TËSSÃ ãñd DARÆY: A Love Written with fire

By the time our second year rolled around, Biancus and I had already decided we were staying together. Not necessarily because we wanted to, but because, well—circumstances.

For Biancus, the plan was simple: she wanted to live alone with her younger sister, Ruth, who had just gotten into college. For me? I just wanted to avoid trouble.

I have this… habit. The closer I get to people, the more I tend to offend them. It's not intentional—I swear it's not. But something about being too near, too available, just brings out the worst in me. So usually, I prefer to keep a healthy distance, to love from afar so I can be the best version of myself whenever I'm around them.

But this time? There was no running. No distance.

Biancus and I were sharing a space, and I had to accept that, flaws and all. And honestly, for a while, it wasn't so bad. These girls—Biancus, Ruth, and our other friend, Light—they were my home. Whenever I felt conflicted, lost, or just plain frustrated with life, I ran to them.

They were my peace of mind.

But as we all know, nothing lasts forever.

Enter Irene. Again.

Now, Irene didn't originally plan to stay with us. She had her own place… or at least, she was supposed to.

But life had other plans.

Her house wasn't ready yet, so at first, she crashed with our friend Royalty. But apparently, things weren't as comfortable as she had hoped. So, naturally, she did what Irene does best—she migrated.

Straight into our room.

And just like that, we became five girls in a space that was definitely not designed for five girls.

Me.

Biancus.

Ruth.

Light.

And, of course, Irene.

One room. Five personalities. Zero personal space.

If anyone had walked in at any moment, they'd think we were some weird, chaotic version of a family sitcom—except without a father figure to balance the madness.

And as for our mother?

Oh, Mama Irene was one hell of a women.

At first, calling Irene Mama was just a joke—something we said out of affection. But the thing with nicknames? Sometimes people become them. And Irene? Oh, she became Mama.

Somehow, she started acting like she was actually our mother. And I mean, sure, there were moments when she genuinely cared. When any of us got sick, she was the first to check in. If someone was heartbroken, she was there, dishing out advice like some wise old sage.

And those moments made me second-guess myself.

Maybe I was overthinking it.

Maybe Irene wasn't that bad.

But almost immediately, she would prove my doubts right.

Because the moment she sensed that someone was getting ahead of her, she had to remind them who was in charge. She would put you down, discourage you, anything to make sure she remained on top.

Take Biancus, for example.

She was about to surpass Irene in something big—getting a better phone. And instead of being happy for her best friend, Irene suddenly wasn't so supportive. The next thing we knew? She upgraded her phone first.

And Biancus? Oh, it pained her. You could tell. Because their bond was tight, and for once, she had hoped Irene would actually be happy for her.

Then there was the way Irene favored Biancus over the rest of us.

Most mornings, when she woke up late, she'd turn to me or Light and say,

"Boil water for me and Biancus to bathe."

Excuse me? What?

Last I checked, I didn't sign up to be anyone's maid. I mean, if it were a one-time thing, fine. But this? This was a pattern. And the favoritism was getting obvious.

So, instead of arguing, I did the smartest thing I could think of—I started waking up extra early, taking my bath, and running far away before I exploded.

And, of course, I gave them nicknames behind their backs—

Queen Irene and Princess Biancus.

Because the mother-daughter duo? It was killing me.

One day, I finally had a proper conversation with Light about it. We were in class, just casually talking, when I mentioned how Irene was getting too much.

And to my surprise? Light felt the same way.

For the longest time, I had assumed I was just being dramatic. But no—Light saw it too. The way Irene carried herself, the way she expected things to go her way. It wasn't just me.

Ruth, on the other hand, had no choice but to deal with it. Unlike Light and me, who could always escape to CHS when things got unbearable, Ruth was stuck.

And honestly? School had already drained her spirit.

Her favorite phrase? "School don tire me."

But Ruth wasn't someone you could easily push around. She knew exactly how to put Irene in her place. I don't know how she did it, but somehow, she managed to stand her ground without causing chaos.

Light, though? Light wasn't as patient.

She started giving Irene attitude. And oh, did it piss Irene off.

But what could she do? It wasn't her house.

So, she had to suck it up and manage

I've always known Biancus to be the kind of person no one could control. She was her own voice, her own authority. Whether you wanted to hear her opinion or not, she'd give it to you, raw and unfiltered. No sugarcoating, no hesitation. And honestly, it worked for her. She was the kind of person who did things at her own pace, and if you didn't like it, well, that was your problem.

But for the first time, I saw Biancus laughing at something she definitely wasn't up for. The kind of laughter that wasn't real—the kind that felt like a forced participation in a game she hadn't signed up for. And that's when it hit me.

Biancus was the only reason we kept playing along.

We weren't quiet because we didn't have things to say. We were quiet because of her. Because as long as Biancus was fine with it, we had no choice but to be fine too. And Irene? She knew that. She used that.

It wasn't just that Irene liked Biancus—she needed her. Biancus was the glue holding all of us together, the bridge that connected each one of us to the group. Ruth? Bianca's sister. Light? Practically Bianca's cousin. Me? Bianca's friend. In one way or another, we were all linked to her. And Irene figured out that as long as she had Biancus under her thumb, she had all of us too.

Irene knew exactly what she was doing.

It reminded me of something that happened back in year one. There was this girl, Joy, who stayed with us for a while. Whenever she asked me for anything, my answer was almost always no. Not because I had a problem with her, but because, well… no was no. Simple.

Until she figured out a trick.

She stopped asking me directly. Instead, she'd ask Biancus to ask me. And suddenly, just like that, I started saying yes.

I remember the day she told me about it, laughing like she had cracked some secret code. "You always say yes to Biancus," she said. "I just had to go through her."

That was the first time I actually noticed it.

It had become so normal that I didn't even realize I was doing it. It wasn't just me, either. We all followed Biancus. If she agreed, we agreed. If she stayed, we stayed. If she laughed, we laughed. And Irene? She made sure to keep her close. She made sure Biancus was always by her side.

But Irene's biggest mistake?

She thought she could own Biancus.

She thought she could mold her, shape her into something that belonged to her. She mistook Biancus's easygoing nature for obedience, mistook her loyalty for submission. And that was where she messed up.

Because if there was one thing about Biancus—it was that no one controlled her.

And Irene was about to find that out the hard way.

It started small at first, little moments where Biancus would pull back, where she'd hesitate before nodding along to whatever Irene said. But the real crack? It came when Irene started pushing boundaries with Ruth.

If there was one thing Biancus didn't play with, it was her sister.

And the day Irene tried to overstep? That was the day we all saw a side of Biancus none of us were prepared for.

Even I was shocked.