Chapter 9 The Same Elevator, Different Ending
534 Words
The mug was warm in Joelle’s hands.
The apartment smelled like toast and Talia’s shampoo.
The record player hummed softly—jazz, something wordless and slow. Light streamed in through the windows, and the city was doing what it always did: moving, groaning, glowing. But inside, it was still.
Joelle stood barefoot at the window.
Talia walked up behind her, kissed the side of her neck without saying anything, and stole the second half of her toast.
Joelle didn’t complain.
She just leaned back against her chest and let herself feel it.
Not the toast.
The this.
The everyday.
The us.
They had gone twelve floors down and back a hundred times since that first kiss.
Late nights. Lazy mornings. Arguments about movies. Disagreements about dish soap. Laughter in the hallway. s*x that meant something. s*x that didn’t need to mean anything. Sleep. Forgiveness. Food.
And talking.
So much talking.
Real talking. Quiet confessions in the middle of the night. Hushed apologies in grocery store aisles. I want you. I trust you. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not leaving.
It wasn’t perfect.
It was alive.
“Elevator?” Talia asked, nudging her shoulder.
Joelle glanced at the time.
Ten minutes to spare.
She nodded. “Let’s go.”
They stepped inside together.
No distance between them this time.
Talia leaned against the wall.
Joelle stood beside her.
The elevator buzzed softly. The numbers lit one by one.
Joelle looked over.
Talia was watching her.
Like she always did—carefully, fully.
Joelle reached down and took her hand.
No hesitation.
Talia’s fingers curled around hers like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Which, by now, it was.
Joelle smiled.
Talia squeezed her hand once.
The elevator dinged.
They stepped out—still holding on.
No drama.
No declarations.
Just this.
Real.
Ongoing.
Unfinished in the best way.
Bonus Scene : “I Love You” (Late Morning, One Sock Missing)
The sun had moved halfway across the apartment before Joelle woke.
The sheets were tangled. Her hair was a soft mess. One sock was still on—she had no memory of why. Talia lay beside her, one arm stretched across Joelle’s stomach like she’d been anchored there in her sleep.
Joelle blinked slowly. Exhaled.
Talia stirred, face pressed into the pillow. Her voice came out rough and soft.
“Why are you staring at me like you’ve got a secret?”
Joelle smiled, the lazy kind. “I do.”
Talia opened one eye. “Should I be nervous?”
Joelle shook her head. “No.”
She pushed herself up on one elbow. Let the silence sit for a moment.
Then, just like that—without fanfare, without warning—she said it.
“I love you.”
Talia didn’t blink.
Didn’t grin.
She just said, low and certain, “Good.”
Joelle tilted her head. “That’s all you’ve got?”
Talia rolled onto her back. “I’ve been in love with you since you opened the door in a towel. I was just being polite.”
Joelle threw a pillow at her.
Then kissed her slow.
The moment stayed there, hanging between laughter and breath.
- Writer
