Chapter 8 When Morning Hits

Sunlight spilled lazily through the half-drawn curtains, landing in warm slats across the bed. Amara stirred, the faintest smile curving her lips before her eyes even opened. Her body felt unusually light, like she'd drifted off inside a dream she didn't want to wake from. She turned slightly, letting the silky sheet graze her skin-and then she froze.

The steady rhythm of breathing beside her reminded her it wasn't a dream.

Daniel was still there.

Her eyes flew open. He lay on his side, shirtless, his bare chest rising and falling. His dark curls were messy, his face relaxed. A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips, like he'd known she'd be the one to panic first.

She sat up slowly, pulling the sheet with her. The events of the night before replayed in a flash-the kiss, the heat, the way she'd melted in his arms like no time had passed. She closed her eyes, guilt already twisting in her stomach.

"I was hoping you'd still be here when I woke up," he murmured, voice rough with sleep.

She glanced at him. "And I was hoping I imagined all of this."

His brow furrowed, though his smile didn't completely fade. "Do you regret it?"

She paused. "No. I just... don't know what to do with it."

He shifted to sit up too, the sheet falling to his waist. "Maybe you don't have to do anything right now. We can just... exist in it for a moment."

Amara let her gaze fall to her lap. The intimacy of the morning light, their tangled legs beneath the covers-it was too tender. Too dangerous.

"You do realize I'm engaged, right?" she said finally.

Daniel nodded slowly. "I know. But that didn't stop last night from happening. That wasn't confusion. That was history... chemistry... something we never really put to rest."

She shook her head. "This isn't a movie, Daniel. It's real life. Actions have consequences."

"Then let's face them."

She scoffed softly. "You're talking like someone who has nothing to lose."

"I lost you once. That was enough."

Silence stretched between them, filled only by the sounds of the city starting to wake up beyond her windows. A car horn blared in the distance. Somewhere, a dog barked. Life was moving on outside, but Amara felt stuck in a slow-motion reel.

"I should shower," she mumbled, standing up and clutching the sheet around her. "You can let yourself out."

Daniel rose too, catching her wrist gently. "Amara-"

"Please," she whispered. "Don't make this harder."

He nodded, reluctantly releasing her hand. "Okay. I'll go."

She walked to the bathroom without looking back. The water scalded her skin, but it still couldn't wash away the ache growing in her chest.

An hour later, after he'd gone, Amara sat cross-legged on the floor of her art studio. A blank canvas stared back at her accusingly. Her brush hovered in her hand, unmoving. The colors in her mind-so vivid just yesterday-had faded. All she could see was his face. The way he kissed her. The way she let him.

Her phone buzzed on the nearby table. She didn't need to check the screen to know who it was.

Jason.

Jason: Morning, beautiful. Can't stop thinking about you. Friday can't come fast enough. Love you.

She exhaled slowly and picked up the phone.

Amara: Same here. Can't wait to see you.

Her fingers hesitated before hitting send. When she finally did, she stared at the message like it had been written by someone else. Someone who wasn't falling apart inside.

Later that night, after an exhausting day at the gallery where she pretended to be normal, her phone buzzed again.

Daniel: Red. I meant every word. I'm not asking for permission to love you. I never stopped.

Amara sat on her couch, wine in hand, reading the message over and over. She didn't reply.

Not because she didn't feel the same-but because she did. And that was the scariest part.

The next morning brought no clarity. Instead, it brought Zoe.

Her best friend showed up unannounced, balancing two coffees and a croissant bag.

"You looked too quiet on Instagram. That's how I know you're spiraling."

Amara managed a weak smile. "I don't spiral."

"Girl, please," Zoe said, plopping onto the couch. "Your version of spiraling is silent and artistic. You stop posting. You paint like a maniac. You wear the same two robes for three days."

"I haven't been wearing the same robe," Amara muttered.

Zoe looked her up and down. "That's the one you wore last week when Jason called. Don't test me."

Amara sank beside her with a groan. "I slept with Daniel."

Zoe blinked. Then took a big sip of her coffee.

"I knew it," she said calmly. "I had a feeling. That man walks in after ten years and suddenly your face is doing that dreamy half-melt thing again."

"I didn't mean for it to happen."

"But it did."

"I'm engaged."

"To a good man. Who you don't love the same way."

Amara frowned. "That's not fair."

"It's not untrue," Zoe said softly. "Look, I love Jason. He's kind, stable, sweet. But he doesn't light you up the way Daniel does. He never has."

Amara stared at her coffee. "Then why does choosing Daniel feel like a mistake?"

"Because you're scared. And you should be. But love like that?" Zoe smiled sadly. "It doesn't come twice."

That evening, Amara wandered back to the gallery. It was closed, but she needed to be near the place that made her feel grounded. Her sanctuary. She turned on the dim lights and walked among the paintings-each one a chapter of her life. And then she paused at the newest one.

Unfinished.

A burst of crimson in the center. Harsh strokes. Uncertain edges.

She picked up the brush.

Slowly, she added to the red-softening it with blush pinks, streaking it with gold. Like healing. Like warmth. Like something trying to become whole again.

She didn't know if she'd end up with Jason or Daniel.

She didn't know if she was doing the right thing.

But for the first time in days, she didn't feel frozen.

She felt alive.