They're supposed to be low maintenance—just water them once in a while and boom, instant decor. Except one of them was already wilting when I got it home. The other two... well, they didn’t die, but let’s just say that when they started leaning toward the window, I realized they were probably looking for a better home.

Despite all the epic fails, I took a step back and surveyed the disaster I had just created. The room was still... something. The posters were crooked, the fairy lights had an identity crisis, and the plants were probably staging a rebellion against me, but for some weird reason, it didn’t look half bad. Maybe it was the fact that the bed was still perfectly made (as if that would ever stay that way). Or maybe it was the strange balance of chaos and order that I had unintentionally achieved. The room had an attitude—like it knew exactly what it was doing, even if I didn’t.

I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms and surveying the room with an exaggerated sigh. "Well," I said aloud, speaking to no one in particular, "this is probably the coolest disaster I’ve ever created." I smiled. Maybe this room wasn’t perfect, but it was definitely me.

The whole thing had started off as a bit of a joke, but now I was determined to get it right. After all, if I was going to live here, my room had to look like it belonged to someone who knew what they were doing—someone who had their life together. Which, let’s be honest, wasn’t exactly me, but hey, I could fake it for a few hours.

I started with the posters. The sloppy positioning of Billie Eilish was bugging me more than I was willing to admit, so I spent an embarrassing amount of time measuring, adjusting, and repositioning the corners. By the time I finished, Billie was perfectly centered above my bed, Zendaya had been moved slightly to the right for symmetry, and a random movie poster I found in a pile of old stuff from California now hung on the opposite wall. It felt like I had just solved world peace.

Next came the string lights. Oh, the string lights. They had mocked me for hours, dangling like a sad spiderweb, until I decided to actually care. I spent the next two hours carefully untangling the mess. It was like a puzzle, except the puzzle pieces hated me. When I finally got the lights up—properly, this time, around the bedframe like a cozy cocoon—I stepped back to admire my work. I could almost hear the lights whispering, "You did it. You fixed us. You’re a genius."

The rug? The rug was still a disaster. I finally gave in and got a new one. One that didn’t look like it was made for a kindergarten classroom or rejected by every design magazine on the planet. This new rug was plush, neutral in tone, and honestly, it completed the room. I spread it out with dramatic flair, feeling like I had just reached the pinnacle of home decor.

Then came the bookshelf. I swear it was like the universe had set me up to fail. But after I spent way too much time moving books around like a Tetris game, arranging them by color, size, and emotional weight, I finally stood back and admired the neat rows. The candles, which had once seemed like a risky venture, now sat confidently on top, their minimalistic chic vibe elevating the whole thing. I had become one of those people who could casually light a candle and feel fancy while reading a book, even if I wasn’t entirely sure I had the time to read a book.

The plants—oh, the plants. The cactus rebellion had been quelled when I swapped the dying ones for something a little less needy. A couple of succulents were now lined up on the windowsill, perfectly watered and evenly spaced, their tiny leaves glowing in the soft afternoon light. They seemed happy here, and honestly, so was I. They weren't the plants of an amateur anymore. No, these were the plants of someone who knew what they were doing.

Hours had passed—way more than I was willing to admit. But at last, when I looked around, I was met with a room that didn’t scream “Help me, I’m a teenager in New York trying to find herself.” No. This room now radiated confidence. It had balance. It had personality. It had style. It had... me.

I flopped onto the bed with a sigh of relief, feeling the soft weight of accomplishment settle in. The room was perfect—well, perfectly mine. A blend of chaos and curation, a bit messy but still somehow polished. It wasn’t a room from a magazine. It was a room that looked like it had been lived in, loved in, and styled with a little too much passion and a whole lot of caffeine.

But honestly? It was perfect. And that was good enough for me.

I had just finished fluffing the pillows—again—when the sudden sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway. It was rapid, like someone was in a rush, but also full of that unmistakable enthusiasm that seemed to fill the entire apartment whenever she was around. I froze, mid-fluff, not expecting anyone, let alone Chloe.

Before I could even process what was happening, the door swung open with an unceremonious bang. There she was, standing in the doorway, practically vibrating with excitement, her wide grin lighting up the entire room. She was wearing a hoodie, some torn jeans, and a pair of Converse that were a little too scuffed for my liking, but on her, they somehow looked effortless. She hadn’t even knocked.

"Diana!" she squealed, her voice bouncing off the walls. "Oh my God, this place is amazing! It's like... like a movie set or something!" Chloe didn't wait for me to answer before she rushed inside, dropping her bag by the door and looking around like she was seeing the room for the first time (she was)—and possibly planning her own redesign. I didn’t even know she was coming over, but when Chloe decided to do something, there was no stopping her.

She spun around in a little circle, her arms outstretched like she was conducting an orchestra—or maybe just trying to take in every inch of the room at once. "This is so much better than I thought it would be! Look at your posters—uh, Zendaya? That's like, major goals, Diana. Major." She gave me a pointed look like she was giving her stamp of approval, which, of course, was all I ever needed.

Before I could say anything, she was already over by the window, pressing her face against the glass, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. "You have the view," she said, her voice dropping into that tone of awe she reserved for things she considered legendary. "Look at the city, Diana! You’re living the dream right now! You're so lucky your dad is rich" She waved her arms dramatically, as if the skyline was some kind of magical backdrop to her life, too.

