MasukWhat if I give them more moments together? ;)
A week slipped by before I realized it.Between unpacking, catching up on work, and easing back into my writing routine, the noise in my head had finally settled. My days found rhythm again.Quiet mornings with coffee, afternoons buried in edits, and evenings spent with Jessy and Ethan, who had practically moved into my apartment these days.It was comfortable. Normal.Tonight, the three of us were gathered around my kitchen island, half-eating, half-working. Jessy was scrolling through social media while Ethan typed something furiously on his laptop, occasionally glancing up to answer her random questions.“Okay, explain this,” Jessy said suddenly, tapping her phone. “Why do people tag their exes in nostalgic posts? Like, do they want closure or a lawsuit?”Ethan groaned. “You can’t analyze every sad post on the internet.”“Sure I can. It’s free entertainment.”I laughed softly, pushing away my plate. “Maybe they’re trying to say what they can’t anymore.”Jessy looked at me knowingly
By the time the plane landed at JFK, it was almost midnight.New York was wrapped in a thin fog, the kind that blurred the skyline into silver outlines against the dark. Through the oval window, I could see the wet shimmer of the tarmac reflecting the city lights—familiar and distant all at once.The moment I stepped out of the terminal, the chill hit me. Crisp, sharp, and clean. I’d forgotten how cold spring nights in New York could be.I pulled my coat tighter and wheeled my suitcase toward the exit, intending to grab a cab and get home before two. Jessy had texted earlier: Call me when you land. Don’t make me track your flight again.I smiled faintly. That sounded exactly like her.Just as I was reaching for my phone, it buzzed in my hand.From: Joaquin“I’m outside.”I blinked, staring at the screen. He wasn’t supposed to be here.Looking up, I scanned the glass doors leading to the pickup area and there he was, standing just beyond the automatic doors, dressed in black, hands in h
The morning light filtered through the hotel curtains like a soft whisper.I hadn’t slept much, but I didn’t feel tired either. The kind of calm I woke up to wasn’t the absence of exhaustion—it was the kind that comes when you’ve said everything that needed saying.The symposium had ended the night before. My flight home was scheduled for that evening, which meant I had a few quiet hours left to breathe in Kyoto one last time.On the bedside table sat a small vase of lilies—a gift from the symposium organizers. A note rested beside it, printed neatly on a card: “Thank you for your words.”I smiled. My words—the very thing I used to doubt most—had reached people halfway across the world.I made coffee, checked my emails, replied to messages from fellow writers, and reread the kind words from Professor Hayashi.“You reminded us that truth is also art. Continue writing with that heart, Ms. Thorne.”I could almost hear his calm voice saying it.After a while, I decided to step out for a sh
The hum of the plane was soft, steady—almost like a heartbeat.Through the window, the clouds stretched endlessly, the sunrise painting streaks of pink and gold across them. It was beautiful, in that fragile, distant way you can’t touch.It had been years since I’d traveled alone. Before, I was always running from something—from heartbreak, from failure, from the noise of everything I couldn’t control. But this time, I wasn’t running. I was going toward something.When the captain announced our descent, my hands trembled slightly against the armrest. The city appeared below—orderly, quiet, breathtaking. Kyoto glimmered like a watercolor, rooftops framed by mountains and trees just beginning to blush with spring.As soon as I stepped out of the terminal, I felt the difference. The air was cool and crisp, scented faintly with green tea and rain. Announcements echoed softly in Japanese and English. A few travelers passed, their movements graceful and unhurried.I stood there for a moment,
The days leading up to my trip felt strangely peaceful—almost too peaceful.For the first time in a long while, my mornings didn’t start with frantic deadlines or emotional exhaustion. Just the quiet hum of life returning to something that almost felt normal.When I woke up that Friday, the scent of coffee drifted from the kitchen. Jessy was already there, hair tied in a messy bun, humming off-key to a pop song while flipping pancakes. Ethan sat at the counter with his laptop open, half-working, half-smiling every time she burned one.“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Jessy called without looking up. “We thought we’d let you rest before we start Operation Japan.”I rubbed my eyes, suppressing a yawn. “Operation Japan?”“Packing. Styling. Mental preparation. You know, the essentials,” she said, proudly sliding a slightly overcooked pancake onto a plate.Ethan looked up from his screen, smirking. “Translation: she’s been making lists since six a.m.”Jessy threw him a glare. “Some people take s
It had been a week since the invitation arrived, and still, every time I thought about it, my stomach fluttered like it didn’t know whether to be thrilled or terrified.After much convincing from Jessy and Ethan, I finally decided to see Joaquin in person to talk about it properly. It felt strange to be heading back to the mansion again—not as his pretend fiancée, not as the woman trying to hold her ground against his control, but as someone who had finally learned to stand beside him without losing herself.The guards at the gate greeted me with polite nods, and for once, I didn’t feel the familiar weight of nerves pressing on my chest. The afternoon light made everything seem softer—the tall columns, the marble floors, even the air inside the place that once suffocated me.When I reached his office, I found him by the window, sleeves rolled up, phone set aside, his attention immediately snapping to me the moment I entered. The corners of his lips lifted slightly.“You’re early,” he s







