The Mate Curse

Tangled in the beat

(Aria’s POV)

I woke up with the dream still clinging to my skin like glitter after an art project—annoying but kinda pretty. It wasn’t like the dream was new or anything. Nope. Same one again. That man with the too-pretty face and the stupidly perfect jawline. Every time I see him in my dreams, I wake up all warm inside, like I’ve been wrapped in sunlight. But I’ve learned to ignore it now. Dreams are dreams. They don’t mean anything.

I shoved off my blanket and dragged myself out of bed. The sky outside was a pale gray, and the rain from last night had left streaks on my window. My room was messy, in the cozy kind of way. There were books scattered around, half-finished sketches on the desk, and my favorite mug sitting right where I left it—on top of a stack of old magazines.

I walked into the kitchen, yawning, and made myself a cup of coffee. The smell was heaven. I held the mug close to my face, breathing it in like it was magic or something. My reflection in the microwave door looked like a haunted raccoon. Great.

I was wearing my usual morning outfit: a black bra top and soft gray pajama trousers with little white clouds on them. My long hair was a mess, falling all the way down my back like a curtain someone forgot to tie. On my way back to the living room, I passed the mirror by the hallway and paused.

I looked... thin. Not the cool kind of thin either. The I’ve-been-too-tired-to-eat-properly kind. My ribs peeked through my skin like shy secrets. I made a mental note: eat something more than toast today. Maybe.

Shaking the weird feeling off, I put on my favorite headphones, the ones with the cat ears on top that I never wear outside because people are judgmental. I found a playlist that made me feel something—like I was alive—and I pressed play. The beat dropped and something inside me clicked.

I started cleaning. Like, actually cleaning. Dusting, sweeping, wiping stuff down. And dancing. Lots of dancing. I spun around the living room, sliding in my socks like I was in one of those movie montages. I lip-synced into the broom like it was a microphone, laughing at myself when I missed a lyric. It was the most me I’d felt in days. No dreams. No weird feelings. Just rhythm and sweat.

After like an hour, I plopped down on the couch, heart racing and cheeks red. "Okay, okay," I mumbled to myself. "You’re still here."

I decided to go for a run. Running helped clear my head and made me feel strong.

After a quick shower, I pulled my hair into a messy bun. The strands fought me like usual, but I managed to tie it up with a scrunchie that didn’t match anything. I threw on a light blue sports shirt, the one with the tiny logo on the side that I got from a thrift store. My black biker shorts hugged my legs just right, and I felt kinda cute in a "don’t talk to me but I know I look good" way.

I laced up my sneakers, grabbed my headphones again, and headed out.

The apartment building smelled like old coffee and detergent, and I waved at the sleepy security guy at the front who didn’t even look up from his phone. I stepped outside, stretching my arms high above my head, then started jogging toward the park. It wasn’t far—just a couple of blocks past the movie theater and the bakery that always smelled too good to be real.

The music in my ears blasted through everything. My thoughts, my worries, my weird dreams—all of it got drowned out by the beat. The wind was cool against my skin, and my feet hit the pavement in rhythm with the song. My heart felt lighter with every step. I closed my eyes for a second while I ran, just to feel it more. The freedom. The quiet in my brain. No moon, no mystery man, no heavy sadness.

Just me.

But then... I opened my eyes and there were people. Like, a lot of people.

A whole crowd was coming toward me, probably from the movie theater down the street. They were laughing, chatting, holding popcorn and drinks, and completely unaware of the personal bubble they were invading. I slowed down, catching my breath and trying not to bump into anyone. The smell of caramel popcorn hit me hard, and I remembered I hadn’t eaten yet. Great.

I turned, walking in the opposite direction, weaving through the crowd like a fish swimming upstream. I was thinking of getting coffee from the Starbucks a few stores down when—bam.

Not like fall-on-the-ground-bam, but like, arm-brushed-against-someone-and-now-my-skin-is-tingling bam.

It was quick. Just a small touch. My arm barely grazed against someone else’s, but it felt like lightning. Or like someone plugged me into a heartbeat.

I turned, blinking fast, trying to see who it was. But the crowd had already swallowed them up. Just shadows and backs of heads and moving bodies.

I rubbed my arm where the touch had been, frowning. It was probably nothing. Just static or adrenaline or... something.

I shook my head and kept walking.

"Coffee," I whispered to myself like a promise.

And I didn’t look back.

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