The sky was the color of steel when Maya left the studio the next day, her bag slung over her shoulder and her mind buzzing with half-written lyrics and things she hadn't said aloud. The song was nearly finished, but she could feel its weight in her bones—like every note was carved from her ribs.
She didn't go home. Instead, she ended up at Liam's place, an industrial-style loft nestled above the record store. The warm hum of jazz floated through his open windows, and the scent of fresh espresso curled through the air like an invitation.
Liam opened the door in sweatpants and a soft, worn tee, his hair still damp from a shower. When he saw her, he didn't ask questions. He just stepped aside, letting her in.
She walked into the living room and dropped her bag. "I couldn't go home. I just needed… something real."
"You came to the right place," Liam said gently.
They sat on the couch, knees nearly touching. Maya let herself sink into the comfort of it—of him. Liam handed her a cup of coffee, already fixed the way she liked it: black with a hint of cinnamon. She took a sip, let the silence stretch.
"I read some old journals last night," she said finally. "It reminded me of how small I used to feel. How much space I gave Julian in my head… in my art."
"And now?"
"Now I want to reclaim it. All of it."
Liam leaned back, his eyes warm. "Then you're winning. And you don't owe anyone the wreckage you had to survive to get here."
She looked at him, really looked. "You've always been good to me."
"I didn't do it to be good. I did it because I see you. Not who you used to be. Not who he tried to make you. Just… you."
Maya's breath caught. She set the mug down and shifted closer.
And then she kissed him.
There was no heat of regret or adrenaline-charged confusion. It wasn't impulsive or dramatic. It was slow, sweet, certain. Liam kissed her like she was made of glass and gold, like he knew what it meant for her to trust him with her body after everything.
His hands stayed respectful, cupping her face and sliding into her hair. When she pulled him closer, he moved with her, gentle but sure. They deepened the kiss gradually, letting desire bloom without rushing it. He touched her as though every part of her mattered, like each sigh was a verse and each moan a harmony.
Their clothes came off piece by piece, not in desperation, but in quiet reverence. Every button he unfastened was slow and purposeful. His fingertips lingered along the curves of her waist, down her back, memorizing her like a melody. She gasped as his mouth traced down her collarbone, each kiss undoing some unseen knot. He laid her back against the cool linen sheets of his bed, climbing over her like a promise.
When they finally came together, it was unhurried—two hearts syncing in a rhythm that didn't bruise. His hips moved in perfect cadence with hers, slow and rhythmic, his hands threading through hers as if anchoring them both. He looked into her eyes with every motion, his breath mixing with hers, his words low and reverent.
"You're safe with me," he whispered, his voice cracking with the weight of truth. "You're safe now."
Maya clung to him as he whispered her name like a vow, their bodies moving with the same intuitive grace as a well-rehearsed duet. And when they reached the crescendo, it wasn't explosive. It was tender. Healing. She shattered with a soft cry, her fingers curled into his back, and felt him follow a heartbeat later, groaning her name like it was the only lyric that ever mattered.
After, they lay tangled in the bedsheets, her head on his chest, their legs knotted together.
"Did that scare you?" he asked softly.
"No," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "It calmed me."
He kissed her temple. "Good."
They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped in warmth and clarity. Maya didn't fall asleep. She just listened—to the steady beat of his heart, the city beyond the windows, and the peace that settled quietly between them.
The next morning, Maya awoke to the scent of pancakes and the sound of Liam humming. She pulled on one of his oversized flannels and wandered barefoot into the kitchen, where he stood flipping golden rounds onto a plate.
"You cook too?" she teased.
He glanced over his shoulder. "Don't be fooled. This is the only thing I know how to make without Googling."
She laughed, and it felt good—unforced. Easy.
They ate breakfast in bed, sharing bites and stories. When Maya finally checked her phone, she saw three missed calls from Zara and one text from Julian:
Julian: You okay?
She didn't reply.
She wasn't ready to go back. Not yet. The music would wait. She needed to hold on to this moment—this softness—just a little longer.
When Maya finally returned to the studio the following afternoon, Julian was there waiting. He stood as she entered, eyeing her carefully.
"You disappeared."
"I needed time," she said, setting her bag down.
"You didn't answer my messages."
"I didn't have anything to say."
Julian sighed. "I was worried."
She raised an eyebrow. "Worried, or just afraid I walked away again?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a worn sheet of paper. "I found this in one of the old notebooks. It's the first lyric you ever wrote for me."
Maya took it, heart stuttering. The edges were frayed, the ink smudged.
You sing like you're not afraid to be broken, And I write like I'm trying to heal.
She stared at the words. "I wrote that in your kitchen. You were burning toast."
Julian smiled. "It was the first time I realized you were the truth in my songs."
Maya handed the paper back. "And then you spent years trying to bury that truth."
"I know. I was selfish. I made you small so I could feel big."
She nodded. "You don't get to do that anymore."
They worked without another word for over an hour. The final verse was elusive, slippery. Maya tried new phrasing. Julian adjusted the tempo. Nothing landed.
Until she thought of Liam. His quiet confidence. His unwavering support. The night they made love and she felt seen.
She picked up her pen and scribbled a new line:
It wasn't the music that saved me. It was the silence after.
Julian read it, then looked at her. "That's it. That's the ending."
She nodded. "Yeah. It is."
He hesitated. "Are you… seeing someone?"
She met his eyes. "Yes."
His jaw tensed, but he nodded. "Is it serious?"
"It's real."
Julian lowered his gaze. "Then don't let me ruin it."
"I won't," she said simply.
They recorded the final version that evening. The harmonies were tight, the emotions raw but controlled. It was the sound of a story being closed. A scar being acknowledged.
As Maya listened to the final playback, she felt a strange sensation. Not pride. Not regret. Something in between.
Release.
She packed her things quietly, and before she left, Julian approached her one last time.
"Thank you," he said. "For the music. For the mirror."
Maya smiled softly. "Now it's time to stop looking back."
And for once, Julian didn't argue.
She walked out of Studio B and didn't look back either.
Not because she didn't care. But because she finally knew she didn't have to.
The strings were no longer attached.
She was finally free to play her own song.