The Lives We Didn't Choose (AJS Roleplaying x Kita-san)

[AJS Roleplaying]

The Lives We Didn't Choose A Roleplay Brought to You By: ​

Adrian 'AJ' Carlson Jr. written by AJS Roleplaying ​

Verena "Rena" Bristol written by Kita-san ​

​

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

The city never slept, but AJ Carlson had become very good at pretending he didn't hear it.

From the twenty-fourth floor of their glass-and-steel apartment building, the noise filtered in like fog - soft, constant, uninvited. Even at this hour, sirens howled like wounded wolves in the distance, muffled by thick windows and thicker silence. AJ sat alone at the dining table, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, a half-drunk glass of Scotch sweating into a ring on the oak surface. The table had been imported from Denmark. Serena had insisted. Everything in their home had a price tag that spoke louder than the people who lived inside it.

He tapped his pencil against the edge of a sketchbook, eyes fixed on the half-formed lines of a tower that didn't exist. Not yet, anyway. The page showed only a rough outline - soft arches where modern buildings now refused to bend, ivy tracing up brickwork that hadn't been laid. A bell tower without a bell. A home without a door. AJ pressed the lead harder until it snapped. He didn't flinch. Just leaned back, ran a hand through his hair, and exhaled slowly. The pencil landed in the tray beside others just like it. Broken. Quiet. Waiting to be sharpened again.

It wasn't always like this. Once, there was joy in the work. In college, he'd stay up until three in the morning with graphite smudged across his cheekbones, drunk on possibility. His professors used to say he built with feeling. Not just logic, not just ratios or lines of best fit - but heart. That was what set him apart. Now he restored history like a surgeon stitches flesh - technically precise, emotionally detached. It paid well. He made partner three years ago. Carlson & Denton was known for breathing new life into structures others had written off as too far gone. Churches turned into libraries. Row homes reborn as boutique hotels. AJ had a knack for honouring what a building was, even as he transformed it into what it could be. Clients praised him for his vision, his steadiness, his professionalism. None of them knew he spent more time walking half-demolished buildings at night than he did sleeping. He rubbed his eyes. The Scotch was burning now. Good. At least it made him feel something. Across the room, the clock ticked like it was mocking him.

2:12 a.m.

He stood, chair legs whispering across the hardwood, and moved toward the window. The city sprawled below - dark silhouettes of buildings against a sky not quite black. Lights flickered in the distance, dancing between steel and smoke. Somewhere, a train screamed its way across the bridge. Somewhere, someone was being born, someone was dying, someone was falling in love. AJ pressed his forehead to the cool glass. Watched his breath fog and fade. In the reflection, he looked like a man on the outside of his own life.

Thirty-six.

He was thirty-six years old and already felt ancient. Not in body - he still jogged every morning, still took the stairs instead of the elevator - but in spirit. Like some essential part of him had gone still. He didn't know when it happened. Probably slowly. Quietly. Like rot beneath paint. Sometimes, when he was walking through yet another crumbling cathedral or gutted theatre, he'd feel it - an ache, low and dull, like he was standing inside a metaphor too obvious to ignore. These places had once held light, laughter, wonder. Now they held dust and echoes. But he restored them, didn't he? Gave them back their purpose. Their grace. So why couldn't he do the same for himself?

A light flipped on in the building across the street. A woman in a robe moved through her kitchen, slow and unhurried, pouring something into a mug. She didn't look rushed. Didn't look haunted. AJ found himself wondering what it was like to move through your own space like you belonged in it. He blinked and turned away. The bedroom was dark when he slipped inside. The bed was still made perfectly on one side, covers undisturbed. Serena hadn't come home. Again. He didn't check his phone. Didn't need to. There'd be a message somewhere - "Late deposition," or "Staying at the office tonight" - but the details didn't matter. The outcome was the same. Another night alone in a marriage that looked like success from the outside and felt like abandonment from within.

He peeled off his shirt, folded it neatly over the back of a chair, and crawled beneath the cold sheets. Sleep didn't come easy anymore. Not because of nightmares, but because of the quiet. The quiet reminded him of what he used to want. Of a life that felt lived-in, not curated. Of love that didn't feel like a performance. He remembered Sunday mornings in the little coastal town where he grew up—bare feet on weathered floorboards, the smell of coffee and sea air mixing in the kitchen. His dad humming Sinatra as he fixed the porch railing. His mom dancing barefoot with a paintbrush between her fingers.

