She changed quickly into her chosen outfit, brushing down invisible creases and tightening the knot of her tie. Breakfast was quick — toast and a bit of scrambled egg with chili oil, eaten with one foot still tapping in anticipation.
By 10:15 AM, she was sliding into the driver's seat of the Lilac Ghost. The hybrid engine purred to life in near silence. As she pulled into the residential district where Sara lived, she slowed, double-checked the address, and parked just in front of the gate.
She tapped her phone and sent a quick message:
[Amy:
I'm outside. No rush.]
She barely had time to set the phone down before the front door opened.
And there she was.
Sara Ilyra Veylan.
Her long, honey-blonde hair was loosely tied back in a soft braid that glimmered in the sun, strands escaping just enough to frame her face. She wore an off-shoulder deep burgundy blouse that brought out the natural warmth of her skin, paired with high-waisted cream pants and ankle boots in tan suede. A small pendant rested at her collarbone — something elegant and subtle.
Amy's heart did a strange thing in her chest. Some combination of tripping, stuttering, and stopping altogether.
Sara smiled — soft, radiant — and walked over to the passenger side, her movements relaxed, confident.
As she slipped into the car, buckling her seatbelt, she turned to Amy. "You look really good."
Amy cleared her throat. "Thanks. So do you. Seriously."
Sara gave her a knowing smile. "I was hoping you'd say that."
"Where are we going?" Amy asked, voice calm — or trying to be.
Sara looked out the window with a bit of mischief. "It's a surprise. You're not driving far, though. Just follow my lead."
And Amy did.
They stopped first at a hidden rooftop café Sara had reserved in advance — just the two of them, morning breeze, the city skyline spread below like a painting. There was no menu; Sara had pre-arranged the food. Brunch came in slow, delicate waves: fresh fruit drizzled in honey and mint, buttery croissants, and iced jasmine tea.
Amy was stunned. Not by the view — though it was breathtaking — but by the fact that Sara had planned it all. For her.
"You remembered I like tea," Amy said, eyes flicking up.
"I remember a lot more than that," Sara replied.
Then came the second stop: a stroll through the quiet glass halls of the botanical conservatory. Sara moved with ease beside her, her voice dancing between facts about the rare plants and teasing comments that made Amy hide her smile. There was a peacefulness to the walk. No pressure. No rush.
Amy wasn't used to being guided.
But here, with Sara leading the way — warm hand sometimes brushing against hers, voice full of laughter and quiet admiration — it felt strangely natural.
The final stop was a simple one: a bookstore. But not just any bookstore — one with spiral staircases, nooks lined with cushions, and old jazz playing faintly from hidden speakers. They didn't say much there. They didn't have to. Amy found herself trailing fingers across spines of books she didn't recognize, occasionally glancing over to where Sara sat curled into a window seat, flipping through a volume of old poetry.
When they finally returned to the car, the sun was dipping lower, turning the buildings gold.
Sara leaned back in the passenger seat; eyes closed for a moment. Then she looked at Amy.
"Thank you for coming with me today."
Amy looked at her — really looked. The city behind her, the way the last light caught in her hair, and the soft curve of her smile.
"Thank you for bringing me."
They didn't kiss.
Not yet.
But something about the silence between them now felt different. Heavier. Closer.
And full of promise.
The city lights painted long streaks on the windshield as Amy drove Sara home, the gentle hum of the Lilac Ghost cocooning them in quiet comfort. The night air outside was still warm from the summer day, but inside the car, it felt like a different world — soft, calm, and suspended in the afterglow of something worth remembering.
Sara sat back in the passenger seat, her hand resting between them on the console, close enough to brush Amy's but never quite touching. She was still smiling — that soft, real kind of smile that lingered even after words ran out.
"I had a really good time today," she said, breaking the silence as they pulled into her street.
Amy smiled faintly. "Yeah… Me too. You planned it perfectly."
Sara turned her head, eyes glittering faintly under the streetlights. "Maybe next time, you can plan it. I want to see what a date looks like when you're the one taking the lead."
Amy chuckled under her breath. "Dangerous offer."
"I like dangerous," Sara replied, grinning as she reached for the door handle. She hesitated, just for a breath. "Thanks for today, Amy. Really."
Amy met her gaze and nodded; her voice soft. "Thank you, for giving me a chance."
Sara stepped out, then leaned back in. "Drive safe, okay?"
"Always," Amy replied.
She waited until Sara had reached her front door and waved back at her before pulling away from the curb. The Lilac Ghost purred as it slid back into motion, and for a few minutes, Amy just drove in silence.
She thought about the café, the music, the museum — Sara's spontaneous detour into the little antique bookstore where they spent longer than expected browsing the shelves. And then dinner, sharing stories and pieces of themselves they hadn't voiced aloud before. It had been different from anything Amy remembered, not just because she hadn't had a date in this lifetime, but because Sara made it feel real — honest, light, and terrifying in the best way.
Her fingers tightened slightly on the wheel as her thoughts deepened. Everything had gone… better than she'd hoped. But that's what made the doubts slip in now — What was she supposed to do next? Would this really last? Could she let herself want this, when she knew the world could still shatter without warning?
She shook her head with a faint sigh.
But then the thought came — so sudden, so sharp it made her blink.
Next time, she'd be the one to lead.
Next time… her place.
She slowed at a red light and stared ahead, thoughtful. Her apartment was fine. Serviceable. But it wasn't her. Not really. It wasn't a place that felt alive, or warm. Not a place that could hold a memory like this one.
Nyxara's house… that was different.
A quiet resolve began to settle over her. The kind that made her stomach flip, but her pulse steady. If she was serious about this — about Sara — then she wanted to show her a part of herself that mattered. That meant something.
By the time she reached her apartment, the idea had already taken root.
She stepped inside, locked the door behind her, and without pausing to change clothes, walked straight to her closet. Her hands moved quickly, pulling out boxes, folding clothes, setting aside gear. Organized, focused — a quiet flurry of motion that filled the apartment with the soft rustle of fabric and the muted thud of drawers.
She wasn't moving out tonight. Not yet. But she was preparing. Clearing space — literally and metaphorically — for whatever came next.
Not just for another date.
But for the possibility that she was finally allowed to build something.