Mya

The faint glow of dawn filtered through the blinds as I stirred awake, nestled in Jordan’s arms. His steady breathing tickled the back of my neck, and I smiled softly, savoring the moment. But then reality struck today was the day he’d leave for Beverly Hills, and the ache of his impending absence spread through me like a storm cloud. I shifted slightly, trying not to wake him just yet.

“Mya,” he murmured groggily, tightening his arms around me.

“Morning,” I whispered, turning to face him, our foreheads nearly touching.

“Morning, beautiful.” His voice was low and warm, his drowsy gaze meeting mine.

As much as I wanted to stay in bed with him forever, the clock on the nightstand reminded me that time wasn’t on our side. “We should get up,” I said softly.

“Five more minutes,” he pleaded, pulling me closer.

I chuckled but relented, letting myself melt into his embrace one last time before we had to face the day.

We eventually peeled ourselves out of bed, and before I could head to the shower, Jordan grabbed my wrist, pulling me back. “We shower together,” he said with a mischievous smirk.

“Jordan!” I laughed, pretending to protest, but his playful grin was impossible to resist.

The shower was a mix of stolen kisses, lingering touches, and laughter. His hands traced every curve of my body as if trying to memorize me. It was intimate and bittersweet, knowing he’d be gone by the end of the day.

After the shower, I stood in front of my closet, deciding what to wear. My fingers grazed the fabrics as I pondered my options. I finally settled on a sleek, off-the-shoulder white blouse that hugged my curves perfectly and a pair of high-waisted beige trousers. The tailored fit accentuated my waist, and I paired the outfit with nude stiletto heels. I glanced in the mirror, adjusting my gold hoop earrings and running a hand over my freshly styled curls, which framed my face like a crown.

Jordan stepped out of the bathroom, towel slung low on his hips, and my breath hitched momentarily. He looked effortlessly handsome, his toned physique glistening slightly from the shower. He caught me staring and smirked before heading to get dressed.

When he emerged, he was a vision of casual sophistication in a fitted black turtleneck that clung to his broad shoulders and gray slacks. His black leather loafers added an air of understated elegance. He looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine, and I couldn’t help but admire him.

“You clean up nice,” I teased, though my voice carried genuine admiration.

“You’re breathtaking, as always,” he replied, his eyes lingering on me like I was the only woman in the world.

While Jordan began packing, I made my way to the kitchen, determined to send him off with a hearty breakfast. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as I whisked eggs for an omelet. I diced red and green bell peppers, onions, and mushrooms, adding them to the pan with melted butter. The sizzle was satisfying as the aroma of sautéed vegetables wafted through the room.

I toasted slices of sourdough bread to golden perfection, spreading a thin layer of avocado on each piece. For protein, I added crispy turkey bacon to the plate and garnished the omelet with fresh parsley. A side of mixed berries blueberries, raspberries, and strawberries completed the spread.

As I set the table, Jordan walked in, suitcase in tow. “Smells amazing,” he said, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind and pressing a kiss to my cheek.

We sat together, savoring the meal in comfortable silence, though the weight of his departure lingered between us.

The ride to the airport was unusually quiet. Jordan held my hand the entire way, his thumb tracing lazy circles on my skin. I stared out the window, willing myself not to cry, but my chest tightened with every passing mile.

When we arrived at the terminal, the inevitable could no longer be postponed. Jordan turned to me, his expression soft but pained.

“This isn’t goodbye,” he said, his voice steady yet tinged with emotion.

“I know,” I whispered, though my throat felt constricted.

We hugged, and it felt like the world stood still. His arms enveloped me, strong and safe, and I clung to him like I never wanted to let go. “I love you,” I said, my voice cracking under the weight of the moment.

“I love you more,” he replied, tilting my chin up to kiss me. It was slow, deep, and full of unspoken promises.

When we finally pulled apart, I wiped a stray tear from my cheek, determined not to break down completely. “Call me as soon as you land,” I said, trying to sound composed.

