The evening after—Neva finally stretches her arms, freeing them from the laptop's grip.
"Finally..." she exhales, grateful. She's just finished her assignment due in two days. Tomorrow is Saturday—a well-earned break from hectic lectures.
She yawns, covering her mouth with one hand while the other fumbles for her phone. The screen lights up: 6:00 PM. Right then, it starts ringing.
"Hello?!" Emma's loud, eager voice explodes through the speaker.
"Hi," Neva replies, keeping it short.
"Wanna hang out tomorrow?" Emma asks.
"Where?"
"The movies—Everlasting Love! And then…" she giggles, "the best nightclub in Vernilla. We're gonna party hard!"
Neva exhales. "I'll pass, Emma."
"What? Why?" Emma whines, clearly disappointed.
Neva smiles faintly. "Nightclubs aren't really my thing."
She doesn't enjoy crowds or loud music. She hardly even goes out.
"But whyyy?" Emma insists.
"Sorry. I'd rather stay home," Neva says gently.
"You're really stubborn, you know?"
"I've been told," Neva murmurs, eyes drooping.
"What if we skip the club? Just movies and shopping?" Emma tries again.
"You don't have to change plans for me," Neva replies, sitting up.
"Oh come on! Please, Neva. Pretty please?"
Neva chuckles. "Alright. I'll think about it."
"You're not allowed to refuse!" Emma declares dramatically.
Before Neva can respond, the doorbell rings.
"I'll call you later. Someone's at the door."
She gets up and walks to the door.
"Good evening, Angel," says Rhett, flashing his signature smile.
Neva nods, eyes scanning him. He looks better—healthier.
"For you," he says, revealing a bouquet of luscious red roses from behind his back.
Her eyes widen. Surprised, she glances from the roses to his face. He's grinning like a boy who just gave his crush a crayon drawing.
Her favorite roses, yet they pale next to the man holding them. Cheeks warming up, she accepts the bouquet with a smile she can't hide.
This sudden feeling blooms in her chest—warm and unfamiliar.
She clears her throat, flustered. "Is your wound okay?"
He flexes his biceps, fists raised. "Healthier than ever."
She chuckles. Of course he's fine—look at him showing off.
"Come in," she says, stepping aside.
He steps in eagerly, and she reminds him to shut the door.
Placing the roses on the table, Neva turns to him. "Did you get stitches?"
"This morning," he nods. "But I have to change the dressing a couple of times a day."
He pauses, eyes wide and innocent. "I don't know how."
"I'll teach you," she says calmly.
"Nooo," he groans. "The stitches freak me out."
She sighs. "Alright. I'll take care of you until they're out."
"Great! I'll bring the supplies and come over—"
"No," she says firmly.
"Then you come to my place?"
"Absolutely not."
"Then?" He frowns, shoulders slumping.
She bites her lip. Letting him into her apartment all the time isn't ideal—but going to his feels even stranger.
"Fine. You come here," she concedes.
He grins like a sunshine. She chuckles.
"I'll change the dressing then. Wait here," she says, aiming for the vase kept in the kitchen, but then she pauses and turns to the man sitting happily, fusses over like a pampered cat.
"Have you eaten?" she asks.
"Nuh-uh," he replies, shaking his head.
"I'll make something for us," she says, now heading straight into the kitchen—leaving the silly boy smiling behind her.