THE BREWING STORM
955 Words
Third person POV
Fiona’s Daily Life, Three Months Before Everything Changed
Three months passed like shadows slipping through her fingers — each day the same, yet not quite.
Because ever since the night of the gala, Fiona lived with a strange ache beneath her ribs.
Not pain.
Not longing.
Something nameless.
Something she tried desperately to ignore
Fiona woke each day before the sun rose.
Habit, not motivation.
She’d stretch out in her small, quiet bedroom — pale curtains, chipped wooden desk, stacks of textbooks for her online classes — and breathe deeply until the restless heat in her chest calmed.
She told herself it was nothing.
She told herself she had moved on.
But the truth was always there in the back of her mind:
Alistair.
The stranger whose touch she’d trusted, whose mouth had erased parts of her she didn’t know were breakable, whose absence stung more sharply than it should.
She shook the thoughts off every morning, forcing her mind into routine.
Tea first.
Not coffee — it made her too jittery.
Then a shower.
Then a quiet breakfast while her mother hurried around the house for work.
Every morning, her mother said the same thing:
“Fiona, you need to get out more. You’re too isolated.”
Every morning, Fiona smiled and said,
“I’m fine, Mum.”
But she wasn’t — and the only person who knew that, the only one she couldn’t hide from, was Zara.
Zara had been Fiona’s best friend since high school — a whirlwind of untamed curls, bold lipstick, and louder opinions. Where Fiona was soft, Zara was sharp; where Fiona was quiet, Zara was thunder.
She burst into Fiona’s life almost daily, whether invited or not.
This morning was no different.
Fiona had barely opened her bedroom window when she heard Zara’s voice downstairs.
“Mrs. Hayes! Is your beautiful hermit of a daughter awake? Because I’m dragging her out today!”
Fiona groaned.
Her mother laughed.
A moment later, Zara bounded into her room, plopping onto the bed dramatically.
“You look haunted,” Zara said cheerfully.
“Which means you’re either depressed or you had sex.”
Fiona nearly choked on air.
“I—I didn’t—”
“Oh my God,” Zara gasped, eyes widening in pure predatory excitement, “YOU DID.”
“I didn’t say that!”
“You didn’t deny it fast enough!”
Fiona hid her face behind her hands.
It was hopeless hiding anything from Zara.
But she didn’t tell her the truth.
Couldn’t.
Wouldn’t.
Zara sighed, flopping dramatically onto her back.
“You don’t have to tell me. But whatever is eating you up? You need to stop letting it rot in your brain. Let’s go out today. Fresh air. Sunlight. Maybe a cute guy who’ll distract you.”
Fiona forced a smile.
She appreciated Zara — desperately — but she couldn’t tell her that no man would distract her.
Because none of them had eyes like silver knives.
None of them held her like she was something precious and forbidden at the same time.
None of them were Alistair.
Fiona worked part-time at a tiny floral shop tucked between a pharmacy and a bakery. The place smelled like lavender and soil — a comforting cocoon she hid inside whenever life felt too loud.
She loved arranging bouquets.
Loved choosing colors.
Loved giving quiet happiness to strangers.
Flowers didn’t demand anything from her.
Unlike her thoughts, which demanded everything.
Sometimes, while trimming stems or tying ribbons, Fiona would suddenly freeze — her stomach dropping, her pulse stuttering.
Because she’d remember the way his breath felt against her neck.
Or the way he said, “Come with me,” like she’d already agreed in some other lifetime.
Or the way he left without a word.
“Earth to Fiona,” Zara called, waving a hand in front of her face as she helped pack roses. “You spaced out again. Are you thinking about him?”
Fiona flinched.
“Who?”
“That mystery man you’re pretending doesn’t exist.”
“I’m not—”
“You so are.”
Fiona sighed.
Zara winked.
“You know what? One day he’ll show up at your door with a bouquet of lilies and a tragic backstory. And you’ll faint. And I’ll laugh.”
If only Zara knew how close — and how dangerously far — that prediction was
Nights were always the worst.
After dinner, after her mother went to bed, after the house grew quiet…
Fiona would lie awake staring at the ceiling, replaying that one night like a film she couldn’t turn off.
She didn’t regret it.
Not even a little.
What she regretted was how it left her wanting — longing — for something impossible.
She wondered if he’d forgotten her.
If he’d touched someone else.
If she was foolish for caring at all.
But Fiona wasn’t a girl built for casual attachment.
She fell deeply or not at all.
And Alistair was the kind of man who ruined a woman for everyone else.
She didn’t know why.
Didn’t know how.
She just knew.
And she hated it.
Hated missing someone she shouldn’t have trusted.
Hated wondering if he thought about her.
Hated that she felt more alive in one night with him than in years of safety.
She whispered to the dark, voice breaking in a way she never let Zara hear:
“Why did you leave?”
There was no answer.
Just silence.
And the slow, quiet shift of her body preparing for change she couldn’t see yet…
A change growing inside her.
A life.
A secret.
Her days were numbered.
Her quiet was ending.
She just didn’t know yet.
- Writer