“Always,” he assured me before stepping through the security gate. I stood there, watching until he disappeared from view, my heart heavy but hopeful.

Work was my solace. The Atelier Global was buzzing with activity, and I threw myself into designing Zendaya’s outfits. The pressure was immense, but I thrived under it, sketching and pinning fabrics with precision.

Hours blurred together as I adjusted seams, checked measurements, and added intricate details to the gowns. My hands worked tirelessly, but my mind wandered to Jordan. How was he settling back in Beverly Hills? Was he thinking of me as much as I was thinking of him?

By the time I got home, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin. I kicked off my heels, poured myself a glass of red wine, and sank into the plush couch. Soft jazz played in the background, and I let the music soothe my restless thoughts.

I called Kate and James, eager to hear familiar voices.

“Mya!” Kate exclaimed, her voice warm and cheerful. “We miss you so much!”

“I miss you too,” I said, smiling despite myself. “How’s your little one?”

“He misses you like crazy,” James chimed in. “You were his favorite playmate.”

We caught up for nearly an hour, laughing and reminiscing. I told them about meeting the Browns and how kind Luca had been.

“He sounds like a gentleman,” Kate said approvingly.

“He is,” I replied, though my thoughts drifted to Jordan.

After the call, I finished my wine and crawled into bed. Sleep came quickly, but my dreams were filled with his voice, his touch, his love. Even apart, Jordan was always with me.

Two months have passed, and Luca hasn’t reached out to me. Not a text, not a call—nothing. The silence feels heavier every day. Jordan and I, on the other hand, have kept our connection alive despite the distance. We talk every single day whether it’s a phone call, a voice note, or a FaceTime. Seeing his face on the screen makes it easier to bear not being able to hold him in person.

This morning, like every other, I wake up early. The sunlight streams through the windows, kissing the edges of my white curtains. I stretch, letting out a soft yawn, and head to the bathroom. After brushing my teeth and splashing my face with cold water, I feel refreshed.

I pull on my workout clothes black high-waisted leggings that hug my curves and a matching cropped tank with “The Atelier” logo embroidered at the hem. My sneakers are sleek and white, contrasting with the bold crimson streaks on the sides. Once I tie my braids back into a high ponytail, I grab my phone, put on my favorite upbeat playlist, and head out.

The fresh air greets me as I start jogging down the scenic Venice Beach paths. The rhythmic pounding of my feet against the pavement matches the tempo of the music. With each step, I push my body further, allowing my mind to wander. An hour and a half later, I’m back at my apartment, drenched in sweat and feeling accomplished.

After a quick clean-up of the living room and kitchen, I head to the bathroom for a long, soothing bath. I soak for a while, letting the warm water ease my muscles. Once I’m done, I towel off and head to my closet.

Today’s outfit is a blend of elegance and comfort. I choose a beige wide-leg linen pant that flows with every step and a fitted white halter-neck top tucked in. My feet slide into tan leather sandals with a slight heel, and I accessorize with gold hoop earrings, a dainty bracelet, and my favorite pair of oversized sunglasses.

In the kitchen, I whip up a simple yet satisfying breakfast avocado toast topped with poached eggs, cherry tomatoes, and a sprinkle of chili flakes. On the side, I pour myself a fresh glass of orange juice. As I eat, my mind drifts to work and the day ahead.

Once I’m done, I call Kate.

“Hey, Kate,” I say, leaning back on the counter. “I wanted to update you on how things are going with the expansion.”

“Mya!” Kate’s cheerful voice comes through the line. “Tell me everything. How’s the LA office shaping up?”

“It’s been busy, but rewarding,” I admit. “The team here is incredible, and we’ve just finalized some designs for the spring collection. The energy is so inspiring. I can’t wait for you to see it.”

Kate chuckles. “I’m sure it’s nothing short of perfection. But don’t overwork yourself, okay?”

“I’m trying not to,” I say with a soft laugh. “But you know me. I like staying on top of things.”

We chat a bit longer, sharing updates and plans for the future. It’s always refreshing to talk to Kate she keeps me grounded.