That house had long since been sold. His father, gone six years now. His mother had moved inland, closer to his sister and the grandchildren she doted on. AJ didn't call enough. He told himself it was the hours. The deadlines. But really, it was harder to pretend everything was fine when someone who loved you was listening. He stared at the ceiling. He'd designed this apartment himself. Sleek lines, open spaces, everything in its place. But it didn't feel like home. It never had. The walls didn't know his laughter. The rooms didn't remember his joy. He'd built it like he built everything lately—with clinical detachment and an eye for resale value. His hand found the edge of the nightstand, fingers brushing over a half-finished sketch tucked beneath a book. A lighthouse. Crumbling, wind-battered, standing alone on a cliff. He hadn't drawn it on purpose. It had just… happened.

He wondered if that meant anything. Probably not. He closed his eyes. And dreamed of salt in the air, wood beneath his feet, and a light—flickering faintly—calling out across the dark.​

 

[Kita-san]

Life used to be good—at least, it felt that way once. But for Verena, the color had drained from everything she once loved. The things that used to spark her joy—her art, her city, her relationship—had dulled to a lifeless gray. The descent had begun the moment cracks formed in her relationship with James. And now, it felt like she was living inside those cracks.

7:30 PM

Verena locked the doors to the art gallery earlier than usual. Her heels echoed across the polished hardwood floors as she rushed down the corridor, the rhythmic taps beating out her nervous anticipation. Tonight was supposed to matter. James had asked her to dinner—a rare invitation these days—and for the first time in what felt like months, a fragile thread of hope had stitched itself into her chest. Maybe this is the turning point, she thought, clutching her coat tighter as she stepped into the crisp evening air. Maybe he realizes he still loves me. That he misses me. Her lips curled into a cautious smile as she spotted her ride pulling up—a sleek black car that looked like it belonged in a CEO's driveway.

She opened the door—and her heart plummeted. "Earl?" she said, blinking in confusion. James's assistant offered her a sympathetic smile. "Good evening, Verena. I'm afraid James had to work late. He sends his apologies. He asked me to take you to dinner and then home." Verena stood frozen, her hand still on the car door. The warmth drained from her face as Earl continued, offering some hollow assurance that James would make it up to her.

Again.

The word echoed in her mind like a dull bell. Her smile vanished. Her throat tightened. Anger didn't even rise up this time—it was buried under too many layers of disappointment, layered so thick they'd hardened into numbness. She closed the door without a word and turned away, walking briskly in the opposite direction. Earl's voice called after her, distant and unnecessary.

Why would he even think this was okay? she thought bitterly. Why send his assistant—like I'm just another meeting on his schedule?

She disappeared into the crowd, her steps quickening with each heartbeat. The night had grown colder, and the city lights blurred behind a sheen of unshed tears. The air felt heavy with the kind of sadness that couldn't be cried out—only carried.

She kept walking.

The elevator hummed quietly as it carried her to the top floor of an old industrial building converted into studios. She stepped into her sanctuary—her art studio—a vast, open space flooded with soft light and the smell of clay, paint, and solitude. The moment the door clicked shut, she dropped her purse. Then her coat. She moved through the room like a ghost with a purpose, pulling a slab of brown clay from a nearby shelf, her hands finding tools and shapes without conscious thought. The familiar texture grounded her, but it did little to silence the ache inside.

Hours passed. The city outside dimmed, but Verena didn't notice. The world faded as her hands shaped and molded—an automatic rhythm born of muscle memory and years of practice. She didn't stop until her stomach growled at midnight, reminding her she hadn't eaten. She looked down at the finished sculpture. Elegant. Intricate. But hollow. Just another pretty thing without meaning. Without love. With a sharp breath, Verena pressed her palms into it, flattening the piece in one decisive movement. Her breath hitched in her throat as she forced herself not to cry. Slowly her attention turned to feeding herself and getting some rest. The other side of the studio resembled a minimalist loft: a small kitchen, a private bathroom, and a full-sized bed she had added for nights just like this. Nights when she couldn't go home. When her heart was too heavy to sleep in the same space as its disappointment.

