Sunday morning crept in slowly. The sun was just beginning to rise when I found myself sitting at the kitchen table, staring at my coffee cup that was slowly losing its warmth. The nervousness I had been suppressing since yesterday began to surface."Come on, De Cruz. You gave a seminar in front of dozens of people yesterday—how can this make you panic?" I muttered to myself."Talking to yourself again?" Elle appeared from the hallway wearing an oversized T-shirt that read I'm Not a Morning Person. Ironically, she looked like a runway model's morning version—her blonde hair artfully messy, with traces of yesterday's eyeliner giving her a dramatic flair."Are you ready for today?" she asked, pouring herself a cup of coffee.I shrugged. "I don't know... I just feel like I shouldn't—""Stop right there," Elle interrupted, pointing at me with a teaspoon. "You're beautiful, talented, and you have a face that could make men forget their own names. So use that confidence.""I'm not that pret
I looked up. Aaric was staring at me, one eyebrow slightly raised, curious. "Why that face?" he continued. "Like someone just told you that you won the lottery, but you're not sure if you actually want the money." I opened my mouth to respond, but then closed it again. Honestly, I had no idea how to explain this feeling. So, I just put my phone back on the table, faced my laptop screen, and tried to act like that email hadn't just turned my entire life upside down. Aaric wasn't buying it. "Come on, De Cruz. I can see that expression from across the room," he said, leaning in closer. "What is it? A bad grade? A call from the FBI?" I sighed, finally giving in. "If I told you I just got offered a modeling contract from one of the biggest fashion houses in the world, would you laugh or be shocked?" Aaric was silent for a few seconds. Then, the corner of his mouth lifted. "Honestly? Not shocked." I frowned. "Why?" He shrugged like the answer was obvious. "You know why." I didn't
Music thumped from inside the rented house filled with college students. Colorful lights flickered on the living room ceiling, which had been turned into an improvised dance floor. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol, expensive perfume, and something vaguely sweet—probably the result of someone getting a little too creative with their mixed drinks.I walked in with Elle and Joy, weaving past a group of students laughing loudly while playing beer pong at the kitchen table. The sound of conversations mixed with the music, creating the typical chaos of a college party that I knew would last until morning.“I need a drink,” Joy declared determinedly, disappearing toward the kitchen without waiting for a reply.Elle glanced at me, giving my outfit an approving once-over. “I knew you’d look amazing in something a little more fitted.”I just snorted. I wasn’t the type to dress up too much for parties. Tonight, I was wearing a slightly tighter black T-shirt than usual, paired with my
The night air cut through my skin, but I barely felt it. The alcohol still coursing through my veins created a thin fog in my mind, making everything feel slower, blurrier—bolder.Aaric stood so close, his breath grazing my skin, the warm scent of light tobacco, wood, and something unmistakably him mingling in the air. His eyes locked with mine, filled with something that should’ve made me step back, but instead, my feet stayed rooted to the spot. My heart was pounding so loudly, I was sure he could hear it.“You’re too quiet, De Cruz,” he murmured, his voice low and almost trembling between us. “You usually have something sharp to say.”I stared at him, my mind drifting somewhere far off. Part of me knew I should resist, should say something sarcastic, should do what I always did—get under his skin. But the alcohol, the cold night, and his face so close messed with my brain.Instead of answering, I only tilted my head slightly, noticing the sharp line of his jaw beneath the dim lig
The photoshoot studio is vast and bright, with large lights hanging from the ceiling, casting almost too-perfect a glow. The air is thick with the scent of hairspray and expensive perfume, mingling with the photographer’s voice directing the model across the room. People are moving back and forth, carrying clothes on hangers, makeup tools, and pricey cameras that make me feel like a deer caught in headlights.I’m sitting in front of a giant mirror, its round lights surrounding it, my hands gripping the chair’s arms while a makeup artist brushes my face. Next to me, Elle is recording a video on her phone, her face beaming with enthusiasm she can’t hide.“Okay, I have to capture this moment,” she says, pointing the camera at my face. “Maya De Cruz, the designer girl who suddenly became a model. What’s it like being the center of attention?”I snort, trying to look relaxed even though my fingers are still clutching the chair. “Honestly, I’d rather be behind the scenes.”Joy, sitting on a
The cold New York night air stung my skin as I stepped out of the café, crossing my arms over my chest to ward off the creeping chill seeping through my coat. Fine snowflakes drifted from the dark sky, layering the sidewalk in a thin, powdery sheet. I had just spent the last few hours buried in my design project, losing track of time until I realized it was nearly midnight.I took a deep breath, ready to walk back to the apartment I shared with Elle and Joy. The café wasn’t too far from home—about ten blocks away. Normally, I enjoyed walking through the city, especially when the streetlights cast a warm glow and the city’s pulse stayed alive even late at night.But tonight felt different.I glanced across the street where a group of burly men stood huddled on the corner, leaning against the brick wall of an old building bathed in dim light. They spoke in low voices, chuckling occasionally, and one of them lit a cigarette. Not an unusual sight in this city. But the way they kept glanci