After hanging up, I head out to work. The hours blur as I dive into designing, meetings, and overseeing production. By the time I clock out, the sun is setting. Instead of going straight home, I drive to the Browns’ house.

When I arrive, Mr. and Mrs. Brown greet me warmly. “Mya, it’s so good to see you,” Mrs. Brown says, ushering me inside.

“It’s good to see you too,” I reply, smiling. But my smile fades as I bring up the reason for my visit. “I’m worried about Luca. He hasn’t called or texted in two months. Do you know what’s going on?”

The Browns exchange a look before Mr. Brown sighs. “He’s not okay, Mya. He’s been… different. Depressed. But he won’t tell us what’s wrong.”

My heart sinks. Luca, depressed? I follow them to his room, and when the door opens, my chest tightens. He looks like a shell of himself disheveled hair, hollow eyes, and a posture that speaks of defeat. The Browns leave us alone, and I step closer.

“Luca,” I whisper, sitting on the edge of his bed. He doesn’t look at me. “I’ve been so worried. What’s going on?”

At first, he says nothing, but then he breaks down. Tears stream down his face as he leans into me, his head on my chest. I hold him, rubbing his back, letting him cry it all out.

Minutes pass before he looks up, his eyes red and puffy. “I have no friends, Mya,” he says, his voice trembling. “No wife, no kids, no job. And my parents… they keep comparing me to my sister. I feel like a failure.”

My heart aches for him. “Luca, you’re not a failure. You’re my friend, and I’m here for you. We’ll get through this together.”

He nods slightly, and I encourage him to take a bath while I head to the kitchen to make him a meal. I cook something hearty a plate of pasta with grilled chicken, sautéed vegetables, and a sprinkle of Parmesan.

When I return to his room, he’s lying on his bed, looking slightly refreshed. I hand him the plate, and he eats while I sit beside him, making sure he finishes everything.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” he says softly.

“You’re never a bother, Luca. Whenever you need someone, I’ll be here for you.”

Hours pass as we talk and laugh, the heaviness in the room slowly lifting. It’s late by the time Luca insists I stay the night. I argue, but he won’t take no for an answer.

As we settle back into the room, he asks, “So, what’s new with you? Any romance I should know about?”

I smile. “There’s someone. His name is Jordan.”

Luca’s face lights up. “You deserve happiness, Mya. I’m happy for you.”

He leaves to fetch some food for the both of us, and when he returns, we eat together, continuing to bond. For the first time in a while, I see a glimmer of the old Luca. It’s a start, and I’ll be here every step of the way.

The shirt Luca lent me hangs loosely on my frame, the crisp white fabric brushing against my skin. It smells like him clean and subtly woody, a scent that feels comforting in the quiet of his room. I glance at my reflection in the mirror and laugh softly. It’s oversized on me, but it’s surprisingly comfortable.

"Looks good on you," Luca says, leaning casually against the doorframe with a faint smile. His voice is soft, as though he’s careful not to break the fragile peace we’ve found in this moment.

“Thanks,” I reply, a small smile tugging at my lips.

He insists on sleeping on the couch in his room, despite my protests that he can take the bed. I let it go, knowing how stubborn Luca can be. We both settle in, the silence between us warm and unspoken.

The first rays of morning sunlight filter through the curtains, and I wake up slowly, my body sinking into the unfamiliar comfort of Luca’s bed. For a moment, I forget where I am. The white walls, the faint scent of his cologne, and the hum of quiet surround me, pulling me back to reality.

Sitting up, I notice Luca’s already awake, perched on the armchair near the window. He’s dressed in casual clothes, his hair slightly damp as if he’s already showered.

“Morning,” he says, his voice low but warm.

“Good morning,” I reply, brushing a hand through my hair. “I forgot where I was for a second.”

“Understandable,” he chuckles. “You were out like a light last night. Did you sleep okay?”

“I did,” I admit, stretching. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

“No thanks needed, Mya,” he says, his tone shifting to something more serious. “You’ve done more for me than I can even put into words.”

