I just lost half the day.
For a moment, I just sat there, staring at the notification. The thought of moving felt heavy, like dragging myself through water. Then another chime, one long press of the doorbell, and I forced my legs to move.
Each step across the penthouse floor echoed against the quiet, the rain still whispering against the windows. I rubbed my face, trying to make myself look human before unlocking the door.
The hinge clicked.
The hallway outside was washed in pale light, sterile and white. At the far end, by the elevator, a figure stood with her back turned.
Aurora.
Hair damp around her shoulders, sleeves of her cardigan clinging to her arms. She was holding something, her phone, maybe, and for a second she didn’t realise I was there.
I swallowed hard.
She turned just as I drew breath, her movements small, hesitant.
Our eyes met.
The distance between us wasn’t far, but it felt endless. Her expression flickered: surprise, relief, something else I couldn’t name.
I’d taken too long. She must’ve thought I wasn’t going to answer.
The hall was silent except for the rain tapping faintly on the glass walls beyond. I couldn’t make myself speak; my mouth had gone dry.
She didn’t move closer. Neither did I.
Just the two of us, staring across the white corridor, the air thick with everything we’d never said. Her fingers tightened around her phone. Mine around the doorhandle.
And for a heartbeat, the noise of the rain disappeared, just her and me, suspended between a door half-open and an elevator ready to close.
She hesitated, then turned fully and started walking toward me. Her footsteps were small, barely a sound against the floor. Each one made my pulse louder in my ears.
When she stopped in front of me, I saw her reach into her bag, slow, careful, and pull something out. A plastic bag, slightly fogged from the rain.
She held it out with both hands.
I blinked down at it, then up at her. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t need to.
Inside the bag was a takeaway box. One I knew. The kind Alex always brought when he thought I hadn’t eaten.
Of course.
Alex.
He knew me too well, knew what today was, knew how rain turned me inside out. He’d done this before: dropped food off, texted reminders, made sure I didn’t disappear into the noise in my head.
But this time, he hadn’t come himself.
He’d sent her.
Because Alex must’ve known. Must’ve known that she was the only person who could step into this hallway and not make me want to shut the door again.
I stared at the bag, my throat tightening. My hand came up on its own, fingers brushing hers as I took it. Her skin was cool from the rain.
“Thanks,” I managed, the word coming out rough, uneven.
She gave a small nod, barely more than a dip of her chin. Her eyes flickered up to mine once, cautious but kind.