This morning, the faculty building felt colder than usual. The spring air, which should’ve been warm, still carried the remnants of winter’s bite. I walked down the third-floor corridor, the sound of my footsteps echoing against the walls lined with event posters and exam schedules.The Interdisciplinary Studio: Design and Architecture— a course that brought together graphic design, interior design, and architecture students for collaborative projects—was one of the most anticipated yet dreaded classes by many. Especially since Professor Sinclair was known for being tough and perfectionistic with every assignment.As soon as I entered the spacious, bright classroom, I was met by the buzz of students busy preparing their presentation materials. The morning sunlight streamed through the large glass wall on one side of the room, casting soft shadows on the polished wood floor. Long tables were arranged in a U-shape, allowing everyone to face each other easily.I chose a seat by the windo
The wind picked up, carrying the scent of rain trapped behind dark clouds at the horizon. The orange light began to fade, replaced by streaks of purple and deep blue. The city’s hum grew clearer from the rooftop, as if reminding me that time kept moving even while we were caught in this never-ending game of egos.I tried to focus again on the sketchpad in front of me—rough outlines of an interactive garden with dynamic panels that could reshape themselves according to the needs of the public—an open-space concept blending nature and technology. But my concentration was broken, disturbed by the man next to me, still wearing that half-mocking smile with his arms crossed over his chest.“Modular design, interactive public space,” Aaric repeated his idea with a dismissive tone. “Ambitious, but too complex for a student project.”I snorted. “That’s what makes it interesting. I prefer a challenge over just designing a flower garden with wooden benches.”He raised an eyebrow, looking at me l
The sun wasn’t fully up yet when I woke to a ticklish feeling.Not the alarm. Not the sunlight. But something moving slowly across my stomach—warm breath, then a soft nip at my rib. And a voice I knew far too well growling low in my ear.“What the...” I mumbled, half-asleep.“Guess who fell asleep on her laptop with the screen still on,” Aaric whispered between quiet chuckles. “And guess who’s been snoring just a little for the past two hours?”I slowly opened my eyes and looked around.We were still in the workspace. The desk lamp was still glowing dimly. My laptop screen was frozen on a half-finished presentation, the cursor blinking at a sentence that read: “Emotion and space influence each other—so honest design is living design.”My head felt heavy. My neck ached. But my body was warm.Because Aaric was still there.He was now lying on his side on the rug, facing me, his head resting against my bent leg on the couch. His hair was a mess. His eyes were barely open. But that smile—
I stared at my laptop screen for a full five minutes and still hadn’t typed a single sentence. My thesis deadline was breathing down my neck, my advisor’s voice echoing in my head, and the blank screen in front of me stared back like a bottomless pit.Then, as if to add spice to the chaos—“BRO! BROOOOO—NO WAY, DID YOU SEE THAT SNIPE?!”The voice exploded from the living room. Followed by loud laughter and half-muttered curses from the guy sitting on the floor, black headset on his head, controller gripped tight, and a triumphant expression like he just conquered the world.I looked up from my laptop and glared toward the couch where Aaric was cross-legged, surrounded by empty water bottles and chip crumbs. The TV glowed brightly, showing a fast-paced virtual war zone. Player names blinked at the edge of the screen—“Lucif3r,” “Tino_Tornado,” and of course, “Bernardi_Blast.”“Dude, did you see that?! YOU SAW THAT, RIGHT? I said ‘cover me’ and you ran off to loot? Tino, I swear, if we’r
The light from the floor lamp cast a faint silhouette on the wall, and the steady sound of rain outside made my head sink deeper into the pillow. The call with Elle and Joy had ended just a few minutes ago, and I hadn’t moved since placing my phone on my stomach.My body was tired, but it wasn’t just physical. It was the kind of exhaustion that runs deeper—the kind that comes from places that are supposed to bring you comfort, but only make it harder to breathe.I pulled the blanket up to my chest, curling into myself. My shoes were still on. My hair was half a mess. But I didn’t have the energy to care.The apartment door creaked open softly. Footsteps came in, slow, then stopped.Aaric.I didn’t open my eyes. Didn’t say anything. But I think my breathing changed, and he knew.His steps came closer, then silence again. Then something warm, heavy, and deeply familiar sank down slowly against my back. His arms wrapped around my waist, his chin touched the edge of my shoulder.I could s
