Page 10 of Knot My Wonderland

It was perfect.

Mara parked like she was abandoning ship — diagonal across two spaces — and threw me a mock-salute as she hopped out.

"Come on," she called over her shoulder. "I can already smell the burnt coffee from here." The bell above the door jangled when we stepped inside, releasing a gust of greasy air that smelled like frying oil and powdered sugar. Inside, the diner buzzed with a handful of night owls — students cramming textbooks under the yellow light, a cluster of truckers hunched over mugs, a man in a bathrobe and slippers quietly eating pancakes in the corner like he didn’t have a single care left to give. Mara led us to a battered booth in the back, sliding in with the casual sprawl of someone who belonged everywhere she went. I followed, tugging the cracked menu toward me and squinting at the faded print.

A waitress with tired purple hair shuffled over, plunking down two chipped mugs and a pot of coffee without waiting for an order.

"Starting a tab for you two," she said, her voice rough but not unkind.

Mara grinned and poured for both of us, sliding a mug across to me. The coffee steamed weakly, already sloshing around the rim like it was trying to escape.

"Cheers to questionable life choices," Mara said, raising her mug. I snorted, clinking mine against hers. The ceramic clack was sharp and bright in the hum of the diner. I took a sip — it was watery, bitter, and scalding — and immediately made a face. Mara burst out laughing, tipping her head back against the cracked booth seat.

"See?" she said, triumphantly. "Experience unlocked." I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help grinning back at her. And sitting there— in a sticky booth under flickering lights, with Mara’s knee bumping mine under the table and the smell of burnt toast thick in the air —I felt something ease inside me. Something small and tender and scared finally letting out a breath.

Maybe I wasn’t broken. Maybe I was just still finding my own shape. And maybe….just maybe I can figure out my life myself.

Chapter Four

Alice

Sunlight broke across my bedroom like a reluctant apology, barely warm, dust motes spinning lazily in the golden haze as it cut through the blinds. I blinked slowly, dragging myself out of sleep like it weighed me down. My body ached in that bone-deep, soul-wearied kind of way — not from effort, but from everything else. The kind of ache you couldn’t stretch or ice away.

The nest had curled tighter around me overnight, a protective tangle of mismatched blankets, throw pillows, and hoodie sleeves knotted like vines. One leg was half-cramped beneath me, the other thrown haphazardly over the side of a stuffed animal I hadn’t admitted to owning in years. My old lavender candle had burned out at some point, leaving behind a faintly smoky edge clinging to the air. Still, everything smelled familiar. Safe. Like me.

For a few minutes, I just lay there. Breathing. Listening. The city hummed beyond the walls — traffic, birds, some kid yellingfaintly a few buildings down. Life moved on, louder than I felt ready for. Eventually, I fumbled for my phone with one sluggish hand, nearly knocking over yesterday’s tea in the process. The screen lit up with several notifications. One group chat I muted weeks ago. A deadline reminder I didn’t want to deal with. And—

Mara:You alive?

A smile tugged at my mouth, crooked and weak but real. Of course she’d check in.

Me:Barely. Thinking of quitting everything and becoming a pancake cryptid.

A few seconds passed, then:

Mara:Only if I get cryptid sidekick privileges.

Me:Deal. But you have to be in charge of syrup rations and PR.

Mara:Perfect. I’ll work on our manifesto.

I stared at her last message for longer than I needed to. The kind of stare where your brain is too full and too quiet at the same time. Then I thumbed out:

Me:Thanks again. For last night.

I didn’t expect an answer right away. So when the knock came — loud, casual, and just once — I jolted like I’d been zapped. A full heartbeat passed before I recognized it.

Mara.

I scrambled out of the nest with blanket-static hair and bare feet, nearly tripping over an empty laundry basket and my own pride. I opened the door, and there she stood. Windbreaker, messy bun, boots already scuffed from the morning sidewalk. In one hand, she had two large iced coffees, the condensation slicking her fingers. In the other, a brown paper bag that practically radiated the scent of warm egg, bacon, and butter.

“Did you seriously teleport?” I asked, blinking at her like a confused owl.

Mara gave me a look. “I live like four blocks away.”

“Still.” I muttered, glancing at her again before sighing.

She smirked, brushing past me with the casual air of someone who belonged here. “I was already at the café. Consider this part of my very elaborate avoidance strategy.” I shut the door behind her, trailing her to the kitchen where she plunked the bag down and started pulling out food like it was a well-practiced drill. It probably was by now.

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