Reverie

Velvet rope

*A year later*

The ceiling fan buzzed in lazy spirals above raven's head, spinning too slowly for summer and too quickly for sleep. The light from the adjacent building’s billboard flickered in stripes across the floor, bathing the edges of the bed in an artificial violet hue.

Sophie was sleeping. Or pretending to.

He stared at the ceiling, trying to remember if he had fed the cat that evening or just thought about it. He didn’t own a cat. But Sophie had brought one home three weeks ago and given it a name that sounded like a 19th-century poet. Eliot. Raven had grown used to the faint jingling of Eliot’s collar and the way his yellow eyes hovered in the dark, like a ghost that never blinked.

He turned his head slightly. Her back was to him, the curve of her spine a pale thread in the moonlight. She slept like a soldier — rigid, still, prepared. Not that she ever admitted to being prepared for anything. Sophie lived in spontaneity and systems . An odd mix that made her both thrilling and oppressive.

That’s how everything with her feels now. Like a velvet rope.

Comfortable. But binding.

---

The day had begun with his phone ringing at 5:44 AM.

Sophie believed mornings were pathetic.

He had spent most of the morning in front of his old laptop, editing a short story that had been rejected twice in the last month. It was about a man who kept finding fragments of old letters in his apartment , letters written by people who never lived there. In each version of the story, Raiden couldn’t decide whether the letters were real or hallucinated.

Maybe he should turn it into a screenplay. Maybe he should stop writing altogether.

---

That evening, Sophie brought home Thai takeout. She forgot the spring rolls, and he didn’t remind her.

They ate on the couch. Sophie curled up beside him, head on his shoulder, talking about some vintage film she wanted to watch — something French and tragic. They aligned beautifully when the movie and series topic came. They always had a similar taste. Not that similar tastes in movies makes something transient last.

She reached for his hand. Her fingers were cold and long, and they wrapped around his like vines. He was used to the coolness. Despite experiencing much warmer ones.

“You’ve been somewhere else lately,” she said quietly.

He didn’t flinch. “Work’s been weird.”

“Mmm.” She didn’t believe him. “Are you still thinking about submitting to that contest?”

“Maybe.”

Sophie sighed, pulling her knees to her chest. She was always like this — half-present, half-prophetic. She could smell lies and her expressions were sharp enough to plunge through his delusions.

“I’m not trying to be your therapist, you know,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“I just want to know you. All of you.”

The words struck something raw in him. Elora had once said something similar — except she said it with a smile that looked like an open cage. Like "I'll love you.. protect you..but the door is open when you feel suffocated".

Sophie was more like someone who demands. If she says one fact about herself. It requires ten in exchange.
Now it feels more like a trade.

It's funny because I've been so vocally submissive in this relationship than I've ever been. Maybe that kind of freedom was never good for me.

---

Later that night, when Sophie had gone to the other room to water her succulents and play her sad playlist of ambient jazz, Raven stepped out onto the balcony. The city below moved like an orchestra of quiet chaos — cars, sirens, laughter from somewhere he couldn’t see.

He lit a cigarette. He’d quit months ago. Or told himself he had. But there were always exceptions — tonight was one. Maybe he only smoked when memories burned hotter than nicotine.

He thought about Elora.

How she would have leaned over the railing, dared the wind to snatch her, laughed when it didn’t.

He closed his eyes.

He knew she was going to reach out soon.  Through their mutual friend, he often hears about what's going on in Elora's life and how she's handling her academics. He often texts her to check in. He low-key realizes how long it's been since he saw her.

Maybe because he knows he's soon gonna move out. He and Sophie have been applying In a university together. Out of this city. Sophie desperately wants to get in. Wanting to build a future together. Helping each other. Rebuilding each other. He wants that too. Maybe getting out of this city offers him a new ride of life.

A new home to stay in. A new soul to explore further. A new hand to hold everyday. A new day to dream.

---

Inside, Eliot padded across the floor, rubbing against his leg. Raven flicked ash over the balcony, watching it float like dying stars.

He would tell Sophie he loved her tomorrow. Just to see if the words could still fit in his mouth without tasting like someone else.

But tonight — tonight he would watch the horizon and try not to think about what it meant when comfort started to feel like a cage.

He hears her voice calling her loud enough but takes some time to think if he should respond right away. As if it would reinforce her to maneuver his mind.

.......

I've been so restless. I want to end this story. Personally, I've been through hell these past couple of months.
That shouldn't destroy my highly anticipated ending.
We're heading to the culmination.
If anything seems questionable please let me know.
Take love.