For the next few days, things weren't awkward. Just quiet.
Not heavy silence—just the kind that comes when people mind their own business.
They didn't talk much. Just greetings in the morning. A nod in the hallway. A quick thanks before and after a meal.
It wasn't tense. Or strained.
They moved around each other easily—like people who knew the rhythm of a shared space but weren't reaching for more.
Whatever had crackled between them that morning was tucked away. Maybe too big to bring up. Maybe too real.
They left each other alone.
But in the quiet, Salomé still noticed the small things.
Like how he always looked her way before leaving the apartment. Or how he paused sometimes like he wanted to say something—but didn't.
And Giovanni noticed, too.
The way she stole glances at him. The way her footsteps slowed whenever he was around.
They weren't avoiding each other. Just… letting things settle.
Letting time pass.
Letting space do what words couldn't yet.
One afternoon, Salomé sat at the kitchen counter, hunched over her laptop, typing away with quiet focus.
She didn't hear him approach. A moment later, his voice sounded behind her.
"Hey."
She jumped, twisting around in her seat, a hand flying to her chest. "Oh God—"
"Sorry," Giovanni murmured, mouth twitching. "Didn't mean to sneak up."
She exhaled, narrowing her eyes at him. "You good?"
He nodded, glanced briefly at the floor, then met her gaze again. "Would you like to see a movie? With me."
Salomé blinked.
He added quickly, "If you want to. No pressure."
Her head tilted slightly as she looked up at him, his figure framed by the soft overhead light. He was watching her now—steady and quiet.
Salomé didn't answer right away.
She stared at his face, and she could see a quiet sort of hopefulness that made her heart flutter.
"What movie?" she asked finally, her voice softer than she meant it to be.
"...I didn't check."
Salomé swallowed the laughter rising in her throat.
She turned back to her laptop, tapping the spacebar once to wake the screen. "Okay then."
Giovanni blinked. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," she repeated.
He let out a soft breath—almost a laugh, almost a sigh. "We'll leave at seven."
She nodded. He lingered a second longer, then turned and walked off—slow, thoughtful steps.
Salomé watched his reflection in the dark glass of the microwave as he disappeared down the hall, the corner of her mouth curving in spite of herself.
Then she turned back to her laptop, but the words on the screen no longer made sense.
With a sigh, Salomé shut her laptop and stood, barely aware of her own movements. Her thoughts had already darted ahead, outpacing her body, racing through questions she hadn't needed to ask in her life.
What do you wear when it's not a date—but also not not a date?
She retreated to her room, closed the door behind her, opened her closet and the war began.
For the next thirty minutes, she pulled clothes off hangers, tossed them on the bed, tried them on, peeled them off, changed her mind, started again.
At one point she stood in front of the mirror wearing one shoe on and one shoe off, hair half-clipped, frowning like the fate of the free world depended on whether she wore jeans or a skirt.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered—right before googling casual movie outfit cute but not trying too hard.
Nothing felt right.
Everything either screamed too much or whispered you don't care—which was worse. Because she did care. She cared a lot more than she was ready to admit.
Eventually, she sat cross-legged on the bed in her underwear and a tank top, surrounded by discarded outfits like a battlefield, scrolling through her camera roll and Pinterest boards for inspiration, heart thumping as the clock ticked closer to seven.
Hair up? Hair down? Sneakers or boots? Should she put on lipstick? Or would that be too obvious?
It was just a movie.
But it was with him.
And for the first time—really the first time—she was about to step into the world beside Giovanni as more than just someone who she shared an apartment with.
Whatever this was, it felt like the beginning of something.
And she wanted to look like the version of herself he might remember.
Eventually, she landed on something.
A floral romper she hadn't worn in ages—soft cream with blue blossoms, cinched at the waist and loose at the sleeves. It felt like effort without trying too hard.
She paired it with a pair of brown suede knee-high boots, her hair was left down with a single twist at the side.
Eye liner. Lip gloss. A tiny dab of perfume behind her ears.
And she was good to go.
She stood in front of the mirror one last time, smoothing invisible creases from her sleeve, and told herself to breathe.
This wasn't a date.
Except her hands trembled a little, and her pulse thudded in her ears.
She checked the time. 6:57.
She grabbed her phone, stuffed it into her bag, then stepped out of her room and into the hallway, where the soft light from the living room glowed against the wooden floor.
And there he was—in a black shirt tucked into a pair of light blue jeans. Simple. Clean.
He stood by the door, glancing at his watch like he was counting down the seconds.
He looked up when he saw her.
And paused.
There was something in his eyes then—quiet surprise, maybe.
"Ready?" he asked.
Salomé nodded, tightening her grip on her bag.
"Yeah," she said. "Let's go."
She stepped out first and he followed suit, locking the door behind him.
They took the elevator down, and the evening air met her skin the moment the doors slid open—cool and steady, like a quiet breath.
The sun had dipped low, casting long shadows across the street as the soft hum of the city wrapped around them—distant traffic, a dog barking somewhere, faint laughter from an open window.
They walked together down the narrow sidewalk. Neither of them spoke at first.
Salomé kept her eyes ahead, but she was acutely aware of him beside her—the calm way he moved, hands tucked in his pockets, head slightly bowed like he was deep in thought.
Her heart beat so loudly, she wondered if he could hear it.
"You look nice," he said finally, as they passed through a patch of sidewalk bathed in golden light.
She glanced at him, catching the side of his face lit by the last of the sun.
"Thanks," she said, brushing her hair behind her ear. "You look good yourself."
They reached the main road just as a yellow cab turned the corner.
Giovanni stepped forward and raised a hand, and within seconds, the car pulled up beside them with a low rumble.
He opened the door and gestured for her to go first.
She glanced at him and mouthed, Thank you, before sliding inside.
He rounded the car, got in beside her, and shut the door with a soft click.