She reheated a small container of leftover pasta and ate it in silence, staring at nothing. Eventually, she crawled into bed, pulling the blanket over her with a weight she couldn't explain. Maybe tomorrow will be different, she thought, though her heart already knew better.
Still, hope—fragile, stubborn, and foolish—clung to her in the dark.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

The first thing AJ noticed when he woke up was the silence. Not the comfortable kind, like Sunday mornings with fresh coffee and a breeze through an open window - but the hollow kind. The kind that made every sound too loud, every breath too conscious. The hum of the refrigerator down the hall. The soft creak of the building settling. His own heartbeat, slow but persistent, like it was asking him a question he couldn't answer.

He rolled onto his side and blinked at the ceiling. 6:41 a.m. The city hadn't started moving yet. But he had.

He didn't linger in bed - not because he was eager to start the day, but because staying there meant thinking, and thinking usually led him to places he didn't want to go. So, he moved through his routine like clockwork. Brushed his teeth. Shaved. Pulled on dark jeans and a grey Henley. Poured himself black coffee in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as he sipped it slowly, eyes fixed on the skyline beyond the glass.

It was a grey morning. Not stormy, not bright. Just… quiet. He took his coffee to the small desk by the window, flipping open his laptop with a practiced touch. Emails waited in his inbox - clients, contractors, permits needing approval. None of it urgent. None of it interesting. His mouse hovered for a moment before he let the lid fall shut again. Instead, he reached for his sketchbook.

Half a page was filled with a lighthouse. The lines had grown darker since last night - bolder, angrier. He'd added weather-worn cliffs, waves battering the rocks beneath. It was like his pencil had known what his words couldn't say. AJ let out a slow breath and ran a hand through his hair. A few more greys had shown up near his temples. They didn't bother him. If anything, they suited him. Proof that time was passing, even when everything else felt stuck.

The city felt too tight this morning. Too tall. Too close. He grabbed his phone, thumb scrolling without intention until he landed on a community events page he'd bookmarked but never really read. Farmer's markets, pottery classes, film screenings—he kept scrolling. Then he saw it.

"Trail & Timberline: A local hiking collective for city souls seeking quiet paths."

Below it was a simple photo—sunlight breaking through pine trees, boots on damp earth, smiles caught mid-laughter. AJ clicked the link. Weekly group hikes, open to all experience levels. Every Saturday. Meet just outside the city at the base of Oldpine Ridge. Bring water, good shoes, and curiosity. There was something about the phrasing that caught him. Not the marketing kind of charm, but something… real. Unpolished. Like someone who meant it had written it. His cursor hovered again. He thought of the blueprint still waiting on his office desk. Of Serena's side of the bed - still made, still cold. Of the clock ticking through hours that never seemed to matter.

Then he clicked Join.
​

---

By noon, AJ was standing at the edge of a gravel parking lot at Oldpine Ridge, lacing up his boots under a pale sun. The city had disappeared behind him about twenty minutes ago - its noise, its pace, its weight. Here, the air smelled of damp bark and wild things. Pine and moss. Soil and silence. A few cars were parked nearby, and a small group had begun to gather around a wooden signpost that marked the trailhead. AJ spotted flannel shirts, backpacks, thermoses. Most of them were chatting in easy, informal clusters - friends who had clearly done this before. He stood a little apart, adjusting the strap on his bag, hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

This was out of character for him. He didn't usually do groups. Didn't go looking for strangers to spend his Saturdays with. But there was something about the idea of getting lost in the woods with people who didn't know his name, didn't know his marriage or his job or how put-together he was supposed to be - it appealed to something raw and restless in him.

He shifted his weight as a few more people arrived. Laughter carried across the clearing - light and unforced. Someone cracked open a thermos and offered a cup of coffee to another hiker. A woman was checking her camera lens. A man in his sixties adjusted his hiking poles with practiced ease. The group was varied - young, old, alone, coupled. No one seemed out of place. Which meant maybe he wasn't either.

A clipboard was passed around for sign-ins. When it reached AJ, he scribbled:

Adrian Carlson Jr. – First timer.