I slammed the door to Aaric’s apartment a little too hard, then tossed my bag onto the couch without bothering to unpack it. The jingle of keys hitting the floor blended with the deep breath I finally let out after hours of holding it in.The New York sky was gray that night—like a mirror of my brain. And after a full day inside a house that called me family but felt more like an opera stage run by a director obsessed with reputation, I needed to hear another human voice. A real one. One not wrapped in expensive linen shirts and layered passive-aggressive remarks.I grabbed my phone and opened the Flat Fam (drama edition) group call. The screen rang once, twice, and then two faces I knew like my own popped up: Elle, with a half-dried face mask, and Joy, lying sideways wrapped in a blanket like a lazy burrito.“De Cruuuuuuuz!” Elle yelled as soon as my face appeared. “Why do you look like you just walked out of a royal family’s funeral?”Joy squinted. “You look like someone who got tra
The next morning, just past six, I woke up to the sound of running water from the bathroom. The morning air still hung damp beneath the ceiling of the flat, and from the slightly open window, I could hear the faint rumble of a garbage truck making its rounds on the back street.I got out of bed, still half-asleep, and shuffled to the kitchen, where I found a small note on the table.Meet me at the campus park at eight. Bring your sketchbook. No pink. —AA small smile tugged at my lips as I rolled up the note and tucked it into my shirt. He knew I always carried my sketchbook, and he knew pink was never my go-to color. But Aaric had this habit of turning instructions into jokes—it was his way of making sure I was still thinking about him, even when he wasn’t around.By the time I arrived at the campus park, still half-empty that early in the morning, he was already there—sitting on a bench near the small lake, wearing a gray hoodie and jeans, his face partly hidden behind a sketchbook
This city always welcomes you the same way—loud, rushed, and utterly indifferent to whether you’ve just fallen in love or lost everything.On my first morning back in New York, I didn’t wake up to sunlight streaming through the windows like in Italy. Instead, it was the impatient honking of a yellow cab down below the apartment. Maybe that was the biggest difference between the place we’d just left and the one we were returning to.Life fell right back into its old rhythm. Aaric’s apartment was cold in the mornings, the bitter coffee he brewed half-asleep in the kitchen, and the work desk still cluttered with blueprints he hadn’t touched since the night before our flight.In the living room, I sat cross-legged on the carpet, laptop on my lap, my hair still damp from the shower. Design assignments piled up on my screen, and project revisions stared at me like little monsters waiting to devour my time. But my mind kept drifting back to the villa on the hill, to the evenings filled with
Dusk had fully fallen by the time we returned to the villa.The Italian sky had turned a deep blue, with streaks of orange lingering on the horizon like the final brushstrokes of a painting that refused to be finished. The air was cooler now, crisp against my skin as I stepped out of the car. But something warm was blooming quietly in my chest, something that had started growing ever since my conversation with Luciana. Not because her words were comforting—at least, not entirely. But because beneath all that elegance and grace, I’d seen that her heart wasn’t all that different from mine.She was just a mother, loving her son in the quietest, most anxious way.And me… somewhere along the way, I had begun to love Aaric not just as a lover, but as a wound I wanted to tend to, even knowing it might never fully heal.Inside, the villa felt warmer than usual. The fireplace was already lit—by whom, I didn’t know, as no staff had appeared since we got back. The scent of burning wood mingled w
The sky had begun to shift into shades of copper as the staff brought out the afternoon coffee. The last rays of sunlight pierced gently through the garden foliage, casting abstract patterns over the small marble table. Aaric and his father were standing near the fountain, discussing something that looked serious—judging by their gestures and the way their eyes kept darting toward the edge of the estate, I guessed it was about property or a construction project.Luciana sat next to me. A pair of sunglasses hung from the collar of her cream silk blouse, and her manicured fingers held a tiny espresso cup like she was observing the world, not just sipping coffee. In the golden light of late afternoon, she looked like an editorial photo straight out of a Milan lifestyle magazine—elegant, calm, and too perfectly composed to read clearly.But I could feel something. A subtle shift. A deliberate pause.“Aaric seems... more relaxed, doesn’t he?” she said suddenly, her tone light—but not empty
Luciana Bernardi served tea like an elegant witch brewing a secret potion—every movement slow and deliberate, yet never showy. Her gaze was sharp, but not piercing. Her smile was precise, but not fake. And from the beginning to the end of our little tea session, she called me darling—in an Italian-accented English that made the word sound like a cello melody.“Darling, this lemon cake was made by our family chef,” she said, handing me a small plate. “He has a soft spot for beautiful guests who know how to appreciate good food.”Beside me, Giancarlo—whose face looked like an older, more stone-cut version of Aaric’s—gave a slow nod.“We enjoy these relaxed lunches,” he said, his voice deep and full. “No need for stiff galas or exhausting charity events. At this table, we’re just family. No ‘Bernardi.’ Just Luciana, Giancarlo, Aaric… and now, Maya.”My heart swelled a little at that. Even my fingers stopped fidgeting with the napkin in my lap.“Thank you,” I said softly, my voice catchin