UNRAVELING AMAYA.

8

I had nearly forgotten the way Ryan's eyebrow lifts in concentration, the way he licks his lips when frustrated, and the way he rubs his goatee when tired—until Rhonda sent me on a mission to see him.

I was instructed to retrieve her edited photos and organize another shoot with Ryan Pierre in the flesh. Unfortunately, I was alone, so I didn't have Rhonda ordering me around and aiding me in my plan to avoid him for as long as I could.

The studio door loomed ahead, its chipped paint a testament to countless comings and goings. The air was thick with the familiar scent of coffee and the faint tang of photographic chemicals, pulling me back into a world I had tried to avoid. I took a deep breath and pushed it open, the bell above jingling softly. The dim light inside cast long shadows, and there he was, hunched over his desk, engrossed in his work.

"Hey, Ryan," I called out, my voice steadier than I felt. He looked up, surprise flickering across his face before it settled into a guarded mask. His brow furrowed slightly, and his eyes held a wariness that hadn't been there before.

"Hey," he replied curtly, standing up and wiping his hands on his jeans. His eyebrow lifted ever so slightly, but there was a distance in his gaze that hadn't been there before.

"Rhonda sent me to pick up the edited photos and schedule another shoot," I explained, trying to keep my tone casual. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a reminder of the unresolved tension between us.

"Sure," he said, turning to rummage through a stack of envelopes. "Here they are," he added, handing me a neatly sealed package. There was a brief brush of his fingers against mine, but he quickly pulled away. "And about that shoot, when is she thinking?"

"Um, maybe next Thursday? Does that work for you?" I asked, pulling out my phone to check the calendar, though I already knew the date was clear.

"Thursday works. Same time, same place?" he asked, his voice flat and professional.

"Yeah, that should be fine," I said, trying to ignore the chill in his tone. "Thanks, Ryan. I'll let Rhonda know."

As I turned to leave, his voice halted me. "Wait, Amaya."

I stopped, my hand on the door handle. "Yeah?"

"How have you been?" he asked, but there was no warmth in his voice, just a formality that made my chest tighten.

"I've been busy with work and all," I replied, trying to mask my disappointment. "You?"

"Same," he said tersely. "Busy."

A heavy silence hung between us, thick with the weight of unspoken words. It felt like standing on the edge of a precipice, waiting for the inevitable fall. Finally, he broke the tension.

"It's been a while. You seem... different."

"Different how?" I asked, a slight edge to my voice.

"I don't know," he shrugged, his eyes flicking away. "Just different."

I bit back a retort and forced a smile. "Well, people change, I guess."

"Yeah," he muttered, his gaze returning to his desk. "They do."

I turned back to the door, the encounter leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. The familiar quirks and effortless conversations we once shared had been replaced by a cold, impenetrable distance that left me reeling, like a door that had suddenly slammed shut in my face. "See you next week, Ryan."

"Sure. See you."

As I stepped out into the sunlight, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease. It was easier to push him to the back of my mind when I didn't have to face him.

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the empty office, I gathered my belongings. "See you guys tomorrow," I called out, my voice tinged with weariness. With a resigned sigh, I bid my colleagues farewell and made my way to my car.

As I started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, the familiar buzz of my phone broke through the silence. Jared's name flashed across the screen, accompanied by a string of missed calls and voicemails that I ignored with a resolute determination. I never understood how a man could deliberately hurt you then get on his knees and beg for forgiveness as if he never knew what he's done wrong. I declined the call and focused on the road ahead, the faint strains of H.E.R's Damage filling the car with its catchy melody.

Arriving at my apartment, the oppressive silence was a stark reminder of the solitude waiting inside. The soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of city life outside my window did little to fill the emptiness. I locked the door behind me and sank into the couch, the weight of exhaustion settling over me like a heavy blanket.

Clutching a glass of wine and a batch of freshly baked peanut butter cookies, I sought solace in the familiar embrace of my comfort movie, B.A.P.S. Each passing moment made the desire to reach out to Ryan grow stronger. Especially during the 'Loving You Forever' scene. As Ali approached Nisi, soul bare for the world to see, I felt a pang of envy. Oh, how easy love would be if it were like the movies.

Fuck it.

Just as I resolved to pick up my phone to dial Ryan's number, a sharp knock at the door shattered the stillness of the night. My heart leaped into my throat, a wild hope igniting within me as I hurried to answer it.

And there he stood, bathed in the soft glow of the porch light. He looked like he'd been getting ready for bed—sporting a black tee, sweats, and a durag. His dark skin had a natural allure, complemented by his usual neatly trimmed goatee. I could've sworn I heard Forever by Damage playing somewhere in the background.

"Amaya," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.

I could only stare, the weight of his presence rendering me speechless—his gentle gaze had me in a trance. I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice. "Ryan." For a moment, we simply stood there. Then, with a sense of determination that surprised even myself, I stepped forward, closing the distance between us. "I've missed you," I admitted.

Ryan's gaze softened, a flicker of warmth entering his eyes. "I've missed you too, Amaya," he confessed, his voice raw with sincerity.

And in that moment, all the walls came crashing down. With a sense of urgency that left me breathless, I reached out, tangling my fingers in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him close.

Our lips met in a fervent kiss, igniting a fire that blazed through my veins with a passion I had never known.

As we broke apart, gasping for breath, I felt a sense of clarity wash over me. With a renewed sense of purpose, I took Ryan's hand in mine and led him into the warmth of my apartment.

But before we could do or say anything more, Ryan raised a hand, stopping me in my tracks. "Wait," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "Before we go any further, I need to make something clear."

I furrowed my brow in confusion, unsure of what he was getting at. "What do you mean?"

Ryan took a step closer, his expression earnest. "I'm not here to play games, Amaya. I'm not here to have sex with you or mess with your head. I'm here because I can't stop thinking about you. And I know you feel it too."

"I... I don't know what to say," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Amaya," Ryan began, his voice tinged with a mixture of vulnerability and determination. "I need you to understand something. I haven't felt this way about anyone in a long time. There's something about you, something different."

He paused, searching for the right words. "I've met plenty of women, but with you... it's different." Ryan's gaze bore into mine, his eyes filled with sincerity. "I can't shake the feeling that you're special. Someone I want to get to know on a deeper level. Someone I want to be with."

Despite my reservations and doubts, I couldn't deny the truth in his eyes or the sincerity in his voice. There was a connection between us, an undeniable spark that refused to be extinguished.

With a heavy heart, I nodded, silently acknowledging the depth of his feelings and the gravity of his words. "I feel the same way." I said softly.