Michaella, a gifted writer, finds herself haunted by the memories of a love that slipped through her fingers. As she pens down her heartache and cherished moments with Gabrielle, an architect whose charm and warmth once made her world brighter, she...
Michaella woke up feeling lighter than she had in weeks. Despite the lingering chill of winter, the sun was peeking through the curtains, casting a warm glow across her room. It was rare to see a sunny day in the middle of winter, and she took it as a sign that maybe today would be different. Maybe today, she could make some sense of her tangled emotions.
She glanced at the clock: 8 a.m. She had time. Throwing on her workout clothes, she decided to go for a quick run. The crisp air filled her lungs as she jogged through the quiet streets, her mind gradually clearing. By the time she got back home, her muscles were pleasantly sore, and the tension that had weighed her down yesterday had lessened.
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After a hot shower, she began her morning routine. Her fingers moved deftly as she moisturized her skin, and she let herself fall into the familiar rhythm. Once she was done, she made herself a cup of coffee, the rich aroma filling her apartment as she sat down at her desk. The familiar click of the keys beneath her fingers soothed her, and soon enough, she was lost in the world of her writing.
Time slipped away. When she finally glanced at the clock, her eyes widened—almost noon already. It had been two hours, and she had completely forgotten about everything else. Michaella stretched, shaking off the stiffness from sitting too long. A glance at her phone reminded her: she was meeting Damien in just two hours. His driver would pick her up at 2 p.m.
She stood and went to her closet, eyeing her wardrobe as a slight nervousness crept into her chest. What should she wear? She found herself debating over outfits, spending longer than usual trying to decide. After what felt like an eternity—but was really only half an hour—she settled on a black long-sleeved dress paired with knee-high black boots, her black Chanel double flap bag, and a sleek grey coat. Her hair fell into loose waves, and she opted for simple makeup: just concealer, mascara, and a soft, glossy lip.
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At 1:45, Michaella sat down with a book to pass the time. She could feel her heart rate picking up slightly—whether it was excitement, nerves, or a mixture of both, she wasn't sure. The doorbell rang, pulling her from her thoughts.
