The morning air was crisp, the kind that made Amelia's breath fog slightly as she stood on the small balcony of her apartment. The city stretched before her, endless and alive, but today, her thoughts weren't lost in the usual rhythm of New York's heartbeat.
Behind her, Celeste was humming softly, flipping through a book Amelia had lent her. She was still fascinated by the world—by everything. The simplest things, the mundane details of Amelia's life, seemed to enchant her. The way the light caught in her hair as she turned pages, the way she tilted her head when something puzzled her—it was all so human, and yet, there was always that underlying mystery to her presence.
Amelia sipped her coffee, watching Celeste through the glass door.
She still hadn't told anyone about her. How could she? "Hey, by the way, remember that painting I was obsessed with? Well, she kind of stepped out of the canvas and is now living in my apartment."
Yeah. That would go over well.
She sighed, stepping back inside. Celeste looked up, her expression softening.
"You always look like you're thinking too much," she said, closing the book.
Amelia chuckled. "That's because I am."
Celeste patted the space beside her on the couch. "Come sit with me. Maybe I'll help you think less."
Amelia hesitated for only a second before giving in, setting her mug down and sinking into the seat beside her. Celeste tucked her legs under her body, shifting so she was facing Amelia completely.
"Do you regret it?" Celeste asked after a moment, her voice quieter now. "That I'm here?"
The question caught Amelia off guard. She turned to face Celeste fully, searching her expression.
"Regret?" she echoed. "Why would I regret you?"
Celeste bit her lip, looking down at her hands. "Because I don't belong here. Because I don't know how I got here or why. And I don't want to make things harder for you."
Something tightened in Amelia's chest.
She reached for Celeste's hand before she even realized what she was doing. Their fingers brushed, and Celeste looked up, eyes wide.
"You being here isn't a mistake," Amelia said firmly. "And you're not making my life harder." She hesitated, then added, "Okay, maybe my brain is melting a little trying to figure everything out, but—"
Celeste laughed softly, the sound warm and bright, easing some of the tension.
"But," Amelia continued, squeezing Celeste's hand lightly, "I don't regret you."
Celeste's breath caught. She held Amelia's gaze for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. Then, slowly, she squeezed back.
The city buzzed outside. The world continued, unchanged. But here, in this small apartment, something quiet and profound settled between them.
Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.
And neither of them wanted to let go.
A few hours later, Amelia found herself at the kitchen counter, watching Celeste inspect a bowl of strawberries as if she had never seen them before.
"So… these grow from the ground?" Celeste asked, turning one over in her fingers.
"Yes," Amelia said, amused. "Technically from vines, but yeah."
Celeste hummed in thought. "And people eat them?"
"They're delicious."
Celeste frowned slightly, still unsure. "They look like little hearts."
Amelia blinked, glancing at the strawberry in Celeste's hand. "Huh. I guess they do."
Celeste considered this, then carefully bit into one. The moment the juice hit her tongue, her expression shifted into something so pure, so delighted, that Amelia couldn't help but smile.
"Oh," Celeste breathed, covering her mouth as if she had just tasted the most divine thing in existence. "That's… so good."
Amelia laughed, shaking her head. "You're really something else, you know that?"
Celeste popped the rest of the strawberry into her mouth, chewing happily before giving Amelia a mischievous look. "I'm learning."
Amelia leaned against the counter, still watching her. There was something deeply comforting about having Celeste here. Her presence was strange, impossible, but it felt right. As if she had always belonged, even though Amelia knew that wasn't the case.
"Hey, Celeste?"
Celeste looked up. "Hmm?"
Amelia hesitated, then asked, "Do you… remember anything? Before you came out of the painting?"
Celeste's expression faltered slightly. She set the strawberry down, her fingers tracing the wooden surface of the counter.
"Not really," she admitted. "It's like… I woke up here, and this was all there was. But sometimes, I feel like I know things, even though I don't know how I know them." She looked at Amelia, her gaze searching. "Like you."
Amelia's stomach flipped. "…Me?"
Celeste nodded. "I don't know why, but I feel like I've known you forever."
A warm, unexpected flutter bloomed in Amelia's chest.
Celeste smiled, soft and sure. "I don't regret being here either."
Amelia's breath hitched.
Outside, the city carried on. But inside, between them, something new and fragile was beginning to take root—something neither of them were ready to name just yet.