Chapter 1: No Reception, No Chill
The orchard didn’t welcome her.
It sighed.
The wind stirred the tall grass with all the enthusiasm of a shrug, and the trees—once lovingly pruned and neatly arranged—now leaned into one another like gossipy old women. Calla Yeo stood at the edge of it all, suitcase in one hand, rusted house key in the other, and considered turning around.
Too late for that.
The gravel driveway behind her was already claimed by the silence. No Ubers. No taxis. Just one sleepy road and the crisp scent of damp soil hanging in the autumn air.
Her sneakers made a muted crunch as she took a step forward. Her body protested the movement—tight neck, clenched shoulders, a sharp twinge behind her eyes. It had been weeks since she’d last slept through the night. Even longer since she’d stopped checking her emails.
Not that anyone was sending them anymore.
She stopped at the front steps of the cottage. The old wooden boards creaked beneath her foot, as if startled by her return. She hadn’t been here in over a decade—her aunt Su-Yin had left Singapore for this remote slice of Hawke’s Bay after retiring. The family had barely mentioned her since.
And now she was gone, leaving behind two things: a cluttered orchard and a cat with attitude.
As if summoned, Chairman Meow slunk into view. He appeared on the porch like smoke—grey, thick-furred, and shaped like a judgmental loaf. His tail flicked once. His eyes, gold and unblinking, locked onto her with all the warmth of a customs agent inspecting a suspicious package.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Calla muttered. “I didn’t ask to be here either.”
He blinked. Slowly.
“You’re lucky you’re cute.”
Chairman Meow padded down the steps and brushed past her suitcase with the barest flick of his tail, as though acknowledging her presence but withholding approval.
Calla exhaled and unlocked the door.
Inside, the house smelled like lemon balm and old wood. The air was still, the kind of quiet that made your thoughts echo. Worn books lined the shelves. A ceramic frog held a sign that read “Bloom where you’re planted.” It felt like the sort of place where people sipped tea, not screamed into pillows.
She dropped her suitcase by the door and wandered into the kitchen. A handwritten note was pinned to the fridge: “He prefers salmon. Not tuna. Be warned.”
Beside it, a magnet that read: “Silence is golden. Unless you have a cat. Then it’s suspicious.”
Calla groaned softly. “Aunt Su-Yin, you really lived the cottagecore dream, huh?”
She opened a few cupboards—teacups, dried herbs, too many jars labeled “calm.” Nothing caffeinated. Her body begged for coffee. Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
No signal.
Just one angry bar blinking SOS in red.
“Figures.”
Chairman Meow leapt onto the counter, completely ignoring her protests, and plopped down beside the kettle with a thud. He stared pointedly at her.
“I don’t suppose you can make flat whites?”
He yawned.
By the time Calla finished exploring, her mood had dipped into the kind of fatigue that made her bones ache. She sat down heavily on the old floral couch in the living room and let her head fall back.
Outside, the wind rustled the trees. Inside, the silence pressed in.
She pulled out her phone again. Still no signal. Still no Wi-Fi.
Fine.
She opened the voice recorder app.
Titled the new memo:
“Dear Chairman Meow – Day 1.”
She stared at the ceiling, then at the cat curled smugly in the windowsill.
"Dear Chairman Meow," she began, her voice dry. "You furry tyrant. You’ve been here less than an hour and already claimed the good chair, the only sunny spot in the house, and my will to live."
He blinked again, slow and unimpressed.
"I used to be someone important, you know. Press releases, crisis control, million-dollar launches. Now I’m here. In mud-splattered trainers. Talking to a cat."
She paused.
"...I think Aunt Su-Yin might’ve been onto something. Or completely unwell. Not sure yet."
The wind rattled the window. The orchard beyond swayed, untamed.
She lowered her voice, almost a whisper.
"...I don’t know how to be still. It’s day one and I already feel like I’m failing at resting. Isn’t that ridiculous?"
The cat licked his paw.
Calla closed her eyes.
“Anyway. Good talk. See you tomorrow. Try not to eat my shoelaces.”
She hit stop.
Chairman Meow let out a soft, imperious meow, as if concluding the session.