We exchange a few more pleasantries before I gather my things and head to the bathroom. After a quick shower, I pull on my clothes from yesterday. Luca takes his turn in the bathroom, and by the time we’re both ready, the scent of breakfast wafts through the house.

In the dining room, Mr. and Mrs. Brown are already seated, the table laden with a hearty spread. There’s a basket of freshly baked croissants, platters of scrambled eggs with chives, crispy bacon, sausages, and golden-brown hash browns. A fruit platter sits in the center, vibrant with slices of watermelon, mango, and berries. There’s fresh orange juice and steaming coffee in delicate white mugs.

“Good morning, Mya,” Mrs. Brown greets me warmly. “Join us.”

“Good morning,” I reply with a smile, sitting next to Luca.

The Browns don’t mention my overnight stay, for which I’m silently grateful. Instead, they steer the conversation toward work, asking me about my designs and The Atelier Global’s expansion. I share updates about the new collection, the LA office, and how fulfilling it’s been to work on such a grand scale.

After breakfast, I help Mrs. Brown clear the table, but Luca joins me at the sink to wash dishes.

“You don’t have to do this,” I tell him, glancing at him from the corner of my eye.

“And you didn’t have to stay up with me last night,” he counters, flashing me a small smile.

We finish quickly, working in comfortable silence. Before long, Luca grabs his car keys to drive me back to my apartment.

At home, I change into something fresh: a fitted caramel-colored pencil skirt that hugs my curves and a silky black blouse tucked in neatly. I pair it with nude pumps and delicate gold earrings. My makeup is minimal just a swipe of gloss and a touch of mascara. I request an Uber to take me to work and head out, determined to make the most of my day.

Work is a whirlwind of designs, meetings, and last-minute adjustments. Hours blur together, and by the time I head home, the sky is painted in shades of deep orange and purple.

Back at my apartment, I try calling Jordan. The phone rings and rings, but he doesn’t answer. I leave him a quick text, telling myself he’s probably busy. Pushing the unease aside, I sit at my desk and dive into work on my laptop.

Just as I’m wrapping up and preparing to cook dinner, there’s a knock at the door. I pause, glancing at the clock. It’s late. Who could it be?

Opening the door, I’m greeted by Luca. He stands there with an armful of red roses dozens of them and a bag of snacks and wine.

“Luca, what is all this?” I ask, taken aback.

He grins sheepishly. “My way of saying thank you for yesterday. You didn’t have to stay, Mya. But you did. And I wanted to show my gratitude.”

“There was no need for all this,” I say, though my heart warms at the gesture.

“I wanted to,” he insists, stepping inside.

In the kitchen, I decide to make something comforting: creamy chicken Alfredo with garlic bread and a side salad. As I chop, stir, and season, Luca sits at the counter, watching me with quiet amusement.

“Do you always cook with so much focus?” he teases.

I laugh. “I take my food seriously, Luca. If you’re going to eat, it might as well be delicious.”

By the time the food is ready, we sit down together and enjoy the meal. Afterward, I wash the dishes while Luca dries them, and then we settle on the couch.

He scrolls through my Spotify playlists, occasionally playing snippets of songs. “Your taste in music is impeccable,” he says, nodding approvingly.

“Thank you,” I reply, nibbling on one of the snacks he brought.

We talk for hours, the conversation drifting to my love for children. “One day,” I say softly, “I’d love to have a house full of kids. There’s something so special about their energy, their innocence.”

Luca smiles. “I can see that. You’d be a great mom, Mya.”

I blush slightly but keep the conversation going. “What about you? Any dreams of showing me Venice Beach?”

He chuckles. “Only if you show me Malibu first.”

“It’s a deal,” I say, grinning.

By the time we glance at the clock, it’s already 11 p.m. Luca gets up to leave, thanking me again for being there for him. As he walks out the door, I feel a wave of gratitude.

It’s been a long day, but moments like these remind me of the importance of being there for the people we care about.

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