The evening after—Neva finally stretches her arms, freeing them from the laptop's relentless grip. Her back and shoulders ache from hours of hunching forward.
"Finally…" she exhales, the relief in her voice tangible.
The assignment, due in two days, is done. Tomorrow is Saturday—her reward, a brief oasis from the storm of lectures and deadlines.
A yawn escapes her.
She covers her mouth with one hand while the other fumbles for her phone.
The screen glows to life: 6:00 PM. Right then, it vibrates and rings.
"Hello?!" Emma's voice erupts through the speaker, loud and eager enough to make Neva wince.
"Hi," Neva replies softly, her tone clipped but warm.
"Wanna hang out tomorrow?" Emma jumps straight in.
"Where?" Neva asks, already wary.
"The movies—Everlasting Love! And then…" Emma giggles mischievously, "the best nightclub in Vernilla.
We're gonna party hard, darling!"
Neva exhales. "I'll pass, Emma."
"What? Why?" Emma whines, the disappointment practically dripping through the line.
Neva smiles faintly. "Nightclubs aren't really my thing."
She doesn't enjoy crowds or loud music. She hardly even goes out.
"But whyyy?" Emma presses, dragging out the word.
"Sorry. I'd rather stay home," Neva says, gentle but unyielding.
"You're really stubborn, you know?"
"I've been told," Neva murmurs, her eyelids heavy with fatigue.
Emma tries again, relentless. "What if we skip the club? Just movies and shopping?"
"You don't have to change plans for me," Neva counters, straightening up from her slouch.
"Oh, come on! Please, Neva. Pretty please?"
Her chuckle slips out before she can stop it. "Alright. I'll think about it."
"You're not allowed to refuse!" Emma declares dramatically, making Neva smile.
"Alright. I'll think about it."
"You're not allowed to refuse!" Emma declares dramatically, making Neva smile.
Before she can respond, the shrill ring of doorbell cuts through the air.
"I'll call you later. Someone's at the door." She ends the call and pads across the room, her steps quick with curiosity.
She opens the door without even checking the peephole.
"Good evening, Angel." Rhett stands there, his grin disarming, boyish and radiant.
Neva's eyes flick over him, scanning automatically. He looks better. Stronger. Color has returned to his cheeks. And relief warms her chest.
"For you." With a flourishing expression, he pulls a bouquet of red roses from behind his back. Their crimson, velvet petals gleam in the hall light, vivid and lush.
Her eyes widen. For a heartbeat she just stares, startled. Then she looks from the flowers to his face, where he wears a grin so hopeful it could belong to a schoolboy handing his crush a crooked Valentine.
Her favorite roses—yet they pale against the man offering them. Heat creeps up her neck, blooming in her cheeks. She takes it from him, her smile slipping free despite herself.
Something stirs in her chest, warm and unexpected, spreading like the first sip of hot chocolate on a winter night.
She clears her throat, flustered. "Is your wound okay?"
In answer, he flexes his arms, fists raised in mock triumph. "Healthier than ever."
Her chuckle breaks through, soft and genuine. Of course he's fine—look at him showing off.
"Come in," she says, stepping aside.
He enters eagerly, movements quick, light-footed—like he's been waiting all day for this. She has to remind him to shut the door.
Neva places the roses carefully on the table, arranging them with more tenderness than she intends to show. Then she turns back. "Did you get stitches?"
"This morning," he nods. "But I have to change the dressing a couple times a day."
His eyes widen, lashes lifting with boyish innocence. "I don't know how."
"I'll teach you," she replies evenly.
"Nooo," he groans dramatically, shoulders slumping. "The stitches freak me out."
She exhales, eyes closing. "Alright. I'll take care of you until they're out."
"Great! I'll bring the supplies and come over—"
"No," she cuts in, firm.
"Then you come to my place?"
"Absolutely not."
"Then…?" He frowns, lips curving down, a picture of dejection.
Neva bites her lip.
Letting him barge into her apartment every day isn't exactly ideal—but the idea of stepping into his space feels even more dangerous.
"Fine. You come here," she concedes at last with a sigh.
His grin explodes, brighter than sunshine breaking through clouds.
She shakes her head, chuckling at his goofy self.
"Wait here," she says, heading toward the kitchen in search of a vase.
But before she disappears, she glances back at him—sitting there so happily, fussing over himself like a spoiled cat.
"Have you eaten?" she asks.
"Nuh-uh," he shakes his head.
"I'll make something for us," she says at once, turning fully toward the kitchen.
Behind her, his smile lingers, foolish and wide, as though she's just given him the greatest gift in the world.