Settled
One Year Later
London felt different in the mornings.
Quieter.
Colder.
More real.
The city outside my apartment windows was already awake—cars moving below, people rushing across pavements with coffees in hand, the grey sky stretching endlessly above the buildings like it hadn’t fully decided whether it wanted to rain or not.
I stood barefoot in the middle of my living room, my hair twisted into a messy bun, wearing a simple vest and low-waisted joggers as I stared at the last unopened box sitting near the kitchen island.
One box.
That was all I had left.
After almost eight months of living here.
“Actually embarrassing,” Asia mutters from the couch.
I look over at her.
“What?”
“You’ve lived here long enough to legally own dust in those boxes.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Busy kissing your NBA boyfriend doesn’t count,” Bria says from the floor.
“He’s not NBA yet,” I correct automatically.
The girls all stare at me.
Then burst out laughing.
“Oh my God,” Princess groans dramatically. “Listen to her trying to be humble.”
“Jada,” Hope says softly, smiling as she folds one of my throw blankets neatly, “your man is literally becoming famous.”
“What are you talking about.”
Salma snorts loudly from the kitchen.
“You gained ninety thousand followers in under a year because of your relationship with Cole .”
I nearly choke on air.
“Can we not say it like that?”
“But it’s true,” Bria says, holding up her phone. “Look at this.”
I already know what she’s about to show me before she even turns the screen.
A blog page.
Another one.
Another post about me and Cole.
The headline reads:
Basketball’s Favourite Couple? Cole Hayes & Fiancée Jada Laurent Continue To Win Hearts Online
“See?” Bria says proudly like she personally wrote the article.
I walk over and take the phone from her hands.
The photo attached is from three weeks ago.
Me and Cole leaving a restaurant in New York.
His hand on my lower back.
Me laughing at something he said.
I stare at it for a second too long.
Because sometimes it still feels strange.
A year ago my social media barely existed.
A quiet account.
Private life.
Private relationship.
Now?
Everything felt bigger.
Louder.
My following had gone from barely one thousand people to almost ninety thousand.
Brands suddenly emailing me.
People commenting on my outfits.
Girls reposting pictures of me and Cole calling us “couple goals.”
It still doesn’t feel real.
And honestly?
I didn’t know if I wanted it to.
“I still think it’s weird,” I mumble, handing the phone back.
Asia gasps dramatically.
“WEIRD? You’re literally in your rich-girl-London era.”
“I am not rich.”
“You live in central London,” Salma says.
“With marble countertops,” Princess adds.
“And mood lighting,” Bria throws in.
Hope smiles softly at me.
“And you worked hard for it.”
That one lands differently.
Because that part was true.
The apartment.
The clients.
The wedding business.
Every late night.
Every breakdown.
Every train ride across London carrying fabric samples and flower mockups while surviving on iced coffee and two hours of sleep.
I built this.
And standing here now—
inside my own apartment—
surrounded by the girls who had seen every version of me—
it almost felt unreal.
“You know what’s crazy though?” Princess says, grabbing another box cutter. “You literally plan dream weddings for a living now.”
“Mmhm.”
“But your own wedding still doesn’t exist.”
I freeze slightly.
Not enough for them to notice.
Hopefully.
Bria immediately points at me.
“There it is.”
“There what is?”
“That face.”
“What face?”
“That ‘please change the subject before I throw myself out the window’ face.”
The girls laugh.
I roll my eyes as I sat on the floor and move toward the final box.
“There’s no face.”
“There absolutely is,” Asia says. “You get weird every time marriage gets mentioned.”
“It’s because you lot are dramatic.”
“No,” Princess says slowly. “It’s because every time someone says the word wedding you start acting like a hostage.”
“I literally do weddings for a living.”
“Exactly,” Salma says. “Which somehow makes this worse.”
I pull open the final box just to avoid eye contact.
Candles.
Photo frames.
Random notebooks.
Things I’d shoved away too quickly during move-in season and never touched again.
My fingers brush against one of the frames.
A picture of me and Cole.
Taken last summer.
His arms around me from behind while I laughed into the camera.
I stare at it quietly.
“You love him though,” Hope says gently from behind me.
I look up.
And the answer comes easily.
“Of course I do.”
No hesitation.
No doubt.
I love him in every version.
The loud version.
The soft version.
The frustrating version.
The version that called me at 3AM from another timezone just because he missed my voice.
That part wasn’t the issue.
It never was.
“So what’s stopping you?” Princess asks carefully this time.
The apartment quiets slightly after that.
Rain tapping faintly against the windows.
Music playing softly from Asia’s speaker in the kitchen.
I exhale slowly.
“I don’t know,” I admit honestly.
And that was the worst part.
I really didn’t know.
Because when I imagined marrying Cole—
it didn’t scare me.
Not really.
What scared me was everything after.
The permanence of it.
The responsibility.
The way life suddenly felt like it was moving too fast while everyone expected me to keep up smiling.
One minute we were in college figuring ourselves out.
The next?
We were talking about venues and guest lists and future houses.
And sometimes—
quietly—
when nobody was around—
I wondered if I’d fully caught up to my own life yet.
“He really wants it, huh?” Salma asks softly.
I nod once.
“Yeah.”
“And you?”
I look back down at the photo frame in my hands.
At Cole smiling beside me.
Looking completely certain.
Certain about me.
About us.
About forever.
And God—
I wanted to be certain in the same fearless way he was.
“I want him,” I say quietly.
The room softens instantly after that.
Because they understand what I actually mean.
It’s not about doubting him.
It’s about doubting timing.
Doubting myself.
Princess moves first, walking over and dropping beside me on the floor.
“You know you don’t have to rush, right?”
“I know.”
“And if he’s really your person,” Hope adds gently, “then one year won’t change anything.”
A small smile pulls at my lips.
“Tell him that.”
“Oh trust me,” Asia says dramatically. “That man wants to marry you tomorrow.”
The girls burst into laughter.
Even me.
Because it was true.
Cole would genuinely marry me next week if I let him.
And somehow that thought makes my chest warm and ache at the same time.
My phone suddenly buzzes beside me.
The girls immediately go silent.
Then all together—
“OHHHH.”
I groan.
“Can you all relax?”
“No,” Bria says quickly. “Read it out loud.”
“I’m absolutely not doing that.”
Princess lunges for the phone.
I snatch it first.
Too late.
Because they already saw his name.
Cole 🤍
“Aww,” Salma yells.
“I knew ittt,” Asia adds.
I ignore them and open the message anyway.
Cole: You awake?
Another message appears immediately.
Miss you.
And despite everything—
despite the conversation—
despite the pressure sitting quietly in the back of my mind—
I still smile instantly.
Because some things hadn’t changed.
Not the important things.
Not yet.
