The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting slanted shadows across the room. Mira sat at the edge of the bed, her back to Noah, clutching a mug of lukewarm coffee that she hadn't touched.
Noah stirred beside her, the sheet slipping from his chest as he sat up. "You're up early," he said, voice gravelly with sleep.
"I didn't sleep much," she murmured.
They sat in silence, the weight of the previous night settling between them like fog. Neither knew what to say. The heat, the passion, the closeness—it had felt real, but now reality was reasserting itself. Complicated. Heavy.
Mira turned toward him, eyes shadowed. "Do you think we made a mistake?"
Noah didn't answer immediately. Instead, he studied her, the curve of her shoulders, the quiet in her gaze. "I don't think feelings are mistakes. But I think we're both scared."
She met his eyes. "Scared of what?"
"Of what happens if we try… and it doesn't work."
That struck something inside her. The version of her that used to believe in fairytales before they all burned down with disappointment. "What if we ruin each other?"
"What if we save each other?" he said softly.
Mira stood, wrapping the blanket around her like armor. "I need air."
Noah didn't stop her. He watched her go.
---
Mira walked for hours. Past bookstores with fogged-up windows, past couples holding hands, past memories she hadn't made yet. Her thoughts were a blur—grief for her father still fresh, the echo of Noah's touch still lingering.
She ended up at a small café tucked between two tall buildings. She used to come here when she first moved to the city. The barista didn't recognize her, but the smell of cinnamon and espresso was the same.
As she sipped her drink, she thought about how everything could change in one moment. A mistaken airport pickup. A ruined project. A fight. A kiss. A night tangled in sheets and emotion.
Noah Walker was never part of the plan.
But then again, life hadn't followed any script lately.
Her phone buzzed—Noah.
> I'm not trying to push you. But I'm here when you're ready. For answers. Or silence. Or anything in between.
Mira stared at the message. Her heart clenched.
He wasn't forcing her to choose. He wasn't demanding explanations.
He was waiting.
And for the first time in a long time, she realized how rare that kind of patience was.
She typed slowly.
> I'm scared too. But maybe we try anyway.
And as she hit send, Mira didn't know if she was walking into love or disaster—but for once, she was willing to find out.