2025-01-22 22:05:38
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335. A Letter To Me
It was still dark outside when Isadora slipped out of bed.Brandt slept deeply, his arm curled beneath the pillow, face half hidden by the sheet. She stood quietly beside him for a moment, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, the calm that always seemed to settle over him when he dreamed.She’d had no such luck with sleep.The past few days had stirred something in her. Not restlessness, exactly — but an ache. A quiet knocking from the inside out, asking her to look back before she moved forward.So she pulled on a robe, padded barefoot to the desk near the window, and sat down with a blank page.Not her sketchpad.Just a piece of paper and a pen.And then she began to write.Dear Van,No — that’s not quite right. This letter isn’t for you. Not really. Not anymore.But I’m going to let myself pretend for a moment that it is.There was a time when I thought the world ended with your silence. When I believed the only way to survive was to carry myself like a fortress. Strong. I
334. What Comes Next?
It started with a question.Not a loud one. Not even a confrontational one.Just a simple, offhand question that slipped out of Brandt’s mouth as they returned from the artist’s market late one afternoon.“Do you think we’ll go back soon?”Isadora was unlocking the hotel door, the sun casting a golden streak across her shoulder. She paused, key in hand.“Back where?”“Home,” he said, shrugging. “Or… wherever we’re supposed to go next.”The word supposed settled oddly in the space between them.She said nothing as she pushed the door open.Inside, the room smelled faintly of her lavender oil and saltwater. The same as always. But suddenly, it didn’t feel like sanctuary.It felt like a question mark.Brandt noticed the shift, even before she turned away from him to drop her bag on the table.“You okay?”“Fine.”That word. The eternal red flag.He stepped closer. “I didn’t mean it like that.”“Like what?”“Like we have to go back. I was just… thinking out loud. Wondering.”Isadora turned
333. A Special Day
Brandt didn’t mention his birthday.He never did.Not in all the time Isadora had known him — first from a polite distance at Van’s estate, and now up close, intimately, soul bared and sun warmed. She noticed it in the way he flinched slightly when people talked about celebrating themselves. In the way he downplayed attention. In the way he smiled as if he didn’t want anyone to make a fuss.So, of course, she made a plan.Not a fuss. Not balloons or a loud gathering. But something thoughtful. Something quiet. Something that told him: I see you.★★★The morning began like any other.Brandt woke before her for once — stretching, padding barefoot to the kitchen, brewing coffee. She heard him humming softly, a Cuban tune he’d picked up and couldn’t quite get out of his head. He didn’t know she was already awake, watching him through heavy lashes as he poured two cups and set one beside her sketchpad.“Coffee, for the beautiful artist I seem to live with,” he murmured.She smiled but didn’
332. Sweet Space
The breeze rolled in early, lifting the white curtains of the balcony and carrying with it the soft scent of the sea. Isadora sat cross legged on the floor with her sketchpad resting against her knees, charcoal smudges on her fingertips, the image of Brandt — walking ahead of her down the village path — slowly emerging in strokes and shadows.He wasn’t in the room.She liked it that way, sometimes.Solitude wasn’t something she feared anymore. But she still hadn’t told him that part. That she often needed space the way others needed touch — not as rejection, but as breath.She’d planned to explain it this morning.But when Brandt returned from the café downstairs, holding a small paper bag with two guava pastries and a thermos of coffee, her chance slipped through her fingers.“You weren’t there when I woke,” he said lightly, setting the pastries down. “Thought you vanished.”His tone was teasing. Warm. But there was something behind his smile — a flicker of something she couldn’t qui
331. The Shape Of Tomorrow
The soft hush of the Cuban morning was already curling into the room, warm and gentle, when Isadora woke.She didn’t open her eyes right away. Brandt was still asleep beside her, breathing slow and steady, one arm draped across her stomach, his hand loosely curled against her ribs like a weightless promise.They hadn’t stayed out late after the club. But something about dancing with him under strings of golden lights had left her feeling full. Saturated. Like every quiet chamber in her heart had been seen and touched.Still, there was something else now — a question she’d tried not to name the night before.What happens when paradise ends?She opened her eyes.The ceiling fan spun lazily above them. A bird trilled in the tree just outside their balcony. Brandt shifted slightly, pulling her a little closer in his sleep.Isadora swallowed.She’d never been good at keeping good things. That was part of why she always ran first.But maybe — just maybe — this time could be different.★★★L
330. Cuba and Love
The curtains swayed in the lazy breeze spilling through the balcony doors, and golden sunlight crept slowly across the hotel room floor.Isadora was already awake.She lay on her side beneath the cool sheets, her face turned toward the man beside her. Brandt slept with one arm sprawled across the bed, the other bent near his chest, face slack with the deep, peaceful kind of sleep that came only when life had finally slowed down.It had been a week since they arrived in Cuba.Seven days since she’d stepped off the plane, into humidity and color and air that tasted like freedom. Seven days since she’d said goodbye to everything complicated — family politics, heavy silences, long stares. Seven days since she let herself admit it: she was in love.And he was still here. Still beside her. Still steady.Brandt stirred, blinking awake, his blue eyes finding hers instantly. A soft smile curved his lips.“Are you that in love with me?” he teased, his voice rough with sleep.Isadora didn’t blu
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