A Day in the Life of Amy

The studio smelled faintly of lavender candles this time, the kind Fiona always lit when she wanted the space to feel calm. But Amy wasn’t calm. She sat on the couch, legs crossed, fiddling with the strap of her purse.

Fiona watched her from across the room, arms folded, her expression unreadable. “You saw him again last night, didn’t you?”

Amy froze. “Who?”

“Don’t play with me, Amy,” Fiona said softly but firmly. “Mark.”

The name sent a pang through Amy’s chest. “We had dinner, that’s all.”

Fiona tilted her head, studying her. “And yet, you came here today looking like you haven’t slept. Like you’ve been carrying something too heavy.”

Amy dropped her gaze, heat rising in her face. “I didn’t come here for this.”

“No, you came here to escape,” Fiona said, her voice tightening. She crossed the room and sat beside her, close enough that Amy could feel her warmth. “But Amy, you can’t escape forever. Not from me, not from him, and not from yourself.”

Amy’s throat tightened. “I never said I didn’t care about him.”

“And I never asked you to stop caring,” Fiona whispered. Her hand brushed Amy’s knee, lingering just long enough to send a shiver up her spine. “But I won’t be the second choice you keep tucked away when it’s convenient. I feel this—between us. Don’t you?”

Amy looked up, caught in Fiona’s gaze. The pull was undeniable, magnetic. “I do,” she admitted, her voice cracking.

“Then why are you still clinging to him?” Fiona’s voice trembled now, the edge of vulnerability showing. “Is it comfort? Safety? Because safety isn’t the same as love, Amy.”

Amy swallowed hard. Her chest ached with the truth in Fiona’s words, but fear clung to her ribs. “It’s not that simple.”

Fiona leaned closer, her breath brushing Amy’s cheek. “It is. You either want me, or you don’t. But I won’t keep standing in the shadows while you split yourself in two.”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Amy’s pulse hammered in her ears. She wanted to reach out, to kiss Fiona and end the ache between them—but she couldn’t. Not yet.

Fiona stood abruptly, stepping back. “I’ll give you space,” she said, her tone clipped, though her eyes betrayed the hurt. “But Amy—make a choice. Because if you don’t, the choice will make itself.”

Amy sat frozen on the couch, her whole body buzzing. Fiona’s words echoed like a dare, like a warning.

And for the first time, Amy realized the cost of doing nothing might be losing everything.