Khloe
Ayra's apartment smelled like caramel popcorn, vanilla candles, and fresh sass.
The moment I walked in, I knew she'd planned a full-scale intervention. She'd pulled out all the stops — blankets layered across the floor like a bohemian movie fort, fuzzy socks waiting by the door, matching wine glasses polished to perfection, and an aggressive playlist of early 2000s R&B that made you want to cry and text your ex. Which, knowing Ayra, was probably intentional.
Her place had always been the opposite of mine — loud colors, bold patterns, plants that looked half-alive but somehow thrived under her neglect. A neon sign that read Good Vibes Only glowed over the kitchen counter, though we both knew Ayra's vibe included dramatic monologues, unsolicited pep talks, and calling you out when you least wanted it.
"Okay," she announced as soon as I set my bag down, thrusting a glass of rosé into my hand. She plopped beside me on the couch with the energy of a girl about to binge-watch an entire reality show season in one night. "Spill. From the sunflower to the surprise lunch to the smoldering boss in the big glass office — I want everything."
I laughed, curling my legs under me. The wine was crisp, sweet enough to remind me why Ayra always picked it. "It's been… a lot."
Her brows arched high. "A lot is my love language. Start with Travis."
I swirled the wine in my glass, stalling. "We reconnected today. It felt familiar — warm. He's still the same Travis, but more grounded now. And he genuinely saw me, you know? Not just surface-level small talk. Like… he remembered the real me."
Ayra sipped dramatically, eyes twinkling over the rim. "You glowed a little when you said that. Cute. And?"
"He asked if we could hang out again. Just us. Dinner, maybe."
Her jaw practically unhinged. "And are we saying yes?"
I hesitated, biting my lip. "I don't know…"
She leaned forward, eyes narrowing like a detective catching a suspect in a lie. "Which means there's more."
I sighed, sinking back against the couch cushions. "There's Xavier."
Ayra set her glass down with theatrical care. "Mm-hmm. Go on."
I stared at my own wine glass like it might hold the answers. "He said it was just professional. That's all. Nothing personal, nothing more."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Ouch."
"Right? But then…" I took a shaky breath. "He gave me a sunflower keychain. No card. No explanation. Just left it on my desk this morning."
Ayra's jaw dropped so wide I thought she might choke on air. "He what?"
"Exactly!" I waved my free hand. "Who says 'we're just colleagues' and then leaves a thoughtful, personalized gift on your desk like we're in some slow-burn drama series?"
She slapped her knee. "Girl. That man's in denial."
"I know." My voice cracked a little more than I wanted. "But it still hurt, Ayra. When he said no. I felt like I'd made it all up in my head. Like I invented the tension, the looks, the… everything."
Ayra shook her head with the certainty of someone who considered herself judge, jury, and executioner in the court of love. "You didn't. Trust me, if he had zero feelings, you'd be invisible to him. And from what you've told me? You're anything but."
Her words were a balm and a sting all at once.
I exhaled, flopping onto the couch with all the drama of a fainting heroine. "So what now?"
"Now?" She grinned, already reaching for the popcorn bowl. "You breathe. You drink. You hang out with Travis if it makes you happy — and if it makes Xavier sweat a little, that's just seasoning. But most importantly…"
She turned, eyes locking with mine.
"Don't shrink. Don't second-guess your worth. You told the truth. That's power. Now let them figure out how to handle you."
I blinked at her. "How do you always know what to say?"
"Because I'm always right." She tossed a handful of popcorn in her mouth, not even missing a kernel. "Now let's binge trashy romance movies and pause every time the male lead does the bare minimum so we can yell, 'That's how it's done!'"
And so we did.
---
The night stretched on, the kind of hours that don't feel wasted because you're too busy laughing, too busy being reminded that you're alive.
By the second glass of wine, Ayra had already critiqued the male lead's haircut, the female lead's lack of boundaries, and the fact that no one in movies ever seemed to actually chew their food.
"Look at this man," she said, pointing at the screen where the actor brought soup to his sick girlfriend. "He reheated takeout. He's not a saint, he's just using a microwave. But see how she looks at him? Stars in her eyes! Girl, where's my award for doing that for you every time you get a cold?"
I laughed so hard I nearly spilled wine down my shirt.
By the third movie, our legs were tangled in blankets, the popcorn was mostly kernels at the bottom of the bowl, and my cheeks ached from smiling.
"Okay," Ayra said suddenly, muting the TV. "Real talk."
I groaned. "Do we have to?"
"Yes, ma'am. You're at the Ayra Smith School of Facing Your Feelings, and tuition is steep." She crossed her arms, tilting her head. "What do you want, Khloe? Not what Travis wants, not what Xavier won't admit — you."
The question settled heavy in the room. I stared at the flickering candle on the coffee table, the way the wax pooled at the base like a little ocean.
"I want…" My throat tightened. "I want to feel chosen. Not second-guessed, not 'maybe later,' not convenient. Just… chosen."
Ayra's expression softened. "Baby girl." She scooted closer, looping her arm around me. "That's not too much to ask. That's the bare minimum."
Tears pricked my eyes before I could stop them. I leaned against her, letting the weight of her friendship hold me steady.
"I don't know if Xavier can give me that," I admitted. "And Travis… maybe he could. But is it fair to say yes to dinner when I know my heart's still tangled somewhere else?"
"Here's the thing," she said, rubbing circles on my shoulder. "Dinner doesn't mean marriage. Dinner means you eat food and maybe laugh. You're allowed to explore happiness, even while you're untangling your heart. That's not betrayal, that's living."
I swallowed hard. "And what if Xavier comes around later? What if I ruin it by not waiting?"
Ayra pulled back, fixing me with her most no-nonsense glare. "Khloe, if a man truly wants you, he won't let dinner with somebody else stop him. He'll move mountains, buy the damn mountain, and name it after you. Don't put your life on pause for a man who can't even say what he feels."
Her words hit deep, the kind of truth you want to argue with but can't.
We sat in silence for a while, the muted TV casting soft light across the room. I thought about sunflowers, about shared history, about what it meant to be seen.
For the first time in days, something inside me started to settle.
Not because I had all the answers, but because I realized I didn't need them yet.
I just needed to keep showing up for myself.
"Ready to unpause?" Ayra asked finally, holding up the remote.
I smiled, wiping under my eyes. "Yeah. Ready."
---
The night blurred into early morning. At some point, Ayra fell asleep with her head on my lap, snoring softly, still clutching an empty wine glass. I sat there, running my fingers absentmindedly through her hair, staring at the credits rolling across the screen.
And I realized something.
I wasn't scared anymore.
Confused? Sure. Torn? Absolutely. But scared? No.
Because Ayra was right. I'd told the truth. I'd been brave enough to put my heart on the line. That wasn't weakness — that was strength.
Now it wasn't about whether Xavier or Travis chose me.
It was about whether I chose me.
And for the first time in a long time, I did.
I leaned back against the couch, closing my eyes.
Tomorrow could bring chaos. Tomorrow could bring more questions.
But tonight?
Tonight, I was ready.