65
Amanda stepped into her apartment and immediately smiled.
It was the kind of smile that crept up slowly — not loud or showy, but soft, honest. Like a deep exhale. Like the moment you kick off your shoes after a long day and your shoulders finally drop back into place.
Her space.
She hadn't realized how much she'd missed it until now — the faint smell of lavender and old book pages, the scratchy welcome mat she meant to replace months ago, the crooked painting she found at a flea market and hung up with stubborn pride.
The air was a little stale from being closed up, sure. But it felt like her.
Amanda walked deeper inside, letting the door swing closed behind her with a familiar click. She dropped her duffel bag beside the coat rack and stretched, arms reaching high over her head. A tiny, content sigh escaped her lips.
"God, I missed this place," she whispered to no one.
First things first — the banana.
She marched straight to the kitchen and opened the fruit bowl drawer like she was defusing a bomb. What she found deserved a horror soundtrack: one banana, completely blackened and slumped into itself like it had seen some things.
"Oh no," Amanda murmured, laughing as she grabbed a paper towel and scooped it up gingerly. "You poor, decaying soldier. You deserved better."
She gave it a dramatic send-off into the trash, then wiped down the counter and opened a window to let in fresh air. The breeze felt amazing — crisp, cool, just sharp enough to cut through the lingering stillness of the apartment.
Amanda kicked off her shoes, padded back into the living room, and flopped onto her favorite chair — the one with the sunken cushions and the throw blanket that still smelled faintly of her favorite body lotion.
She reached for the book on the side table, still open to the last page she'd read weeks ago. She smiled again, thumbing the corner.
She sank into the pages easily.
For the next two hours, Amanda let the quiet wrap around her like a cocoon.
She read slowly, letting the world outside the window fade away, letting herself fully rest in her own company.
Occasionally, she'd stop just to sip tea or glance outside at the city skyline, the buildings glowing in soft afternoon light.
When the light began to shift, Amanda finally pulled herself away from her book, stretched her arms again, and stood with a renewed sense of calm.
It was time to give this place a little love.
She turned on a playlist — something mellow with soft vocals and warm guitar — and got to work.
She lit a candle on the counter, then started tidying up: throwing laundry into the basket, wiping down the bathroom mirror, dusting off the bookshelves, and rearranging a few picture frames that had tilted in her absence.
With each small task, the apartment started to feel more alive.
But something about it also felt... smaller.
Not physically. Emotionally.
Amanda paused near the window and looked out at the street below. She was grateful for this apartment — it had seen her through hard days, big dreams, quiet mornings with coffee and louder nights with takeout and music. But now... it felt like a chapter that was coming to a close.
She stared at the view — mostly rooftops, some trees, a small strip of skyline far in the distance. She loved this part of the city, but her life had changed so much in such a short time. She'd changed.
Now, when she thought about home, she didn't just think about comfort. She thought about inspiration. About space. About building something that was completely hers.
Something that looked forward.
Her phone buzzed on the counter, lighting up with a text from Ericka.
Ericka:
Are you safe? Did the banana win?
Amanda chuckled.
Amanda:
I survived. The banana did not.
Ericka:
Brutal.
I miss you.
Amanda's smile faltered, just a little. She missed Ericka, too. But being home had reminded her of something she didn't even realize she needed — her. Just her. Her pace, her space, her peace.
She walked to the center of the living room and slowly turned in a circle, taking it all in. The walls. The light. The familiar rug with one corner always curling up no matter how many times she fixed it.
And then, like someone had whispered it into her ear, the thought landed:
I want a new place.
Bigger. Brighter. Closer to work. A view of the city. Maybe even a little balcony where she could drink her coffee and read with the breeze in her hair.
She wasn't running from this apartment. She was growing past it.
Amanda sank into her chair again, this time grabbing her tablet and opening a browser.
Apartments for rent — city view, one bedroom or loft, near downtown.
She sipped her tea, tapped a few filters, and started scrolling. She didn't need to move tomorrow. Or even next week. But the seed had been planted. And something about it felt... exciting.
She could see it already — her books stacked neatly in a sunny reading nook. Her new kitchen with a barstool tucked under the counter. Maybe a couch that wasn't half-broken.
And maybe... Ericka, showing up after work with takeout and bare feet, curling up beside her like she belonged there, too.
Amanda smiled, flipping through listings as the sun began to dip behind the buildings outside her window.
She was home.
But she was also moving forward.
And for the first time in a long time, both felt good.
The first light of morning crept across Amanda's apartment, casting pale streaks of gold over her bedroom walls. Her alarm hadn't even gone off yet, but she was already awake — eyes open, mind buzzing softly like a distant engine warming up.
It had been two days since she returned to her apartment.
She liked being back in her own space — the scent of her sheets, the stillness of her quiet mornings, the click of her kettle as it boiled water just the way she liked. But there was still a little weight pressing at the base of her spine, a tug behind her ribs she couldn't quite shake.
Ericka.
They'd texted. Called. Shared the occasional "I miss you" in between. But it wasn't the same.
Not after the weeks they'd spent tangled in the same sheets, planning out medication schedules, whispering late-night confessions into each other's skin. That kind of closeness didn't just evaporate.
Amanda stretched, sat up, and checked the time: 5:42 a.m.
She didn't need to be in the office until 9:30.
But she wasn't going in just to be on time — she was going in to make sure everything was perfect.
Ericka had a light day ahead, technically. One meeting with the PR team, one with design, a check-in with their sustainability partners. But Amanda knew her — knew that "light" for Ericka still meant carrying the weight of the company on her back.
And Amanda had made a silent promise to herself: Ericka was going to walk into that office and feel held.
By 6:35, Amanda was dressed — blazer, skirt, low heels, hair pinned back just enough to look polished but not intimidating. She slipped a protein bar into her bag, slung her coat over her arm, and stepped into the stillness of the early city.
The streets weren't quite awake yet — just a few early risers and the smell of bread baking somewhere in the distance. The chill in the air felt like clarity.
By the time Amanda reached the office, the sun was barely peeking over the skyline.
She didn't waste time.
She went straight to Ericka's office first, unlocking the door and flicking on the warm lamps inside. She dusted off the desk, restocked the fridge with her favorite sparkling water, placed a fresh notepad and pen just off-center the way she liked it.
Then came the folders.
Amanda laid them out in order of the day's meetings — annotated, tabbed, color-coded. Each with a summary page clipped to the front, bullet points neatly typed and highlighted.
She paused at the window, straightening the blinds just slightly, letting in the right amount of light.
Then she sat at her desk and took a breath.
It felt good.
It felt like purpose.
Just after 9:15, her phone buzzed.
Ericka:
Headed in. Did you beat me again?
Amanda smirked and typed back:
Amanda:
Office is ready. Your coffee's waiting.
Ericka:
You're ridiculous.
And I adore you.
Amanda's heart did that familiar soft twist.
She didn't reply right away.
She just smiled, stood up, and walked toward the elevator doors— ready to greet Ericka like it was any other day, even though they both knew it wasn't.