The morning was slow. Too quiet.
Amy had barely slept. Her eyes burned from crying, but there were no tears left to shed. The couch where she'd wrapped herself in her comforter now looked like a battlefield...tangled
sheets, tossed pillows, and that lingering ache of heartbreak that clung to the air like smoke.
She needed to move. To do something.
So she slipped on a hoodie over her tank top, tugged on sweatpants, and made her way downstairs to check the mail. No makeup. No expectations. Just silence and the need to feel her feet touch the ground.
The lobby smelled like stale detergent and old newspapers. She barely noticed the mail in her hand as she stepped into the elevator and hit the button for her floor. A few letters from the bookstore distributor. A credit card offer. Nothing important. Nothing to distract her for long.
As she stepped out onto her floor and began walking down the hallway, her gaze locked on her door at the end.
She didn't notice the sound of another door creaking open in front of her until....
"Amy."
She stopped.
It was Ethan.
He'd just stepped out of his apartment, holding a half-empty coffee mug and wearing jeans that clung lazily to his frame. His hair was messier than usual, and there was a scratch on his cheek like he'd slept weird or maybe shaved in a rush.
"I was just...." he started, stepping forward.
But Amy didn't wait.
She brushed past him without a word, her keys already in her hand, her face hard and unreadable.
"Amy?" he said again, brow furrowing.
"I'm not in the mood, Ethan," she muttered without turning around, voice flat.
He blinked, visibly thrown.
"I.....okay," he said softly, taking a step back. "I didn't mean to bother you."
She didn't respond.
Her key jammed slightly before sliding into the lock, and she disappeared inside her apartment without another glance, the door clicking shut behind her.
Ethan stood there for a few seconds longer, the steam rising slowly from his coffee mug, watching the closed door like it might open again. It didn't.
He sighed, rubbed the back of his neck, and muttered under his breath, "Guess it's one of those days."
Then he turned around and went back inside.
Amy leaned against the door after closing it, heart thudding harder than it should have.
She didn't even know why she reacted like that. Ethan had only said her name. Just... her name.
But somehow, it felt like too much. Like the world was trying to move on while she was still stuck in yesterday.
She dropped the mail on the table without looking through it properly, then crossed to the couch and sank down into the same dented spot she'd cried herself into last night. The tulips on the windowsill had begun to wilt ever so slightly.
She stared at them, swallowing hard.
I need to love me, too.
She believed those words. She did. But loving herself in the silence? In the emptiness? It was harder than she thought.
Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. Instead, she pulled her laptop onto her knees again, opened the book she'd been writing....the one Jace was excited to see, and stared at the blinking cursor.
A long pause.
Then:
"She didn't mean to be cold. But warmth required energy. And heartbreak had drained her down to the bones."
Amy exhaled.
It was something.
Not much. But something.
She leaned back, typing slowly now, trying to channel it...her pain, her guilt, the ache of walking away from something she still wanted. She was drawing from experience, wasn't she?.
So much was happening in her life right now and she doesn't have a choice but to put it all in writing.
Was she ever going to publish it after writing?..... probably not.
Mrs Thompson had told her she was a good writer but she was always afraid of being criticised so she does what she does best.....write more because it's her way of escaping from reality.
The adventures of Anne Marie.....the children's novel she'd written a while back was one of the kids favourite at Fictional escapes.....she didn't really publish it....she just made a copy of it and read it to the children at the bookstore and some of the parents that loved the book had to photocopy it for the kids.
The Adventures of Anne Marie....It sounded innocent enough. Just a tale about a curious girl who discovered a talking rabbit and a map that led to invisible islands. She thought it and then wrote it.....all her fantasies as a child with wild imaginations.
A soft tap at the window made her blink. Rain. Gentle, rhythmic, like fingertips tapping the glass. The tulips in the sill shivered as drops slid down their pale petals. She walked towards the kitchen, adjusting the vase slightly, her thumb brushing the stem of the flower Jace had picked himself.
Fresh once. Beautiful. Still beautiful, even now.
Even when they were wilting.
Amy pressed her fingers to her temple and closed the laptop again. She didn't want to write anymore today. Or maybe she didn't want to read her own words. Not when they echoed things she wasn't ready to hear.
She stood, crossed to the kitchen again and poured herself a glass of water. The room was so quiet that even the soft glug of liquid sounded too loud.
How do people do it?
This part.
The in-between. The not-loving-but-not-hating someone.
The knowing you left for the right reasons... but also wondering if right reasons hurt more than wrong ones.
She walked over to the bookshelf, trailing a finger across the spines. So many titles. So many other lives. She reached for a well-worn copy of The Secret Garden and held it to her chest for a moment. Comfort, like a lullaby you hadn't heard since childhood.
She missed Jace.
She missed him fiercely.
But she wasn't ready. Not yet.
And that had to be okay.
Even if it didn't feel okay.
Her phone buzzed from the coffee table. She ignored it.
Then it buzzed again.
She checked.
SOPHIE:
Hey. Thinking about you. Call if you want to talk.
Another message followed.
Or if you don't want to talk and just want to sit on the phone and cry like a broken kettle. Still fine.
Amy smiled faintly. Sophie always knew what to say. And when not to say anything at all. She didn't reply yet. Just placed the phone face down and walked toward the window.
Outside, the rain was falling harder now, people hurrying by, none of them knowing that behind this glass is a girl still figuring out how to let herself be okay with choosing herself. A girl with a heart that didn't break cleanly....it frayed, softly, at the edges.
She let out a long breath, fogging up the glass slightly. Then drew a little heart on it with her finger.
It disappeared almost immediately, blurred by raindrops.