Chapter seven: Rooms with no windows
646 Words
Dante’s world was fast, sharp, and endlessly curated.
The startup workspace he took her to was nothing like the cold boardroom from before. This one was hidden behind a bookstore in the industrial quarter — raw brick walls, long wooden tables, messy whiteboards filled with sketches and keywords. The air smelled like coffee, markers, and late nights.
Maya liked it.
And she hated that she liked it.
Dante introduced her to a small team — only four people — each one intense and brilliant and seemingly used to following Dante without question. But with Maya, he was different. He asked her opinion. Listened. And when she disagreed, he didn’t interrupt her — he smirked, like he enjoyed the challenge.
She didn’t know who this version of Dante was. She only knew that it wasn’t the same man who dismissed her with a glance just days ago.
After their second meeting, he walked her to the door.
“You’re staying, right?” he asked, as casually as someone might ask for a light.
Maya hesitated. “I think so.”
He nodded. “You’ll see. This place gets under your skin. But it’s good under there.”
And before she could reply, he was already back inside — phone to his ear, sleeves rolled again, directing a world that somehow felt looser with her in it.
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That evening, Maya left the building and turned toward the train station, her thoughts a blur of designs, branding ideas, and the way Dante had brushed past her shoulder on the way to the coffee table like it meant nothing… but didn’t.
She turned the corner, distracted, walking straight into someone’s chest.
“Oh my god, I’m sorry—”
“Maya?”
She froze.
Liam.
He stood there in jeans and a soft grey hoodie, paper bag in one hand, wide eyes staring at her like he wasn’t sure she was real.
Her heart stuttered.
“Hi,” she said, her voice smaller than she meant.
He gave a tight, surprised smile. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I was just... working. Sort of.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I mean, I was supposed to text you. I meant to. I just—”
“It’s okay,” he interrupted gently. “I saw you. With him.”
Maya’s breath caught. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I wasn’t meeting him. I just… bumped into him. And then everything got awkward and I—”
“It’s okay,” Liam said again, softer this time.
“I should’ve run after you.”
He looked at her for a long moment, eyes steady, vulnerable. “Yeah. I kinda wished you did.”
Her chest ached.
“But,” he added, “if it’s not me… if it’s him… I just want you to be happy.”
Maya shook her head. “It’s not that simple. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.”
They stood there, two people still orbiting something neither of them could name.
Then Liam offered the paper bag. “Chocolate muffins. Still warm. From the little place near the bookstore.”
Maya laughed. It was small and cracked — but real.
“I’ve missed your muffins,” she said, taking one.
“Careful,” he teased. “That’s dangerously close to flirting.”
She nudged his arm. “It’s not. It’s friendship. Muffin friendship.”
He smiled. “Want to walk a bit?”
She nodded. “Only if we don’t talk about my messy emotional life for ten minutes.”
“Deal.”
They walked into the golden haze of the late afternoon, side by side, quiet but comfortable.
For now, they were just two people trying to be kind to each other again.
And somewhere deep inside them both, something small began to heal.
- Writer
