Olive steps back inside.
Her shoulders are tight, jaw set, and the exhaustion etched into her face guts me. She looks wrecked.
I sit up straighter, sliding my phone under a throw pillow—not because I’ve done anything wrong, but because I don’t want her to feel exposed.
“Hey,” I say softly.
She glances up and gives me a small, tired smile—the kind you give when you’re barely holding it together. “Hi.”
“Everything okay?”
She nods. “Just… a long day. I think I need to lie down for ten years.”
I get to my feet before she can shuffle past me. “Sit down. I’ll make you tea.”
She blinks, clearly surprised. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to.”
By the time she sinks onto the couch, I’ve already filled the kettle and am rummaging through the pantry for the fancy loose-leaf stuff she likes. She always rolls her eyes at it but drinks every last drop. It smells like cinnamon and something floral—like her, somehow.
When I bring the mug back, she’s curled up in the corner of the couch, knees tucked in, hair slightly messy from the phone call. I hand her the tea and slide in beside her, close but not crowding.
She exhales as she wraps her hands around the mug. “Thank you.”
I don’t say anything. Just reach over, slow and gentle, and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. My fingers graze her temple, and she stills. Her lashes flutter.
She doesn’t pull away.
For a few moments, neither of us speaks. The only sound is the soft clink of her spoon against the mug.
And in that quiet, I look at her—and reallyseeher.
The writer. The dreamer. The woman who built a whole secret world out of words, who’s poured herself into stories and metaphors and paragraphs she’s never taken credit for. A woman who’s been hiding brilliance behind soft smiles and oversized cardigans, and for what?
To play it safe?
To stay invisible?
No. Not anymore.
Not if I have anything to say about it.
She shifts beside me, and I glance down. Her eyes are on me, searching.
“What?” she whispers.
I shake my head, just the smallest bit.
“You’re extraordinary, you know that?”
She exhales softly, like she doesn’t quite know what to do with the words.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
Her brow furrows. “That sounds ominous.”
I turn just enough to face her, but I keep my voice soft. “Your laptop… it was open when you left. I swear I wasn’t snooping, but—” I hesitate, rubbing the back of my neck. “I saw your blog.”
