Chapter 1
Curled up on her bed, Emily lay watching the rain trace slow paths down the windowpane. It had been pouring for hours. Strangely enough, she liked it. The weather mirrored her mood with almost cruel precision.
All day she had been remembering things she was sure she had already buried — survived — outgrown.
Wrapping her arms tighter around herself, she thought of him again, replaying everything in her mind.
The passion.
The fear.
The reckless decisions.
She was exhausted. Exhausted from thinking, from reliving, from feeling — and yet there was no escaping herself.
Emily turned away from the window and reached for her phone. She wanted to text him, to finally say everything she had never dared to say. But another message appeared first — from Emma, her best friend, who had been trying for days to understand what was happening.
„Emi, please. This can't go on forever. Let me help you. What's happening?"
Emily didn't even know whether she could be helped. Her thoughts never rested. Her fingers opened his Instagram profile on their own. Her eyes lingered on their photos. At work, she thought about them. In the shower, she thought about him. And in bed, she was left alone with the dull ache of her own helplessness.
„I'm sorry I haven't replied these past few days... Do you want to go out somewhere? Maybe tonight?"
If Emma agreed, it would be Emily's first time going anywhere other than work in three weeks. And painful as it was to admit, she missed her life before him. She missed her friends. The bars. The easy rhythm of being herself.
„Of course! I'll be waiting for you at Eswer tonight. Love you!!"
Emma didn't know that this place had been the beginning of everything. And Emily had no intention of explaining. So she simply replied, Okay. Love you, and — for the first time all day — got out of bed.
Could that count as progress?
It was a question she asked herself every time she managed to do anything at all.
On her way to the bathroom, she stopped in front of the mirror and, for the first time in weeks, really looked at herself.
A messy bun.
Dark circles shadowing her eyes.
Hollow cheeks.
A vacant stare.
„So that's why they look at me with pity." - she thought.
A bitter smile flickered across her face. She moved on, pulling off her old T-shirt and stepping under the hot spray of the shower. It was the only place where she felt something close to relief.
For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine the water washing everything away. The thoughts. The memories. Him
But her mind kept circling back.
Goosebumps spread across her skin — from the heat, or from the realization?
She stepped out eventually, though she couldn't have said how long she had been standing there. Twenty minutes. Two hours. Time dissolved in the steam.
Wrapped in a towel, she wandered into the kitchen, trying to remember when she had last eaten.
Yesterday evening, maybe. Almost a full day ago.
She grabbed the first thing she saw — a tuna sandwich — and sat down in front of the mirror with it in her hand, studying this new version of herself while beginning her makeup routine.
Emily loved putting on makeup. It gave her control. It allowed her to conceal what wasn't meant for public view — the parts she kept strictly to herself.
Foundation.
Blush — more than usual, to breathe life back into her face.
Eyeliner, precise and sharp. Mascara. The finishing touches.
When she was done, she felt a quiet flicker of satisfaction.
There she was again.
The old Emily.
Happy. Alive. Whole.
If only it worked beneath the surface.
"Hey, I'll be at the bar in thirty minutes! Where are you?"
The message pulled her from her thoughts.
She was late. Very late.
Grabbing her coat, she rushed to the wardrobe, ordering a taxi while typing back:
"Perfect, darling. I'm on my way!"
Emma hated lateness.
And Emily hated disappointing Emma.
The taxi ride was a mistake.
Memories of that night — the night that had changed everything — came crashing back without warning.
She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to blur the images, but they only sharpened.
Breath.
Hands.
Lips.
She asked the driver to turn up the music and stared out the window.
At a red light, she noticed a couple walking hand in hand, smiling at each other. Emily looked down at her own trembling fingers. She clenched them without realizing how hard, her nails pressing into her palms until it hurt.
Focus.
The driver was middle-aged, short, bald. His fingers tapped methodically against the steering wheel in time with the music. A half-empty cup of coffee rested in the holder; he took small sips at each stoplight.
Emily glanced at her reflection in the darkened window.
Short black skirt.
Black sweater.
Tall black boots with white socks peeking out.
A long black coat — it was still late winter.
She had dressed entirely in black without noticing.
Like she was in mourning.
For who she used to be?
Or for what they had been?
She wasn't cold. Not physically.