I watched, trying to suppress a smile. Chloe had always been like this—exuberant, bursting with energy, like she could light up any room she walked into. It was hard not to get swept up in her excitement. Even now, I could feel her joy spreading through me, like a spark catching onto something waiting to ignite.

"Come on," she said, turning to face me, her eyes already twinkling with that mischievous gleam I knew too well. "Let’s see what you’ve got in your closet. I’m assuming you're still going for ‘I’m new here but I’m so cool,’ right? Please tell me you’ve got something to wear for tomorrow. School starts!" Her tone was playful, but I knew there was no turning her down once she got an idea in her head.

I raised an eyebrow. "Uh, Chloe, I don’t even know what I should wear"

She waved a hand dismissively, like question didn't even matter. "You’ll figure it out. And if you don’t, we’ll make it happen!"

With that, she practically dragged me toward my closet, pulling out clothes and tossing them around like she was preparing for a fashion show. I couldn’t help but laugh, even though I was still in shock that she’d just shown up, completely unannounced, like she lived here too. But then again, that was just Chloe. She had a way of making everything feel like an adventure. Even the simplest things. Even a random visit to my new, very modern apartment.

I took a deep breath, letting the whirlwind of Chloe’s enthusiasm wash over me. For the first time since I moved to New York, I wasn’t alone in this strange, new place. Chloe had this uncanny way of making everything feel familiar, even when it was all so different.

"Alright," I said, laughing as I watched her pull out yet another outfit that she deemed "perfect. Let’s do this, then."

Baggy black jeans and oversized t-shirt. Not very elegant.

For a moment, I felt like everything might just turn out okay.

Chloe was still talking a mile a minute, as usual, her excited chatter filling the room with an energy I hadn’t realized I was missing. It had been hours of her running around, dragging me into a hundred different impromptu plans, and I was starting to feel the weight of the day catch up to me. After all, it wasn’t every day you moved across the country, dealt with boxes, rearranged a room, and entertained your best friend—who apparently had an endless supply of caffeine coursing through her veins.

"Alright, well, I gotta go," Chloe said, tugging her oversized hoodie back on and grabbing her bag from the corner where she’d abandoned it earlier. She flashed me one of her trademark grins, like nothing had happened and everything was as it should be. "But I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? We’re totally hanging out this weekend. Don’t even try to hide from me." She winked dramatically and gave me a quick, spontaneous hug, which I returned half-heartedly.

I waved her out the door, watching her disappear down the hall as she rattled on about some party she was already planning to drag me to. As soon as I heard the door close with a soft click, the apartment fell silent. The sudden quiet was jarring after the whirlwind of Chloe’s presence. It was just me now—alone in my new room, in this big, empty apartment, feeling a little lost.

I sighed, turning to face the bed that now looked perfectly made but still felt too big, too empty. I wasn’t ready for bed yet though. My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and with everything going on, I had totally forgotten about dinner.

I stepped out of my room and walked toward the kitchen, following the rich scent of whatever my dad had been cooking earlier. It wasn’t a meal I would’ve picked out on my own, but it was something my dad had made—something that felt... comforting, even if it was a little too fancy for my tastes. He was always trying to get me to appreciate the fine things in life, but after a full day of unpacking and trying to figure out how to live in this new world, I just needed something simple.

When I walked into the kitchen, my dad was at the counter, carefully arranging plates, like a chef in a five-star restaurant. He didn’t even look up at first. “I hope you’re hungry,” he said, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “I made roasted chicken with potatoes. It’s nothing special, but…”

“It smells amazing,” I interrupted, sitting down at the kitchen island, my eyes already on the food. He had clearly made more than enough for one person—his standard overkill approach to meals. But it was the right kind of overkill. The chicken was golden brown, crispy on the outside, and the potatoes were soft and seasoned just right.

“Glad you think so.” He finally turned, pushing a plate toward me. "I know this transition’s a lot, but I figured you might need some comfort food."

I nodded, too tired to argue, and dug into the meal with the kind of relief only food can provide. It was simple, it was homey, and after everything today, it was exactly what I needed. It felt nice to sit there, my dad across from me, silently eating. Even though I’d just moved here, even though everything felt new and foreign, this—this was something familiar. Something grounding.

The meal didn’t take long, but it gave me a moment to breathe. A moment where the weight of everything—the unpacking, the new city, the new school, the unfamiliarity—seemed to settle a little. I could feel my body starting to relax, the exhaustion from the day finally creeping in. When I finished, I put my fork down, letting out a small sigh of contentment.

“You good?” My dad asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

I nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.”

He smiled, getting up to put the dishes away. “Alright, well, get some sleep. Tomorrow’s another day.”

I gave him a small wave and made my way back to my room. It was strange to think that I would be sleeping here now, in this huge, glossy space that didn’t feel entirely like mine yet. But the bed was soft, the room was quiet, and the city lights outside the window offered some kind of comfort.

As I crawled into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin, I finally let my body sink into the plush mattress. My eyes fluttered closed, but before I drifted off to sleep, I thought about how the day had gone. The chaos, the excitement, the disappointment of not having everything perfect—but how, somehow, it had all come together.

And for the first time in a long while, I felt like maybe I could do this.

A/N

I rewrote this chapter because it was honestly so bad at first, I hope it's a little better now😭🙏

TELL ME IDEASS!!!

~lucià🎸