The next morning greeted Amira with a soft drizzle against the windowpane. London's gray sky hung low, and the clouds mirrored the weight in her chest. She sat curled up on her sister's velvet couch, a steaming cup of ginger tea resting on her lap, the faint hum of rain the only companion to her racing thoughts.
Noah had found her after the show last night. Found her and cornered her with those pleading eyes and a voice dripping with rehearsed regret. She could still hear the echo of his words: "I never stopped loving you." And yet, what rang louder was the crack in her heart when he broke her in that bar. No apology could erase public humiliation. No tears could rewrite abandonment.
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Luca đź–¤
Good morning, starshine. Rehearsals moved to 5pm. See you later?
A smile flickered across her lips. Luca had a way of doing that—tugging her from her darkness like a well-timed jazz riff. He never pressured, never demanded. He simply... showed up. She typed back quickly.
Amira
Wouldn't miss it. Bring that moody piano magic.
She set the phone down and leaned her head back. Her fingers brushed over the worn spine of the journal she'd carried all the way from New York. Inside it were lyrics she never sang, thoughts she never voiced, truths too raw for melody. Maybe it was time to open it again.
---
At the jazz club that evening, warm golden lights bathed the stage in a sultry glow. Luca was already there, fingers dancing lazily across the keys, a cigarette tucked behind his ear though he never lit it. He glanced up the moment she entered, and his smirk was instant.
"You're late," he teased, though his voice held no real bite.
"I'm dramatic. It's part of the brand," she replied, tossing her jacket over the mic stand.
He nodded toward the empty stool beside him. "Sing with me before they get here."
"Noah texted again," she said suddenly, before she could stop herself.
The air shifted. Luca's hands paused on the keys.
"What'd he say?"
"That he's sorry. That he wants to talk. That he's changed."
Luca exhaled, then looked up at her. "And what do you want?"
Amira blinked. "I don't know yet."
His eyes searched hers, but he didn't push. "Well," he murmured, fingers pressing into a minor chord that tinged the room with melancholy, "if he wants to talk, let him. But don't forget who left you on the curb with your luggage and your heart in your hands."
She swallowed hard. "You make it sound so poetic."
"It wasn't poetic," Luca said gently. "It was cruel."
---
Later that night, after a set that left the crowd breathless, Amira stepped offstage with adrenaline humming through her veins. She felt alive again—music was her oxygen. Luca followed behind her, handing her a bottle of water.
"You were glowing out there," he said. "Like the mic couldn't handle your power."
"Or like it was about to start crying," she laughed, breathless.
He caught her wrist lightly. "Come for a walk?"
She hesitated. "Now?"
"I know a place. It's quiet. No fans. No ghosts."
Something in his gaze made her nod.
They strolled through the cobblestone streets of Camden, silent for long minutes, the air misty and sweet with impending rain. He led her down a narrow alley she'd never noticed before. At the end was a tiny rooftop garden above a forgotten bookstore, vines climbing the old brick walls and fairy lights strung overhead.
"You brought me to a literal fairytale," she whispered.
Luca grinned. "You deserve a little magic."
They stood at the edge, looking down at the city glowing below.
"I haven't told anyone," she said quietly, "but I was supposed to move here. To be with him. That was the plan."
"And now?"
She turned to him, her voice soft. "Now I'm learning how to be with myself again."
Luca stepped closer, his voice low. "For what it's worth… I like her. This version of you. Brave, brilliant, singing the truth. He didn't break you, Amira. He just paused the song."
Her breath hitched. "And what if I'm scared to press play again?"
"Then let me be your first note."
The rooftop lingered with silence after Luca's words. His closeness was steady, grounding. And yet, Amira could feel the weight of his confession pressing into her chest like a heartbeat out of sync.
Then his hand, warm and calloused, slipped gently into hers.
No pressure. No rush. Just a quiet offer.
Amira didn't pull away.
Instead, she looked out over the London skyline, wondering how many people had stood in that same spot trying to forget the ghosts of who they used to be. How many had kissed someone new while still carrying someone old?
"I should be honest," she said, her voice barely audible. "Part of me still wants to hear Noah out. Not to get back with him. But just… to understand."
Luca nodded slowly. "You don't need my permission, Amira. You need your own peace."
Her eyes met his. "And you're okay with that?"
"I'm not in control of your story. But if I get to be a verse in it… I'm lucky."
That night, when she returned to her sister's place, Amira sat in front of her vanity, unfastening her earrings like she'd done a thousand nights before. But this time, the reflection staring back didn't look like a girl waiting for someone to choose her.
She looked like a woman reclaiming her rhythm.
Her phone buzzed.
Noah
Please. Just give me a few minutes. Meet me at Cavendish Square tomorrow. Noon. I'll explain everything.
She stared at the screen.
Her finger hovered over the delete button.
Then slowly… she hit reply.
Amira
One chance. That's it.
---
Cavendish Square was blooming with soft summer light the next day. The faint scent of roses from the nearby gardens wrapped around the early afternoon air as Amira arrived, heels clicking steadily, hair pinned half-up like a crown of defiance.
Noah was already there, in a navy suit, dark shades hiding his eyes. But nothing could mask the nerves in the way his hands fidgeted with the strap of his designer watch.
He stood when she approached. "You came."
"I said one chance," she reminded, folding her arms. "Start talking."
He took a deep breath. "When I ghosted you, it wasn't just cowardice. I was spiraling. My label threatened to drop me if I didn't clean up my image. They said a 'normal girl' wouldn't fit the narrative they wanted for my comeback."
Amira blinked, her mouth tightening. "So I was what… an obstacle? A liability?"
"No," he said quickly. "You were the only real thing I had. And I let them take that from me. I let me take that from me."
"Then why now, Noah?" she asked, voice sharp. "Why crawl back after months of silence? After humiliating me in public? After watching me bleed online while you posted sponsored smiles?"
He flinched. "Because I couldn't live with it anymore. I thought I could. I told myself I was protecting you. But truth is—I was protecting my own image. I lost you, and suddenly the fame tasted rotten."
She looked away, swallowing the lump forming in her throat. "Do you love me, or do you just miss the way I loved you?"
His silence was her answer.
She shook her head slowly, her tone turning cold. "I deserved better than abandonment wrapped in a PR excuse."
Noah stepped forward, desperation rising. "I've changed, Amira. I swear. I go to therapy now. I cut off my management. I want a second chance."
"You don't get to want anything," she snapped. "Not after what you did. You don't get to rewrite the past just because you regret the ending."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then she said, softer, "I'm not the girl you left. And I'm not yours to fix."
---
That night, back at the club, Amira walked onto the stage with fire in her veins. Luca was waiting at the piano, watching her with quiet reverence.
"You okay?" he whispered as the lights dimmed.
She nodded. "I'm done waiting for someone to choose me. I'm choosing myself."
The lights lifted. The audience hushed.
And Amira began to sing—her voice smoky, electric, painfully beautiful. Every note told a story of loss and resilience. Every lyric was a goodbye wrapped in strength.
In the crowd, Noah watched from the shadows, jaw clenched, as the girl he thought he broke stood tall, unbothered, untouchable.
And beside her, Luca played like the world had paused just for them.
As the final note rang out, Amira whispered into the mic:
"This song is for anyone who ever got left behind. Because sometimes the best closure is a standing ovation."
The crowd erupted. Cheers shook the walls.
And for the first time in a long time, Amira smiled without breaking.