ELIZABETH'S POV
It's been two weeks since everything.
And though my memories have returned, I kept them to myself.
Some pieces were still blurry—fragmented like shards of glass I wasn't ready to piece together. And honestly? I'd rather not force them.
Instead, I decided to start something.
Something new.
A business.
And I wanted to talk to Mav about it.
But I hadn't seen him all day.
With Alex at work, it was just Mom, Jayda, and me at home—and I didn't feel like talking to any of them. It was all... too much. Almost suffocating.
The silence, the stares, the unspoken things hanging heavy in the air.
To shake off the weight pressing on my chest, I decided to take a walk—outside the estate.
A breath of fresh air. Some distance. Anything to feel like myself again.
As I descended the stairs, I let out a quiet sigh of relief.
The living room was empty.
No Mom.
No Jayda.
Just me... and the open door waiting at the end of the hallway.
Stepping out of the estate gate felt like breaking free from a prison.
Frustration engulfed my chest, my head aching—maybe from exhaustion, or from holding in too many secrets.
I just wanted out.
To be numb.
To curl into myself, untouched by the world.
But at the same time, I craved intimacy.
Connection.
A kind of love that existed beyond time, untouched by circumstance.
Something ancient. Sacred.
I craved a kiss.
And then I wondered—
if a kiss could define or describe itself... what would it say?
The answers came faster than I expected.
It would whisper—
"You're enough. Just as you are — tired, strong, messy, beautiful. You're enough."
"I love you and I see you — not just your face, but your soul."
"I trust you. I respect how much you carry and how deeply you feel."
"I want you — not for what you do, but for who you are when no one's looking."
"I would never leave. I'm not going to run when it gets hard. I'm here."
"I choose you — not for convenience, but for who you've become in fire and grace."
"You don't have to perform, compare, or shrink. I'm staying."
"You are enough — again and again, even when you forget."
*******
I laughed.
Soft. Bitter. Almost embarrassed.
Was I stupid to think this way?
To want so much from something as fleeting as a kiss?
Sometimes, I just wanted it all to end.
But deep down, I knew—
I had to face everything head-on.
This new phase demanded responsibility.
And responsibility... scared me.
The thought of what healing would require, the moment I said yes to the hand stretched in my direction—
it terrified me.
Roaming with no destination in mind, I wrestled with my thoughts.
Now I understood why the male leads in all those novels smoked when they were stressed.
I craved a cigarette.
And for someone who never smoked, that was very weird.
***------‐***
A few minutes passed—maybe more—and I hadn't even noticed.
My feet had moved on their own, guided by muscle memory, not intention.
And somehow, I found myself standing in front of the pastry shop where I used to buy my favorite cake.
The familiar glass windows. The warm scent of vanilla and sugar escaping through the cracks in the door. It was all the same.
Almost painfully the same.
I stood there for a moment, staring.
Not sure if I wanted to go in.
Not sure if I wanted to feel... comforted.
Because comfort felt dangerous. Like it could pull me under if I let it. Like it would ask me to stay, when all I knew how to do was run.
But still, I opened the door.
The little bell above it chimed, soft and nostalgic, as if whispering welcome back.
**
She stepped in, the chime brushing past her ears like a memory.
The scent of freshly baked pastries wrapped around her like a warm hug, and for the first time that day, her shoulders eased—just a little.
The young man behind the counter looked up, a professional smile already forming, but when his eyes met hers, it turned genuine.
"Ma'am," he greeted warmly. "Would you like me to get your usual?"
His voice was kind, familiar.
She didn't trust her own voice just yet, so she nodded instead.
His smile widened—infectious, like sunlight breaking through a heavy cloud—and without meaning to, she smiled back.
As he turned to prepare her order, she moved to her favorite spot by the glass. The corner table. The one where she could watch the world and pretend she wasn't part of it.
People passed by on the street—some alone, some in pairs, all seemingly certain of where they were headed. Focused. Purposeful.
She envied that.
A few minutes passed before the waiter returned, gently placing the plate and drink before her.
"Here you go," he said. "Still warm."
She murmured a soft thank you, then picked up the fork.
One bite in, and the flavor hit her like a balm.
Sweet. Familiar. Safe.
A sigh escaped her lips—quiet, but full of emotion.
For a fleeting second, everything inside her slowed down.
And it felt like maybe, just maybe, the world wasn't so heavy after all.
She sat there in silence, fork in hand, slowly working through the slice of cake.
It wasn't just dessert—it was comfort. A small, edible reminder that sweetness still existed.
The soft hum of the shop filled the background: light chatter, clinking plates, and the faint jazz playing overhead. But her thoughts were louder.
The young man behind the counter glanced her way again. Something about her—maybe the far-off look in her eyes or the way she clutched her coffee cup like it grounded her—made him pause.
He walked over, his steps quiet but deliberate.
"You can stay as long as you like," he said gently, not wanting to startle her.
She looked up, momentarily surprised, then offered a small, grateful smile.
"Thank you," she said softly.
He gave a short nod and stepped away, back to the counter.
She returned to her cake, her smile fading but the warmth of his kindness lingering.