Chapter 5 Back to Nine
443 Words
The apartment felt different in the morning.
Not dramatically just enough to notice.
The scent of Talia still hung in the air. Not perfume something warmer, earthier. Like citrus and smoke. One of the candles had burned down to its wick. The blanket was tangled around Joelle’s legs. Her shirt was still halfway off.
But Talia was gone.
Joelle sat up slowly.
No note. No mug in the sink. No buzz from her phone saying Had a great night or Call me later.
Just space.
Warm and empty.
She checked the time 7:42 a.m.
Too early to be upset. Too late to pretend it didn’t matter.
She got dressed. Made tea. Tried to start her workday.
But everything felt… crooked. Tilted in a way she couldn’t quite name.
She didn’t text.
Not all day.
Didn’t check her door. Didn’t hover near the elevator. Didn’t linger in the lobby.
But she thought about it.
Over and over.
Every sip of tea. Every opened document. Every skipped song on her playlist.
She didn’t feel ghosted. That wasn’t it.
She just felt… paused.
Like she’d been in something and then pulled out of it too fast.
By late evening, the stillness had started to make her restless.
And by 9:15 p.m., she found herself standing outside apartment 197.
Talia’s floor.
Talia’s door.
No sound inside.
Joelle lifted her hand.
Then lowered it.
Then lifted it again.
And knocked.
The door opened a moment later.
Talia stood there barefoot, wearing sweatpants and a cropped tank top. Her hair was still wet from a shower. Her expression didn’t say surprised. It said finally.
Joelle exhaled.
“Hey.”
Talia stepped aside, holding the door.
Joelle walked in.
Talia’s apartment was a mirror of hers but lived in. Plants lined the windows. Vinyl stacked beside a record player. Two mugs on the counter. A hoodie draped over a bar stool. The light was dim and amber.
Joelle turned slowly, taking it all in.
“You left early,” she said.
Talia nodded. “Didn’t want to crowd your morning.”
“You thought I needed space?”
“I thought you might wake up and regret it.”
Joelle’s throat tightened. “I didn’t.”
Talia didn’t smile.
She stepped closer.
“Good,” she said quietly.
Then added, “I don’t do casual well, Joelle.”
Joelle looked up. “Neither do I.”
Another silence. Thicker this time.
Joelle reached for her.
Not in desperation.
Not in apology.
Just to touch her face, softly thumb against cheek, hand in hair.
This time, when they kissed, it was slow and certain.
No questions left in it.
Just answer.
- Writer
