CHAPTER ONE: THE PHONE THAT WOULDN'T STOP
The first call came at 12:47 a.m. Kelvin ignored it. By the seventh, sleep had become impossible. The phone vibrated across the nightstand again, rattling an empty mug before slamming against the wall. He opened one eye to the familiar sight of peeling paint on the ceiling and the old radiator that hadn't worked properly since November. Beside him, Sarah slept soundly beneath the blanket, completely oblivious. Their apartment was barely big enough for one person, yet the two siblings had spent the last two years sharing it after moving to London. One bed. One bathroom. One tiny window overlooking a narrow street. Every month ended the same way—with rent barely paid, savings wiped out, and another promise from their parents in California that they'd "help next month." They never did.
The phone buzzed again. Kelvin rubbed his face and glanced at the glowing screen. MIA – 17 MISSED CALLS. His stomach tightened. Nobody called seventeen times because they were bored. He nudged Sarah's shoulder. "Wake up." She groaned and pulled the blanket over her head. "Morning..." "It's one in the morning," he muttered. "Your phone." Another call lit up the screen. MIA. Kelvin sighed, reached for the half-full glass of water beside the bed, hesitated for exactly one second, then splashed a little across Sarah's forehead.
She shot upright with a gasp. "What the hell, Kelvin?" she snapped, wiping water from her face. "Are you insane?" "You had seventeen missed calls." She snatched her phone. Before she could unlock it, the screen lit again. Eighteen. Then nineteen. The color drained from her face. "Oh, no..." she whispered. "Mia." Kelvin frowned. "Your friend from university?" Sarah nodded and answered the call immediately. "Mia? ...Hello?" She listened in silence, her expression changing from confusion to alarm. "No... stay where you are. Don't leave." When the call ended, she lowered the phone with trembling hands.
"What happened?" Kelvin asked. Sarah swallowed hard. "Mia came to London tonight." He blinked. "I thought she wasn't moving until next week." "So did I." She took a shaky breath. "Her landlord rented her room to someone else before she arrived. They cancelled her accommodation." Kelvin sat upright. "That's illegal." "Maybe. They didn't care." "So she checked into a hotel?" Sarah slowly shook her head. "She spent almost everything she had on the move." The room fell silent except for the rain beginning to tap softly against the window.
"Where is she now?" Kelvin asked. "Victoria Coach Station," Sarah replied quietly. He frowned. "At one in the morning? Alone?" Sarah nodded. The answer unsettled him more than he expected. Victoria Coach Station wasn't empty after midnight—it was unpredictable. Travelers slept on benches, intoxicated strangers drifted through the entrances, and security cleared people out regularly. It wasn't somewhere anyone wanted to be stranded. Another message appeared on Sarah's screen. She read it, and her breathing caught. She turned the phone toward him. Security says everyone has to leave the waiting area in thirty minutes. I don't know where to go.
Kelvin stared at the message. Thirty minutes. That was the real problem—not tomorrow, not next week, but right now. Sarah looked at him hopefully. "She needs somewhere to stay." He already knew where the conversation was heading. "No." "You haven't even thought about it." "I have." "Kelvin—" "We don't have room." His voice remained calm, but firm. Sarah looked around the apartment. The room answered for her. One bed. One wardrobe. Two people already breaking the tenancy agreement by sharing a studio intended for a single occupant. There wasn't enough floor space to open two suitcases at once.
"If Mr. Hargreaves finds out someone else is staying here," Kelvin continued quietly, "he'll report us." Sarah lowered her eyes. Their landlord had made the rules painfully clear: no guests overnight, no extra occupants, no exceptions. One complaint from another tenant could leave both of them homeless. Neither could afford another deposit. Neither had anywhere else to go. "I know," Sarah whispered. "Then you know why the answer has to be no."
The phone vibrated again. Sarah read the newest message, and tears filled her eyes. Kelvin hated seeing that expression. "What did she say?" Sarah struggled to speak. "...She said she doesn't know where she'll sleep if I can't help her." Silence settled over the apartment once more. Rain drummed harder against the glass while Kelvin stared at the cracked ceiling. One stranger. One night. That was all Sarah was asking. Except he knew it never stayed that simple. One night became one week. One week became one month. One mistake could cost them the only roof they had.
He looked toward the apartment door, imagining their landlord downstairs and an eviction notice sliding beneath it. After a long moment, he exhaled. "No." Sarah closed her eyes, then quietly admitted, "I wasn't asking." Kelvin turned sharply. "What?" She met his gaze, guilt written all over her face. "I already told Mia she could stay." His stomach dropped. Sarah looked down at her phone one last time before whispering, "...and she's already in a taxi."
