“Hello? Earth to Sophie?” Zayn waves his hand in front of my face. “You completely stopped mid-sentence. And you’re doing the hair thing again.”
I realize my finger is wound tightly in a strand of my hair, twirling it round and round. I release it immediately. “Sorry. Just thinking about a complicated case at work.” I hate lying to him. I take a large gulp of cold coffee to avoid eye contact.
“Whatever you say.” Zayn gives my hand a gentle, understanding squeeze. “But I’m here whenever you’re ready to discuss what’s actually bothering you.”
I can only nod because I might cry if I speak. I stare out at the harbor—so vast and blue and beautiful. My future could be equally beautiful—if I can find the courage to jump in with both feet.
Sara sits cross-legged on the floor with flashcards scattered around her, studying for her advanced vet tech certification. Harper’s sprawled on the couch painting her toenails metallic black while watching a baking competition on mute. I can smell Harper’s marinara simmering on the stove and Sara’s lavender candles burning on the coffee table. This place has been my sanctuary for years. Where I retreated when Zayn left five years ago. Where I slowly healed through countless movie nights with ice cream and wine-fueled heart-to-hearts.
“Tom texted about the lease,” I announce abruptly, then pour myself water just to have something to do with my hands. They’re trembling slightly, making the ice cubes clink against the glass.
Sara glances up, blonde hair falling across her face. “When’s the deadline?”
“Friday.” I lean against the counter, attempting casual. Like this isn’t a huge decision. Like my stomach isn’t twisted in knots. “We need to tell him if we’re renewing for another year.”
Harper caps her nail polish and sits up straighter. “I’m staying, obviously.” She wiggles her freshly painted toes. “Unless you two are abandoning me for somewhere fancy with functional heating and floors that don’t creak like a haunted house.”
Sara stacks her flashcards in a pile. “I’m staying too. I love being able to walk to work.” She looks directly at me, reading my expression like she always does. “But that’s not what you’re actually asking, is it, Soph?”
Heat floods my face. I set my water down, pick it up again, wipe the condensation off with my thumb. “I… I don’t know what to do.” The words tumble out. “About the lease. About staying. About… everything.”
Harper arches an eyebrow knowingly. “Everything? Or just whether you’re going to admit you basically already live at Zayn’s house and make it official?”
I curl into the armchair, pulling my knees to my chest. The worn fabric feels comforting against my skin, familiar as an old friend. “Is it that obvious?”
“Sweetie,” Sara says gently, “you’ve slept here maybe twice in the past week. Your toothbrush has been at his place since the day he gave you that key. Mia makes a beeline for his door the second you take her outside.”
“I still pay rent here,” I protest weakly.
Harper snorts. “Yeah, for the world’s most expensive storage unit for stuff you haven’t gotten around to moving yet.”
“It’s not—” I start, then stop. Because they’re absolutely right. I’ve been gradually relocating to Zayn’s house piece bypiece without acknowledging it out loud. Like if I don’t say the words, it’s not really happening.
Sara moves to perch on the arm of my chair, her hand warm on my shoulder. “What’s really going on, Soph? You two seem incredible together. Better than incredible.”
I pick at a loose thread on my sweater, avoiding eye contact. “What if I move in officially and then…” I trail off. I can’t voice it. It’s the same fear that haunts me at night when Zayn’s sleeping peacefully beside me and I’m still awake, cataloging all the ways I could lose this fragile happiness.
“Then what?” Harper presses, pushing like she always does. “He leaves again? The apocalypse happens? Your hair spontaneously turns purple?”
“Not helpful, Harp,” Sara murmurs, but I shake my head.
“No, she should push.” I inhale shakily. “Yes, what if he leaves again? What if I give up this apartment—our place—and then I have nothing that’s truly mine?” My voice cracks slightly. “What if I’m all in and he’s… not?”
The room goes silent. Even the muted TV seems to pause. Sara squeezes my shoulder gently.
“Sophie,” she says after a moment, her voice kind but firm. “Your romance novels are already on his bookshelves. The ones you swore you’d never let out of your sight. Your favorite mug is in his kitchen cabinet. Mia has her own bed in his living room. You keep your clothes and makeup and that ridiculously expensive shampoo you special-order in his bathroom.”
I stare at her, my chest tight with a mix of feelings I can’t quite name.
“You’re already all in, Soph,” she continues softly. “Keeping your name on this lease doesn’t protect your heart anymore. It just means you’re paying rent on an escape plan you don’t actually need.”
I can’t breathe for a second. She’s right. I’ve been keeping this apartment like it’s some kind of insurance policy against heartbreak. Like a piece of paper with my name on it could somehow prevent devastation if things imploded.
“But what if—” I start again.
“What if he’s genuinely the man he claims to be now?” Harper interrupts, leaning forward intently. “What if he actually learned from his colossal mistakes? What if he really did choose you over New York and prestigious law firms and all that ambitious bullshit?”
“People change, Sophie,” Sara says quietly. “You have. Five years ago, you wouldn’t even let him buy you coffee without getting suspicious. Now you’re building an entire life together. You’re both different people now.”
