"Inlove again"
1159 Words
Episode 2: Echoes of Us
The next morning, Ariana stood in front of her mirror, holding two dresses. One was navy blue—sleek, professional, the kind of dress that said I’m in control. The other was soft cream, more feminine, with delicate lace at the collar.
She hated how long she was debating. It was just another workday. A normal Friday. No one would care what she wore. But her mind kept drifting to the man across town, covered in paint and memories.
With a frustrated sigh, she tossed the cream one aside and slipped into the navy.
---
Her day unfolded in neat, predictable pieces. Sessions back-to-back. A podcast interview during lunch. A meeting with her publisher to finalize edits on her next book. Everything moved according to the schedule, but Ariana didn’t feel present in any of it.
In the final session of the day, her client—a young woman navigating a breakup—asked something unexpected:
“Do people ever… fall in love again? With the same person?”
Ariana blinked. “You mean, after everything has gone wrong?”
The girl nodded. “Yeah. After years. After hurt. Is that… ever real?”
Ariana’s lips parted. No words came at first.
Then, carefully, she said, “It’s possible. People change. Sometimes love matures with them. But it's not easy. You’d have to rebuild everything—trust, communication, safety. That kind of love isn’t a return. It’s a re-creation.”
The girl smiled faintly, eyes wet. “Sounds worth it.”
Ariana swallowed hard. “It can be.”
---
When she got home, Marcus was in the kitchen, whisking eggs. The apartment smelled like rosemary and toast.
“There she is,” he said, kissing her cheek. “How was the day?”
“Fine,” she replied, setting her bag down. “Busy.”
He handed her a glass of wine. “You’re glowing. Something happen?”
She forced a laugh. “Just good lighting, maybe.”
Marcus smiled, not noticing her discomfort. That was his gift—and his flaw. He rarely looked beneath the surface.
They ate dinner discussing the wedding—guest list, honeymoon destinations, flower arrangements. Marcus wanted a vineyard wedding in Napa. Ariana said yes to everything, but her thoughts wandered to Daniel’s hands, rough with paint, and the way he’d said her name like it was still his.
She excused herself early and retreated to her study.
There, she opened her journal. She hadn’t written in months, but tonight her fingers moved as if possessed.
He’s back. Not just in town. In me.
Everything I buried has started breathing again.
---
Across town, Daniel stood in his father’s old studio, the smell of turpentine and dust hanging in the air. Canvases leaned against the walls, unfinished and forgotten.
He touched a painting near the corner—a watercolor of the lake where he and Ariana used to spend summer nights. The colors had faded, but the emotion remained.
“You went to see her?” a voice croaked from behind.
Daniel turned. His father, thin and grizzled, leaned against the doorframe with a blanket around his shoulders.
“She was across the street,” Daniel said. “I didn’t plan it.”
The old man coughed and eased into the nearby chair. “And? Still beautiful?”
Daniel smirked. “More than ever. But she’s… closed off. Polished. Like she built armor and forgot how to take it off.”
“She loved you hard, boy. Don’t blame her for being careful.”
“I left,” Daniel said. “She needed stability. I offered chaos.”
His father studied him for a long moment. “You think you still love her?”
Daniel didn’t answer.
“I saw the way you looked at her in that car,” the old man muttered. “You’re not over her. Don’t lie to yourself.”
Daniel rubbed his eyes. “Doesn’t matter. She’s engaged now.”
“Engaged ain’t married,” his father said. “But you better be sure, son. Don’t go stirring ghosts if you don’t plan to face them.”
---
The next morning, Ariana’s best friend, Leah, barged into her office without knocking, holding two coffees and a knowing look.
“You saw him,” Leah said flatly, dropping into the chair across from her.
Ariana blinked. “What?”
“Daniel Westwood. He’s back. Don’t play dumb.”
“I didn’t—” Ariana stopped. “Okay. Yes. I saw him. It was… nothing.”
Leah snorted. “Girl, nothing doesn’t keep you awake all night.”
Ariana stared at her. “How’d you know?”
“You post inspirational quotes at 2 a.m. That’s how I know.”
Ariana groaned and buried her face in her hands.
Leah softened. “You’re allowed to feel, Ari. You don’t have to stay perfect all the time.”
“I don’t want him to ruin what I’ve built.”
“Then don’t let him,” Leah said. “But be honest with yourself. Do you want what you’ve built… or are you just afraid to lose the foundation?”
Ariana said nothing.
Leah reached over and took her hand. “You loved that man. Deep. Don’t bury it. Just figure out what’s still true.”
---
That weekend, Ariana went to the farmers’ market—alone. Marcus had a golf event, and she needed time to think. She walked slowly between stands, breathing in the scent of peaches and sunflowers, trying to feel grounded.
And then she saw the easel.
It was set up near the edge of the square, shaded by a tree. A crowd gathered around the man painting live.
Daniel.
His brush moved like it had its own mind. The canvas held a city street, soft in hue but vibrant in energy. His eyes were focused, his brow creased in concentration.
Ariana froze.
He hadn’t seen her yet. She could still turn away.
But something held her there.
Then his eyes lifted.
And found her.
He smiled—quiet, cautious, hopeful.
She didn’t smile back.
Instead, she stepped forward.
“Still painting in public?” she asked, folding her arms.
“It keeps me honest,” he said. “No room for edits.”
She tilted her head. “You never liked edits.”
“I never liked being wrong,” he replied, shrugging. “Now I just try to be honest instead.”
A pause.
She looked at the painting. “It’s beautiful.”
“So are you,” he said without thinking.
She blinked.
He looked down. “Sorry. That was… impulsive.”
“No,” she said. “It was you.”
Silence stretched.
Then he said, “Let me make you coffee. Just coffee. No expectations. No past. Just two people catching up.”
She hesitated.
The safe answer was no.
The true answer was…
“Okay.”
- Writer