But something inside her felt frozen — fear of returning to the place where she had first lost herself.
When the taxi stopped, she took a slow breath before stepping out. She smiled, handed over the money, and got out quickly — before she could change her mind.
The scent of incense wrapped around her the moment she entered the bar. She used to love that smell.
She ordered her favorite cocktail and stepped onto the terrace — the place where it had all begun.
Emma was already there, phone in hand.
She stood out immediately.
Dressed almost entirely in soft shades of pale blue — a powder-blue coat, a lighter knit sweater beneath, and high-waisted jeans in a washed sky tone — she looked like a fragment of early spring dropped into the dim, amber-lit terrace. A thin silver chain caught the light at her collarbone, and tiny pastel beads — pink, lilac, and mint — were woven into a few loose strands of her hair. Her brown hair fell freely over her shoulders, thick and slightly wavy, streaked boldly with white strands that shimmered every time she moved. The contrast didn't make her look severe — it made her brighter. Like sunlight cutting through clouds.
Even her makeup carried warmth: a soft peach blush, gloss the color of crushed strawberries, a touch of shimmer at the corners of her eyes. She looked rested. Effortlessly alive.
She was smiling before she even saw Emily — the kind of unguarded, whole-body smile that started in her eyes and spread everywhere else.
Then she looked up.
And when she saw Emily, her entire face lit up properly — joy widening her already bright gaze.
- Emi! You're here!
She rushed forward, pale blue and soft color colliding gently with the sharp black of Emily's coat. Emma smelled faintly of citrus and vanilla — something warm, something safe.
Emma looked like morning.
Emily felt like the hour before dawn.
And yet Emma's brightness didn't blind her. It steadied her. Like holding a piece of sky when you're afraid of drowning.
In that moment, Emily realized just how much she had missed her.
- Thank you for coming, - she said softly. - Let's sit.
Emma linked arms with her, talking animatedly as they walked. Emily smiled, pretending she wasn't slipping back into memory.
They passed the table.
The table.
That was where he had leaned closer to hear her over the music.
Where his hand had lingered on her knee just a little too long.
- ...and can you believe she actually argued with the professor? - Emma laughed.
Emily nodded, though a different sound echoed in her ears.
She forced herself to listen. Emma had passed her exams and was celebrating a C in history.
- A C is a C. What am I supposed to do, cry like everyone else? - Emma shrugged, laughing loudly enough that nearby tables turned.
Emily smiled — just enough to seem like her past self.
- How's work? - Emma asked later, sipping her Espresso Martini.
As Emily described her new project, Emma noticed the swollen eyes. The scattered thoughts. The absence of spark.
Emily used to feel everything intensely. Now she seemed distant. Dimmed.
- And what about Aaro—
- Don't say his name. Please.
The words were sharper than she intended.
"Aaron, I like you..."
"Aaron, I never want to see you again."
The memories surged again.
- We broke up. This time for good, - Emily said quietly. - And don't apologize. I should've told you.
She held Emma's hand a moment longer than necessary before gently changing the subject.
They didn't notice how late it had become until the bar began to empty.
-Do you want to walk? - Emily asked.
They wandered through narrow streets without direction. Emma told endless stories. Emily laughed — really laughed — until her cheeks hurt.
Five years ago, in this same city, Emily had saved Emma from being forced into a car by masked men. She had run toward them while dialing 911, grateful for the years she had spent boxing instead of dancing.
That night had bound them together forever.
- ...and remember when you fell off that bar stool? - Emma laughed.
- Painful and humiliating. - Emily smiled faintly.
" Are you okay?" - He asked with concern in his eyes.
"Yeah, Ari, just get me out this place" - She asked, taking his hand and standing up.
After a while, exhaustion settled over her.
- I think I'll head home, - she said softly.
They hugged tightly at the tram stop.
- Take care of yourself, - Emma whispered. - I'm always here.
Emily squeezed her eyes shut as if the words stung. The tears she had held back all day finally slipped free, burning against her cold skin. She hugged Emma tighter — then pulled away abruptly and ran toward the arriving tram without looking back.
Emma would understand. She always did.
Inside the nearly empty tram, Emily put in her headphones and played the one song that always made her cry.
And she did.
She sat there, crying.
In an empty tram.
At three in the morning.
Alone.
