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Xavier wasn't sure why his footsteps led him back to the shop again the next day.
Maybe it was the quiet. Maybe it was the space Amara created—a strange, wordless room where his chest didn't feel so tight.
But Lilian's surprise visit lingered in his head like a knot he couldn't untie.
He leaned against his car for a moment before heading inside, replaying the conversation.
"She's nice," he had said.
But Amara's response kept echoing:
"It's your choice"
He hadn't known how to answer that, not really.
Lilian was sweet. She was lively. She was the woman he was supposed to marry.
But now he couldn't ignore the growing list of things that didn't quite fit.
When he stepped into the shop, the familiar sound of the door chime greeted him, and there was Amara—same as always, bent over her work, her dark hair falling softly against her cheek, her plain clothes doing little to hide the quiet beauty she seemed determined to downplay.
She glanced up slowly, giving him a wordless acknowledgment before returning to her stitching.
It was the most indifferent welcome, yet somehow, it didn't bother him.
"You came back again," she said, her voice steady, neutral.
"Yeah." He crossed the room to stand near her work table. "Just… checking on things."
"You've been doing that a lot lately."
"Maybe I like seeing the process."
She raised a brow but didn't challenge it.
The truth was… he liked being there.
It wasn't grand or complicated. It was simple. He could just exist in this space without having to be anyone—without having to perform.
His mind drifted briefly to Lilian.
There was something about yesterday that unsettled him. Her sudden arrival. The way she spoke. The strange weight in her voice when she said, 'You'll make sure it's perfect too, won't you?'
Had she really just been trying to encourage the work? Or had it been a warning—masked in sweetness, laced with something else?
Amara's words gnawed at him: 'I don't trust social.'
He'd brushed it off at the time, but now he wondered if he should have paid more attention.
"She seemed to like you," Xavier offered, trying to lighten the tension that lingered in his head.
Amara gave a soft, noncommittal hum. "People always like me when they think they have to."
"You think she was pretending?"
Amara paused in her stitching. "I think she wanted to know who I was. And she didn't know how to ask without dressing it in compliments."
"You're… very observant."
"It's my job to notice the smallest details. It's how I make things fit."
Xavier leaned a little closer, watching her fingers glide over the fabric. "You always talk like you're outside the story, like you're not part of it."
"That's because I'm not."
"Why not?"
Amara's needle paused for a second longer this time, but when she spoke, her voice was calm. "People come and go."
He frowned. "That sounds lonely."
"I'm used to it."
Xavier's chest tightened unexpectedly.
Why did he care?
It should have been just a dress. Just a shop. Just a series of meetings to get the job done.
But it wasn't just that anymore.
At least not to him.
Maybe it wasn't love. Maybe it wasn't even friendship.
But there was something here. Something he didn't have a name for yet.
A comfort he didn't want to admit he needed.
"I like coming here," he found himself saying, surprising even himself with the honesty in his tone.
Amara's hand didn't stop moving, but she tilted her head slightly. "You like sitting in silence and watching me sew?"
"It's peaceful."
"You could find peace anywhere."
"Not the same way."
Amara didn't respond immediately. When she finally spoke, her words came soft, almost like she wasn't sure she meant to say them aloud.
"Maybe you're just tired of noise."
Xavier looked at her, really looked at her.
The way her eyes always held people at a distance. The way her voice never warmed beyond neutral tones.
He realized then—it wasn't that she was cold.
It was that she'd made peace with being alone.
And somehow, that made him want to return to her space even more.
"I guess I am tired of noise," he admitted quietly.
For the first time, a faint, almost invisible smile flickered on Amara's lips, but it disappeared as quickly as it came.
Before he could speak again, her gaze drifted to the clock on the wall.
"You should probably get back to her."
He straightened slowly. "Yeah. I should."
But his feet didn't move right away.
Instead, he lingered a moment longer, as if he hadn't quite finished something.
Amara didn't rush him.
When he finally turned to leave, he paused at the door, his hand resting on the frame.
"She's nice, you know."
Amara's voice was steady. "If you say so."
"She is," he repeated, but the words tasted less certain this time.
He pushed the door open and stepped into the afternoon air, wondering why he suddenly felt like he'd left something important behind.
"The between them slightly unwoven."
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