Likes, Rents, and a Side of Drama

It was not going well.

Scratch that—it was going horribly.

Esha sat cross-legged on the pristine carpet of her luxury apartment, staring at her phone screen like it had betrayed her. She had replicated three outfits by now. Three! And how many Like Points had she earned?

Zero.

Nada.

Not even a pity point.

"This is rigged," she muttered, flopping backwards like a fainting Victorian lady. "I've posted pictures, hashtags, and even used those weird sparkle filters. What more does the universe want?"

The Cloth Fairy System's voice buzzed in her ear like an annoyed AI with attitude.

"Please, host! Stop blaming me for your non-existent social life! It's not my fault no one bothers to check your account!"

"Oh gee, thanks for the emotional support," she said, rolling her eyes. "Should I also blame you for my unwashed laundry and single status?"

"Yes. Wait—no. Focus! You're the one who used a dead account! Even your username was... embarrassing."

Esha winced. The account had somehow still been logged in. Username: @ShinyMuffinGirl92

"Look," she mumbled defensively. "It was ironic. I was going through a phase."

"It was a cry for help. And fashion. And muffin crumbs."

Esha groaned and sat up, dragging herself to the giant wardrobe that made up one glorious wall of her room. The thing looked like it belonged to a fashion goddess, except it was mostly empty. Only the left corner sparkled with luxury items gifted by the Salazars. She never wore them. In her mind, they were heirlooms she had no right to touch.

She eyed the clothes she had made. All three were picked from the internet's latest trends. The first was a simple striped sweater paired with black pants—effortlessly cool. The second: a sleeveless blouse with a white blazer and a beige pleated skirt—elegant. And the third was a mix of the two: striped sweater, white tank, black pants.

Internet-approved. Mirror-approved. But apparently not social media-approved.

"I swear I look like a Pinterest board," she muttered.

She did a small twirl in front of the mirror in the striped sweater combo, admiring how it hugged her frame just right.

"Host," the System chirped. "Why don't you go outside wearing the clothes? Maybe then you'll get some exposure. Real humans. Natural lighting. You know, like... social interaction."

"That's... actually not a bad idea," Esha admitted. "Also, I can check out the storefront properties."

Finally—finally—something was going right. A message had come in earlier from the rental property office, confirming that two of her storefronts had been successfully rented out. She hadn't even done anything. They were just sitting there like silent bank accounts waiting to be activated.

She pulled her hair into a neat ponytail, dabbed on some tinted lip balm for a hint of "I tried," grabbed her phone, and left the apartment.

The cab ride to Milton Street was smooth. It had recently become the hottest street in D-City, with tourists, foodies, and fashionistas buzzing around like caffeine-charged bees. Owning even one store there was a big deal.

Esha owned three.

She stepped onto the sidewalk in front of Stores 15, 16, and 17 like a queen inspecting her domain. Store 15 had been converted into a café. Store 16 was now a cozy little lifestyle shop. Store 17 stood empty but full of potential.

The property manager greeted her with a smile, clearly surprised to see someone so young and not in a pantsuit.

"You're the owner?" he asked, eyeing her striped sweater.

"Yes," she said, chin up. "Is that a problem?"

He cleared his throat. "Not at all. You're... fashionable."

"Thank you. My clothes say hi too."

She inspected both stores and met the tenants. They were polite, if a bit bewildered by her age and casual tone. Esha didn't mind. As long as the rent was paid on time, they could think she was the long-lost niece of a mafia don for all she cared.

Now for her reward: food.

There was a famous resto-bar right across the street. A must-visit, according to half the internet.

She sat at a two-person table near the window. A peppy waiter recommended the bestselling fusion platter, and Esha—ever the curious eater—ordered without hesitation. The vibe was great, the lighting was aesthetic, and the music was upbeat enough to make her bob her head.

But after five minutes, she got bored.

So, she did what any normal girl would do in a fancy bar with no social life.

She texted her best friend.

Esha: Hey!! Need a place to stay in D-City?

Alana: Who is this? And what have you done with the broke girl I know?

Esha: Your favorite ex-roommate who might be rich now. Long story. Wanna crash at my luxury apartment?

