7.0 #3
It should've excited me-the kind of place where women wore gold dresses like mine and felt like they belonged.
Instead, my stomach rolled.
"Hey," Kian said, catching me staring at the building. "You good?"
The lie caught in my throat. I swallowed, fingers tightening against my thigh. "I don't feel good."
His head turned toward me, sharp. "You sick?"
"No. I just-" My voice cracked. I exhaled. "I can't tonight."
The words landed heavy in the space.
Kian didn't say anything right away. His gaze stayed on me, unreadable, eyes scanning my face like he was weighing what I hadn't said out loud. I thought he'd push-ask questions, get irritated, remind me that he'd gone out of his way to make plans.
But he didn't.
He nodded once, clean, decisive. "Alright."
And just like that, the wheel shifted under his hand, the car gliding past the turn for Besos without hesitation. The red neon slipped into the rearview, swallowed by the dark.
No sigh. No lecture. Just the kind of quiet agreement that told me he wasn't going to make me bleed for this choice.
The music kept playing, low, the beat humming in the background. The city lights thinned as we drove further from the center, rowhouses stacking tight again, corner stores still buzzing with late-night customers.
I stared at the blur of it all, guilt pressing low in my stomach. Because Kian was right here-solid, present, warm-and I was still thinking about Brooks. About the way his eyes lingered on me like time hadn't touched us, even while his mouth lied clean through his teeth.
Kian shifted gears, his hand brushing briefly against my thigh. The touch was casual, almost unconscious, but it grounded me. Reminded me that the man next to me was flesh and blood, not a ghost conjured by old wounds.
"You wanna head straight home?" he asked finally, voice low but even.
"Yeah."
He nodded, no judgment in it, no irritation. Just acceptance.
We rode the rest of the way in silence, the city's glow flickering over his face, my reflection faint in the glass beside me. I kept thinking about what he'd said earlier-"You look like you seen a ghost." He hadn't been wrong.
And the worst part? The ghost wasn't even dead.
"You don't gotta explain," Kian said after a while, eyes forward. "But if you want to, I'm listening."
I swallowed. I didn't owe him the truth; I also didn't want to lie. "I just... wasn't feeling it."
He nodded like he'd already decided not to take it personally. "Say less."
Guilt tugged anyway. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He cut a glance over, then back to the road. "You ain't gotta perform for me."
Kian pulled up in front of my house and let the engine idle.
The porch light I'd left on threw soft gold across the steps, catching the chipping paint on the railing I kept promising I'd fix.
Through the front window, I could see the sliver of Alina's unicorn blanket draped over the back of the couch, the corner she always dragged with her.
The sight steadied me like a hand on my spine.
"You good to go in?" he asked. He didn't move to cut the engine yet. He didn't reach for the lock, either. Just waited.
"Yeah." My fingers found the clasp on my bag just to do something. "Julian's got her. He texted me earlier she fell asleep before Encanto ended." I tried to smile. "Miracle."
He smirked, then sobered. "You want me to walk you up?"
"I'm okay." I touched his forearm, a little pressure. "Thanks for... not making a thing of it."
He looked at my hand on him, then at my face. "A thing of what? You calling time? You supposed to."
I nodded. The gratitude stung a little. It shouldn't have felt like a favor to be allowed to listen to myself.
"Come here," he said, softer, leaning across the console. I met him halfway. He kissed me like he understood the difference between wanting company and needing quiet. Not a claim. Not tonight. Just a press of mouth to mouth, warm, simple.
"You look good in that dress," he said, pulling back an inch. His smile was half a grin, half a reassurance.
He knocked his knuckles lightly against my knee. "Text me when you settled."
"I will."
I opened the door. Night air slipped in cool and thin. I stepped out carefully so the dress didn't hitch and turned back at the curb.
"Goodnight, Kian."
"Night, Amira."
I closed the door, and he stayed there, idling, headlights washing the steps in white. I climbed to the porch with that funny feeling in my chest-part relief, part ache, part something nameless-and dug for my keys. When the lock clicked and the door swung open, I paused and looked back.
He lifted his chin once, an I got you without words. Then he eased off the brake and slid away from the curb, taillights shrinking until they were just two red pinpricks at the end of the block.
Inside, the house held the day's warmth. I set the phone face down on the counter and stood there with a glass I didn't drink, staring at the little magnet calendar on the fridge. Tomorrow's squares were already full. Every part of my life still in place. Nothing shifted. Everything shifted.