Seven Years Ago—After The Night
1138 Words
Layla blinks up at the bright sunlight seeping through the blinds, her head pounding, her body aching in ways that make last night’s memories crash over her like a tidal wave.
The faint scent of coffee lingers in the air, mingling with something more familiar—his scent. Musky, warm, intoxicating.
Her pulse stutters as she shifts beneath the sheets, feeling the crisp fabric slide against her bare skin. She’s not wearing anything. A slow, creeping realisation washes over her.
Oh, God.
Her fingers clutch the blanket tightly around her chest as she turns her head, and there he is.
Evan.
He’s sitting beside the bed, fully dressed in a dark T-shirt and jeans, a cup of coffee in hand, watching her with that unreadable expression. His piercing gaze, sharp and knowing, sends a shiver down her spine.
“Morning, sunshine.” His voice is smooth, casual—like this is normal. Like last night hadn’t changed everything.
Layla bolts upright, gripping the blanket as if it’s the only thing keeping her together. “What…what happened?”
Evan leans back, resting his arm on the chair, his lips curving slightly. “You really don’t remember?”
Fragments of last night flicker through her mind—the music, the drinks, the way he looked at her under the dim lights. The way his lips found hers, slow and searching, igniting something deep in her core.
Then hands. His hands, sliding over her skin, peeling away layers of hesitation, of restraint.The way he whispered her name.
The way she answered him.
Heat flushes her face. She remembers enough.
She swallows hard. “We…?”
Evan’s smirk softens, his voice gentle but firm. “Yeah.”
Her breath hitches, and for a second, the room tilts. She wasn’t imagining it. She had wanted it—every single moment of it. And now, in the stark light of morning, the weight of it presses down on her chest.
“I—I shouldn’t have—”
“Layla.” He reaches forward, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, his touch featherlight. “Don’t do that. Don’t regret it.”Her heart pounds against her ribs. Regret. The word tastes wrong on her tongue.
Because deep down, she knows she doesn’t.
She exhales, rubbing her temple. “My mom—”
“I handled it.” He reaches for her phone on the nightstand and hands it to her. “She called a few times. I texted her that you were safe.
”Layla exhales, relieved but still unsteady. The sheets are tangled around her, and the lingering scent of him clings to her skin. She shifts slightly, a dull ache between her thighs making last night feel all the more real.
He watches her, his gaze unreadable. “I made breakfast.”
She nods, not trusting her voice, as he disappears into the kitchen.
Layla buries her face in her hands. What the hell did she do? This wasn’t supposed to happen. The kiss was one thing. But this? Nahhh.
And yet… a part of her can still feel him. The way he moved, the way he whispered her name against her skin, the way he held her afterward like she was something fragile.
Her stomach twists.
Evan returns moments later, balancing a tray with pancakes, eggs, and fresh orange juice. He sets it down on the bed. “Voilà! The cure for all your worries.”
She manages a small smile. “You didn’t have to.”
“Hey, I believe in proper aftercare,” he teases, handing her a fork.
Layla picks at the food, her mind still tangled in last night. Evan settles back into his chair, sipping his coffee.
“Layla,” he says after a moment, his voice quieter now. “Can I tell you something?”
She looks up, wary. “Sure.”
He sets his cup down, leaning forward slightly. “Last night wasn’t just some random, drunken mistake for me.”
Her pulse skips.
“I’ve liked you for a while,” he continues. “I just wasn’t sure how to tell you. But now that I have…” He holds her gaze. “Would you go on a date with me? A real one?”
Her throat goes dry.
A part of her had felt something last night—something raw and unfiltered—but was it just the intensity of the moment? Or was it more?
Finally, she nods, her voice barely above a whisper. “Okay. One date.”
Evan grins, his relief almost palpable. “You won’t regret it.”But as they finish breakfast and Evan gets up to clear the tray, Layla glances around his room again. Something feels… off.
Too neat. Too perfect.
Her gaze lands on the nightstand. A silver picture frame, just barely peeking out from behind a book.
Curious, she leans forward, tilting it into view.
Her breath catches.
It’s Evan. With a girl. Long auburn hair, bright smile. His arm draped around her waist, holding her close.
The intimacy in the photo is unmistakable.
Layla swallows hard, her stomach twisting.
“Found something interesting?”
She jumps at the sound of his voice. Evan stands in the doorway, arms crossed, watching her with an expression she can’t quite read.
“Oh…oh no,” she stammers, setting the frame back. “Just looking around.”
His eyes flick to the picture, and for the briefest moment, his smile falters.
“That’s a friend,” he says lightly. Too lightly.
A friend? Just like she had been before last night. Layla thought but nods, forcing a smile, but doubt creeps in, seeping through the cracks.
Who is she?
And why did Evan seem so eager to brush it off?
“I should get going,” she says abruptly, pushing the blanket aside.
Evan looks surprised. “You sure? I can drive you back.”
“No, it’s fine,” she replies quickly, slipping into her clothes. “I need the fresh air.”
He watches her carefully but doesn’t push. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and hands her a small card. “Here. My number. Can I have yours?”
She hesitates, then takes his phone and inputs it
“Have a nice day, Evan.”
Stepping outside, the cool morning air fills her lungs, but it does nothing to settle the storm brewing inside her.
Last night was unforgettable. But now, in the daylight, all she can think about is the picture frame on his nightstand.
Who is she?
And why does it feel like Evan isn’t telling her everything?
As she walks down the sidewalk, her bag clutched tightly to her side, a sinking feeling settles deep in her chest.
Maybe last night wasn’t as simple as it seemed.
- Writer