Alana: ...BRB Fainting

Alana: Wait. You won a lottery?? Or are you a sugar baby now? Blink twice if you need help.

Esha: Nope. Saved a rich kid from drowning. Now I own three stores, a penthouse, and have money in my bank account..

Alana: Is it contagious??

Esha: Only if you jump into rivers for strangers.

Her phone rang. She didn't even need to check who it was. Only one person had that kind of call speed.

E!!!" came Alana's dramatic voice. "You're not joking?! Did you seriously win the lottery?! What's going on?!"

Esha laughed. "Not a lottery exactly, but... let's just say I inherited a golden goose. Long story. Come over after work, I'll explain everything."

"Girl, I'm packing my bags already. If this is a prank, you owe me five bubble teas."

Esha was still laughing when her food arrived. The waiter raised a brow.

"Something funny?"

"Just my best friend. She's a one-woman sitcom."

She took a bite of the chicken and nearly cried.

"Okay, that's illegal. Why is this so good?"

"Host!" the Cloth Fairy chirped in her ear. "You just got two Like Points!"

Esha froze, a forkful of truffle fries halfway to her mouth. "Seriously?! From what?"

"From a tourist who posted your photo on her story. You were in the background, apparently eating with 'aesthetic energy.'"

"...What even is that?"

"Apparently, being attractive and surrounded by food gets you bonus points. Try laughing again."

She snorted. "So I just need to exist next to carbs?"

⸻

That evening, Alana arrived at Esha's apartment and nearly fainted.

"THIS IS A PENTHOUSE?!"

"Shhh, you'll scare the neighbors."

"The neighbors probably have butlers and diamond teacups."

She led Alana around the gleaming living room, the open-concept kitchen with a wine fridge she would never use, and the three bedrooms that all had smart lighting.

Alana jumped onto the couch and flopped dramatically. "Okay, start from the beginning. How exactly did you go from 'I can't afford detergent' to 'rich people gift me apartments'?"

Esha sighed. "I saw a kid fall into the river. Jumped in to save him. Forgot I can't swim. Kid could swim. Joke's on me. But turns out he was the Salazar family's heir."

"Salazars?! THE Salazars??"

"Yup. They showered me with gifts and money because apparently, I'm a noble idiot."

Alana shook her head in disbelief. "Your karma is insane."

They giggled for a moment before Esha grew serious. "I also lost my job because of it."

Alana blinked. "Wait. They gave you a three-bedroom apartment, storefronts, and gadgets, but you still got fired?"

"Yup. No call, no show. My manager didn't even ask why."

"Capitalism sucks," Alana declared, throwing a throw pillow for emphasis.

Esha grinned. "Now tell me about you. Still fighting with your mom about 'adulting'?"

Alana groaned. "Girl, my mom called me yesterday to say I'm no longer eligible for 'free rice' at home. She said and I quote—'If you have the time to post cat videos, you have the time to pay rent.'"

"Iconic."

"My dad just told me to ask you for a discount on rent and to not bring shame to the Taylor name. I told him the Taylor name already brings enough shame."

"Respect."

"I live for drama, but not when it's my own."

They both collapsed laughing.

⸻

Later that night, Esha lay in bed, scrolling through the app. Her jaw dropped.

Ten likes.

Fifteen.

Twenty.

Thirty-five!

"Host, like points are accumulating. Current total: 12."

"I could kiss you."

"Consent not required. But thank you, Host."

Esha was giddy.

⸻

Meanwhile, Alana was back at her place and dealing with her own family drama.

Her younger brother had "borrowed" her credit card again to buy a gaming chair.

Her mom had texted a passive-aggressive "Are you alive?" after two weeks of silence.

And her dad had sent her a blurry meme of a crying cat captioned "Me waiting for grandkids."

"Yeah," Alana muttered, messaging Esha, "staying with you sounds like a spa retreat."

⸻

Alana: Can I move in tomorrow? My brother just bought a neon keyboard using MY money.

Esha: I have three bathrooms. Pick your fave.

Alana: I'm naming one of them after myself.

Esha: Only if you clean it.

Alana: I take back everything.

They both laughed behind their phones.

For the first time in a long time, life felt unexpectedly... good.

And very meme-worthy.