Page 64 of Every Shattered Note
Do I want space?Honestly, I’m not sure and maybe I’m too tired to decide either way.
“This is where we part.”We pause just outside a wooden door.
“Thank you,” I say, hand still resting on the handle.“For bringing me here.For not ...expecting anything.”
His gaze doesn’t leave mine.
“I want you to feel safe,” he says.
I nod.
He leans forward—slow, tentative—and kisses my cheek.His lips linger just long enough to make my pulse stutter.
And then—without asking for more—he steps back.
“Goodnight, Aly.”
I turn the handle.Step inside.
But before I close the door, I say it back.
“Goodnight, Dex.”
I press my back to the door and take a breath that shakes at the edges.
I don’t know what tomorrow holds.But I know what tonight gave, me and maybe that’s enough.
I fallasleep in clothes I didn’t change out of, pulled halfway off the bed, one shoe on, the other kicked under the duvet like I lost the will to care somewhere between brushing my teeth and replaying his kiss for the hundredth time.
Sleep drags me under without a fight.
And I wake early—too early—but without alarm.
It’s a morning silence that feels holy.Like the world hasn’t noticed you’re awake yet, and you get to exist inside it untouched for a few sacred moments.
The sky outside is streaked in gold, the faintest blush of dawn spreading across the horizon.The curtains are parted just enough for the light to sneak in—soft, muted, and full of permission.
I sit up slowly, hair tangled, mascara probably smudged, and stare at the pale blue water beyond the glass.The pool is still, untouched.The palm trees lean gently toward the terrace, as if offering shade to no one in particular.One of the chaises is perfectly positioned for sunrise.
And I realize all at once that I’ve been chasing quiet all my life.Maybe I found it.
It’s not the silence, but a quiet that lets me exhale without bracing for the next disaster or whatever needs to be fixed.
I rise from the bed, the tile cool against my feet, grounding me just enough to remind me this isn’t a dream.The suitcase sits quietly in the corner, half-unzipped like it’s been waiting for me to notice it.Inside, I find an ocean-blue swimsuit I definitely don’t remember buying, as well as a loose, gauzy tunic with the tags still dangling.Jules must’ve slipped them in, probably while muttering something like “just in case he has a pool,” with that smug psychic instinct of hers.
My best friend and I will be having words.Eventually.
But not now.
I carry the bundle to the bathroom and close the door behind me, as if I’m sealing in a new version of myself.
The shower is bigger than my entire kitchen back home.I take my time, letting the water cascade down in warm, slow ribbons that feel more like a blessing than a rinse.Shampoo that smells like gardenias lathers in my hair, soft and floral and too luxurious for someone who’s been running on caffeine and stress for the last month—maybe a few years.
I drag my fingers through my hair carefully, tenderly.Like I’m trying to untangle more than knots.Like I’m convincing myself I belong here.In this house.In this version of my life.In the aftermath of a kiss that changed everything.
A moment I can’t take back.
A moment I don’t want to.
