Emery sat on her balcony, the city's hum just loud enough to drown out the noise inside her head but never loud enough to silence it. She cradled a mug of lukewarm coffee, wishing it was something stronger.
Her phone buzzed.
Liam: Can we talk?
She stared at the message. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then she typed.
Emery: What about?
Liam: About us.
She closed her eyes and inhaled sharply. "Us." The word was a lie and a question and a promise all at once. She wanted to delete it, wanted to scream at herself for letting things slip this far.
But she didn't.
Instead, she typed:
Emery: Fine. Where?
Liam: The café on 5th. 7 PM?
At 7, she arrived at the café—a small, cozy spot where the baristas knew Liam's complicated coffee order and never judged her for just black tea. The place smelled like roasted beans and vanilla sugar, a comforting contrast to the tension in her chest.
Liam was already there, sitting by the window, staring out at the street with a serious expression that made her stomach flip.
"Hey," she said, sliding into the seat across from him.
"Hey," he replied, voice softer than usual.
There was a pause.
"So," Liam started, "what's the deal with all the running?"
Emery scoffed. "You mean the emotional fleeing? I'm an expert. I should teach a masterclass."
"Maybe you should," he said, eyes locking with hers. "But why? What are you so afraid of?"
She looked away. "Losing control. Getting hurt. Becoming that cliché who lets love ruin her life."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "You make it sound so dramatic. Love isn't a horror movie, Em. It's messy, yes. But it's also the best kind of chaos."
She raised an eyebrow. "You're quoting BuzzFeed now?"
He grinned. "Touché."
Emery's phone buzzed again—a message from Sasha reminding her about the upcoming editorial meeting. Work. The safe zone. The place where emotions were strictly optional.
"Look," Liam said, reaching across the table and brushing her hand, "we set rules. No feelings, no falling. But rules are for cowards. And I'm tired of being cowardly."
Her heart sped up, but she fought to keep her voice steady. "You know why I put up walls."
He nodded. "Because you've been burned. Because you think being alone is safer. But it's not. It's lonely."
"Better lonely than broken."
Liam's eyes softened. "Maybe. But maybe it's also better to risk a little brokenness for something real."
Emery bit her lip. "What if I don't know how?"
"That's why I'm here," he said simply. "To figure it out with you."
She stared at him, the words settling over her like a warm blanket and a cold splash all at once.
The next few days passed in a dizzy whirl of stolen moments and quiet conversations.
They started meeting after work, walking the city streets under the glow of streetlamps, sharing coffee and stories that didn't feel scripted.
Emery found herself laughing—really laughing—at Liam's terrible puns and wild theories about why pigeons always seemed to congregate on her building's fire escape.
One evening, as they sat on a park bench watching the sunset paint the sky in shades of pink and orange, Liam looked at her with a seriousness that made her breath hitch.
"Em," he said, "can I ask you something?"
She nodded, heart suddenly loud.
"Are you ready to stop pretending?"
Her throat tightened. "What if I'm not?"
"That's okay," he said, "but I'm done pretending. With you, I want real. Messy, complicated, imperfect—real."
Emery's eyes welled up.
"I'm scared," she whispered.
"Me too," Liam admitted.
"And that's okay?"
"That's the best part."
They sat in silence, the world around them fading into the soft sounds of the evening.
Later that week, at the editorial meeting, Emery surprised herself by pitching a new column idea: "When Fake Love Becomes Real: Navigating the Blur."
Sasha looked up sharply. "That's… risky."
Emery smiled. "Life is."
Sasha nodded slowly. "Okay. Let's do it."
As the meeting ended, Emery's phone buzzed.
A message from Liam:
"Rules are overrated. Let's break a few."
She typed back, fingers trembling slightly:
"Agreed. But only if you promise to catch me."
A few moments later, his reply came:
"Always."
Emery stared at the screen, feeling the truth in those two words more deeply than anything she'd ever written.
For the first time in a long time, she didn't want to run.
She wanted to fall.