Love and Disdain

Chapter 13

The Mirror Between Us

Autumn settled over the city like a warm scarf—leaves crisp underfoot, the air scented with cinnamon and fading sun. Mariah loved this time of year. It made everything feel like it had texture—memories, emotions, even the silences between conversations.

She sat at her desk, staring at a blank document. Her second book was due in six months, but the words wouldn’t come. Not because she didn’t have anything to say—but because she wasn’t sure how to say it anymore.

The first book had poured out of her like blood. This one required precision. Restraint. Reflection.

Sebastian walked in holding a steaming cup of chai. “Still stuck?”

She sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I’m not even stuck. I’m... cautious. Like I’m scared of telling the truth too well.”

He set the cup down gently. “You’ve never been scared of the truth.”

“I used to be reckless with it. Now I know how much it can cost.”

He knelt beside her chair. “Whatever you write will matter. Because it’s you.”

She looked down at him. “What if people only liked the messy me? The heartbreak girl? What if they don’t care about healing?”

Sebastian smiled. “Then you write for the ones who do. The ones still figuring out how to hold love without dropping themselves.”

---

They spent more time apart that month. Not in a bad way—just life catching up.

Mariah had interviews, panels, book club appearances. Sebastian was consulting for a tech startup and mentoring young entrepreneurs. Their schedules didn’t always align.

One night, Mariah returned home past midnight. Sebastian was already asleep. She stood in the doorway, watching him. His hair tousled, mouth slightly open, one arm draped over her pillow.

And for the first time in a while, she felt... lonely.

Not because of him. But because parts of her still didn’t know how to be known.

---

The next morning, she made breakfast—real breakfast. Eggs, toast, fruit, even that fancy oat milk he liked in his coffee.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow when he came down. “Are we celebrating something?”

“No,” she said. “Just wanted to remind you I exist.”

He sat, surprised. “You think I’ve forgotten?”

“Not forgotten,” she said softly. “Just... forgotten how to look.”

The words hung in the air.

He set down his mug. “I’ve been distracted. But never from you.”

She didn’t cry. She didn’t even flinch. She just said, “I think I’m afraid of disappearing again. Like before.”

He stood, moved toward her, cupped her face gently. “You’re not invisible, Mariah. Not anymore. But if you ever feel that way, I want to know. I want to see every part of you—even the ones that hide.”

---

That weekend, they took a spontaneous trip to the lake.

No Wi-Fi. No meetings. No deadlines.

They brought old journals, sketchbooks, cameras. And wine—lots of it.

Sitting by the fire pit, wrapped in a shared blanket, Mariah asked him, “What did you used to think love would fix?”

Sebastian laughed. “Everything. My ambition. My insecurity. My restlessness.”

“And now?”

“I think love doesn’t fix anything. But it makes you want to.”

Mariah nodded slowly. “I thought love would finally make me whole. But now I know I was never broken.”

He touched her hand. “You were just unfolding.”

---

They made love that night like they hadn’t in weeks—not rushed or routine, but slow, connected. Like a dance they remembered just in time.

Afterward, tangled in sheets and moonlight, Mariah whispered, “I keep thinking about mirrors.”

Sebastian blinked, groggy. “Mirrors?”

“Yeah. How we spend so much time trying to reflect what people want to see. But with you... I’m not performing anymore.”

He smiled, eyes half-closed. “Then break the mirror. Be the window instead.”

---

When they got home, Mariah opened a new document and wrote the first sentence of her book:

“This isn’t a story about finding love. It’s about unlearning the lies we believed in its name.”

And this time, the words didn’t hesitate.

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