Celeste lay beside her—not in bed, but on a makeshift pile of blankets and pillows on the floor, because Amelia hadn't figured out what else to do yet.
Celeste was real. Alive. Here.
And Amelia had no idea what to do about it.
She turned her head slightly, peering down at Celeste, who was curled up on her side, her breathing slow and steady. In sleep, she looked even softer, her presence blending into the dim glow of the city lights spilling through the window.
It was strange—having someone else here. Amelia had grown so used to solitude that the quiet company of another person felt foreign, but not unwelcome.
With a quiet sigh, Amelia rolled onto her side, letting her eyes close. She needed rest. Answers would have to wait until morning.
—
She woke to the smell of something burning.
Amelia jolted upright, heart hammering. The apartment was filled with the acrid scent of charred… something.
"Oh no."
She stumbled out of bed and rushed to the kitchen, where she found Celeste standing in front of the stove, waving a dish towel at a pan that was billowing smoke.
"What are you doing?!" Amelia yelped, grabbing the pan and yanking it off the heat.
Celeste looked up at her, eyes wide with a mix of guilt and curiosity. "I was making breakfast."
Amelia turned off the burner and flung open a window, coughing as she fanned the air. "You can't cook?"
Celeste frowned. "I don't know. I thought I could." She glanced at the pan, which contained what Amelia could only assume had once been eggs. "It seemed simple enough."
Amelia let out a breath, running a hand through her messy hair. "Okay. No more unsupervised cooking experiments."
Celeste pouted. "I wanted to do something nice."
Something about the way she said it made Amelia's frustration soften.
She sighed. "I get it. But next time, maybe… start with toast?"
Celeste brightened. "I can try that."
Amelia eyed her warily. "Let's do it together, just in case."
Together, they managed a somewhat edible breakfast—toast with butter and a fresh pot of coffee, which Celeste took an immediate liking to, judging by the way she hummed with delight after the first sip.
Amelia leaned against the counter, watching her. "So… what now?"
Celeste set down her cup. "What do you mean?"
"I mean… What do we do now? You're here. You're… real. But I don't know how or why. And I don't know what that means for you."
Celeste tilted her head. "Does it have to mean anything?"
Amelia opened her mouth, then hesitated.
Did it?
Could she simply accept Celeste's existence without needing an explanation? Without questioning if she was meant to stay, or if one day she might disappear just as suddenly as she arrived?
"I don't know," Amelia admitted.
Celeste reached across the counter, her fingers brushing against Amelia's. "Then let's just be, for now."
Amelia's breath hitched at the warmth of her touch.
Outside, the city bustled on, unaware that something impossible had come to life in a tiny Brooklyn apartment.
And for now, that was enough.