Chapter 24 #2
Noor’s edits. Frankie’s mood board. René’s list. Mischa’s project. The emails I’d promised myself I’d send “tomorrow.” The version of myself that stayed competent by never saying no.
And underneath all of it—Dominic.
The way his voice had sounded when he’d asked if I missed him. The way he’d let me go anyway.
I forced my mouth into something light.
“I can’t,” I said. “Not tonight.”
Her expression didn’t fall. She didn’t pout or pressure me. She just nodded like she understood in a way I didn’t.
“Fair,” she said easily. “Another rain check.”
“Yeah,” I replied, and my voice did something stupid—caught on the word like it meant more than it should.
She studied me for a beat, then tilted her head. “You ever take breaks, days off, or is that just an urban myth?”
I almost laughed. Almost said something honest. Instead, I shrugged as I finished packing my camera up. “I’m… working on it.”
Her smile softened. “Okay.” Then, like it was nothing, like she hadn’t just asked for a piece of my time and been refused, she added, “You’re all packed up. Walk with me for a minute?”
It wasn’t a drink.
It wasn’t even a plan.
It was just the hallway between set and street.
I nodded before I could talk myself out of it.
We walked out together into the evening air. The sky was bruised gray, the city damp from earlier rain. Streetlights flickered on like they were waking up.
For a few blocks, we didn’t talk. The quiet wasn’t awkward. It was… breathing room.
At the corner, she stopped.
“So,” she said, fingers hooked around the strap of her bag. “You’re always running.”
I stiffened, just slightly.
She seemed to notice and softened her tone immediately. “Not judging,” she added. “Just… noticing. Each time I’ve seen you—you’re working, coming, going out, always on the way to something else.”
I stared at the wet pavement. My reflection warped in it.
“I like being busy,” I said, because it was the easiest truth I had.
“Mm,” she hummed, like she believed me. Then she asked, very quietly, “But do you like it?”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Her eyes held mine—steady, unflinching, like she didn’t mind whatever answer I gave, or even if I didn’t give one at all.
Then she smiled again, easy as ever, and stepped closer.
Not touching.
Just close enough that I could feel the heat of her.
“I’ll stop asking hard questions,” she said lightly. “I promise.”
“I didn’t say they were hard,” I managed, and my voice came out too quiet.
Her smile turned amused. “You didn’t have to.”
And then—so casually it was almost unfair—she reached up and brushed a raindrop off my cheek with the pad of her thumb.
The touch was nothing.
It was also everything.
It lasted a second too long.
My breath caught like my body had been waiting for permission.
I could have stepped back.
I could have made a joke.
I could have done what I always did—kept it clean, kept it safe, kept myself out of the frame.
Instead, I lifted my hand and covered her wrist gently. Not to stop her.
To hold her there.
Her eyes flicked to my mouth.
Then back to my eyes.
A silent question.
A pause as the world seemed to hold its breath—just two people standing on a damp Paris street, pretending this was still simple.
I leaned in.
It wasn’t a desperate kiss.
It wasn’t reckless.
It was soft. Careful.
Like we were both testing whether anything would break if we let ourselves want something.
Her lips were warm.
Her hand stayed against my cheek.
For one heartbeat, everything inside me went quiet.
No calendar.
No obligations.
No expectations.
Just now.
Just breath.
Just the feeling of being here.
And then my brain revved back up, like a door slamming open.
Dominic.
René.
Mischa.
Noor.
Frankie.
Every version of me lined up behind my ribs like they were waiting their turn.
I pulled back first.
Not abruptly.
Just… enough to remind myself I could.
She didn’t look hurt.
She didn’t look triumphant.
She just looked at me, eyes bright, mouth slightly parted, as if she was absorbing the moment the way I was trying to file it away.
“Hey,” she whispered, almost like a reset.
“Hey,” I replied, and my voice did something stupid again—shook at the edges.
She smiled softly. “That’s another… rain check?”
I exhaled — a sound that wasn’t entirely a laugh. “Yeah,” I said, because saying anything else felt impossible. “A rain check.”
She nodded like that was enough.
Then she stepped back, gave me one last look that felt like warmth and warning at the same time, and turned down the street.
Just like that.
No demand.
No claim.
No pressure to explain what we’d just done.
She disappeared into the early evening like she’d only ever existed in this exact moment.
I stood there longer than necessary, rain misting the air, my heart doing something messy and human in my chest.
Then my phone buzzed.
A notification.
A reminder.
A color block calling me back to my life.
I forced my legs to move.
I went home.
I did three productive things in a row like it could erase the taste of her mouth.
I answered Frankie.
I sent Noor feedback.
I uploaded files and labeled them with ridiculous precision.
At midnight, I sat on my bed with my phone in my hand and recorded a voice note for Dominic.
Just ten seconds.
“Hey,” I said quietly. “It’s crazy here. And I—” My throat tightened. I swallowed. “I miss you.”
I listened to it once.
It still sounded needy.
It sounded like I wanted something.
And I didn’t feel entitled to want anything from him. Not when he asked and I kept answering with I don’t know.
I deleted it.
The screen went blank, and the space where the message had been felt louder than it should have.
I opened Dominic’s name anyway.
Stared at the empty text field.
Then I hit record again.
“I keep trying to find the right words and they’re all terrible,” I said, voice barely steady. “I want to say so many things and I don’t know how to say any of them.” I exhaled. “So… yeah. I miss you. I miss you a lot. I don’t have any answers. I just— good night.”
My thumb hovered.
Then, before I could think myself out of it, I hit send.
I set the phone face down like it might judge me.
Then I opened my calendar.
And added another reminder.
As if the right alert, at the right time, could fix whatever I’d just done.
As if I could schedule my way out of wanting too much.
I stared at the blocks of color until my eyes blurred.
Green.
Blue.
Yellow.
Purple — still a suggestion.
And somewhere beneath the noise of all of it, a quiet, terrifying truth settled in. I hadn’t crossed a line because I didn’t know where it was.
I’d crossed it because, for a second, it felt like the only place I could breathe.