Emma’s apartment was quiet, the kind of silence that felt almost meditative. The sun had set hours ago, casting the room in the soft amber glow of her bedside lamp. She sat cross-legged on her bed, a steaming cup of chamomile tea in her hands, and stared out the window. The city buzzed below, but it felt distant, like it belonged to another world entirely.
Her phone rested on the blanket next to her, Alexander’s number at the top of her call log. Their conversation at the café replayed in her mind. She had kept her guard up, hesitant and cautious, but there was something different about him now—something she couldn’t quite put into words.
With a deep breath, Emma reached for her journal, flipping to a blank page. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to write, but the act of putting pen to pap
