The streets of Hillgovia buzzed with the soft hum of the city winding down for the evening. Neon lights flickered along storefronts, casting an iridescent glow against the sleek, clean facades of modern buildings. Cars zipped past, their headlights cutting through the dusky air, blending the old with the new. The city had grown over the years, a harmonious mix of the grand and the progressive, with glass skyscrapers standing side by side with historical stone buildings.
Kourtney walked through the streets, her heels clicking against the sidewalk, the rhythm of her steps sharp in the cool evening air. The last traces of sunlight filtered through the buildings, casting a golden hue that reflected off the glass surfaces of the structures around her. Her hair, soft waves of ash-gold and auburn, moved gently in the breeze, catching the streetlights in its shine, giving it an almost ethereal glow.
She wore a white cropped jacket, the fabric crisp against her frame, and underneath it, a deep blue blouse that fluttered slightly in the breeze. Her tight black pants, adorned with silver chains, made a soft clinking sound as she walked, adding a subtle edge to her elegant appearance. There was something striking in the way she carried herself—graceful, yet with a quiet determination that seemed to keep her just a step apart from the world around her.
Her eyes—prismic, ever-changing—watched the world through soft lenses, shifting with the light, reflecting the environment in subtle, almost imperceptible ways. The city had its rhythm, its pulse, but she was in her own world, her thoughts heavier than the noise around her.
She caught the flash of black cars racing past—sleek, tinted windows, gliding swiftly.
Kourtney didn't look twice. And began to walk again.
Her steps were steady, purposeful, though there was a quiet sadness tucked under the surface.
The sidewalks began to quieten as she neared her home, a modern apartment nestled in the heart of the city. She stepped into the familiar lobby, her heels muffled by the soft carpets as she made her way to the elevator. When the doors opened, she entered with a sigh, her reflection briefly catching in the mirrored walls as she pressed the button to her floor.
Once inside her apartment, Kourtney moved silently, shedding the day's weight. She passed through the open kitchen, where the faint smell of fresh herbs lingered, and into the hallway. She peeked into Jenna's room, the soft light from a desk lamp casting gentle shadows on the walls.
"Is that you, Kourt? Are you back?" Jenna's voice was sleepy, but there was a certain warmth to it.
"Yeah, Jen. It's me." Kourtney smiled, her voice soft but affectionate.
Jenna, wrapped in her blanket, barely stirred as Kourtney left the door ajar, letting the quiet hum of the city seep into the room. The sound of her own footsteps became the only noise, soft and steady as she made her way into her own room.
She moved to her bed, opening a drawer where she kept her most cherished items—her diary. A simple, leather journal with a gold clasp. She sat at the edge of her bed, the soft blue light of her desk lamp illuminating the room, and opened the diary.
Diary Entry – Kourtney Bethaway
Dear Diary,
The night is quiet, and it feels like the world is holding its breath. It's been one of those days—nothing special, yet everything feels like it's about to change. I can feel it in my chest, the tension that's always there, pulling at me like a tugging thread.
Another evening, another event that feels too far removed from who I am. The city moves on, lights flickering in the distance, but it all feels... distant.
The day was filled with work—fashion show preparations, measurements, fitting rooms bustling with fabric and thread. Perrie's energy fills the space, a whirlwind of ideas and flair. He's hard to ignore—always so dramatic, but he's kind, though he doesn't always get me. And maybe that's fine. I don't need to be understood, do I?
I've found a rhythm here, even if it feels like a borrowed life. Working late, designing clothes... it's quite amazing how I have come to like what I do here. But even when I'm busy, the silence always comes back, doesn't it?
But... I miss them. My family. I miss the sound of their voices, their warmth. It feels like a lifetime ago that I was surrounded by them.
I will meet them again soon.
Kourtney.
She paused, staring at the words she'd written. They were true, in their own way. But there was so much more she couldn't say. She closed the diary slowly, her hand lingering on the cover for a moment before she set it down beside her. Her thoughts were a jumble—quiet but overwhelming—and as her body settled into the comfort of the bed, sleep began to take her.
Her golden auburn hair spilled over her pillow, her lashes fluttering closed. She looked so young in that moment—free, untouched by the heaviness she carried. But even in her sleep, there was a quiet storm waiting—waiting to pull her into a future she couldn't avoid.