He passed it on and took a long look at the forest ahead. The trail disappeared between tall pines, their branches filtering the sun into long, slanted shafts of gold. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called. Wind rustled the leaves like a whispered invitation. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been in the woods. Not since his twenties. Not since that camping trip with his sister's family, where they roasted marshmallows and told ghost stories until the kids fell asleep by the fire. He remembered the way the stars looked that night—how impossibly close they felt when nothing stood between him and the sky. That memory tugged at something inside him. Something he'd been missing without realizing it.

"Alright, folks," called a voice from the front—a woman with a whistle around her neck and a trail map in her hand. "Let's get started. We've got about seven miles round trip, moderate incline, and plenty of time to take it slow. Stick together, look out for one another, and breathe it in. This is the easy part of the week."

A few cheers and scattered applause. Then boots began to crunch gravel. AJ adjusted the strap on his bag and stepped forward. As the group filtered onto the trail, he found himself walking near the middle—close enough to feel part of it, far enough to stay in his thoughts. The ground was soft beneath his feet. The forest opened around him. And for the first time in a long time, the quiet didn't feel empty. It felt like space. It felt like something beginning.​

 

[Kita-san]

Early the next morning, Verena awoke to a familiar kind of emptiness—cold, detached, and dull. It wasn't the fiery pain of yesterday, but a strange numbness that crept beneath her skin like ice water in her veins. Maybe this was better. Anything was better than drowning in the sorrow that had swallowed her whole the day before.

As she smoothed out the creased sheets of her studio bed, her thoughts drifted— unwillingly—to James. Was he even home? And if he was, would he care enough to ask where she'd been all night? Doubtful. Long gone were the passionate arguments, the fights that meant someone still gave a damn. These days, James was more ghost than man—silent, cold, unbothered. It was as if nothing ever touched him, while everything shattered Verena into pieces.

After tidying the minimalist space, she wrapped herself in her trench coat, grabbed her purse, and stepped out of the industrial building. Maybe he messaged me, she thought with a flicker of foolish hope, her fingers hesitating over her phone. But her gut already knew. She unlocked the screen.

Nothing. No calls. No texts. No James.

"Of course," she muttered bitterly, shoving the phone deep into her coat pocket like it had insulted her. She should've known better.

By the time she returned home, the sun was barely up—6:30 a.m. The streets were quiet, blanketed in the soft glow of early morning light. It was Saturday, which meant James was probably still asleep. She slipped inside the condo, careful to remove her heels at the door. Each step now felt like tiptoeing through the ruins of a dream.

Her hazel eyes scanned the space. She remembered when they first bought this place—how they'd laughed and toasted with cheap champagne, full of plans and promises. This was supposed to be their forever. Now, it just felt like a stranger's home. Cold. Hollow. Haunted by what could've been.

Falling into autopilot, Verena began her morning routine. Coffee for James. Jasmine green tea for herself. Toast with butter and jelly—simple, comfort food she could stomach without effort. Every so often, her eyes flicked up toward the spiral staircase, listening. Hoping. Maybe he'll come down. But nothing. No footsteps. No voice. Not even the sound of movement from above. And yet, despite the ache he caused, despite the thousand ways he'd grown distant, she still wanted him to care. Still looked for signs he might fight for them again. Still loved him, even if he had stopped loving her.

After her quiet breakfast, Verena padded into the downstairs bathroom. A splash of icy water to the face jolted her nerves. As she patted her skin dry, her phone buzzed—an update from the community event page. She tapped the notification absently, expecting nothing. But one title caught her attention:

"Trail & Timberline: A local hiking collective for city souls seeking quiet paths."

She stared at the name for a long moment. Hiking. It used to be one of her escapes before her move to the city. Before she stopped doing things that made her feel alive. The woods was a place where the chaos quieted, and the world made sense.

She tapped the RSVP link. "I better get ready," she whispered, almost surprised by the sudden flutter of anticipation.

Not long after, Verena stood at the base of Oldpine Ridge, where the group had gathered. Her boots crunched against the gravel path, the morning air crisp and biting. She spotted the others milling around—a mix of young professionals, older hikers, and a few curious newcomers like her. For the first time in what felt like forever, she didn't feel invisible.

The ride here had been miserable. James—still in bed when she got back—hadn't even bothered to acknowledge her. She had purposely knocked over a few items while gathering her hiking gear, just to see if he'd react. He didn't. Just fake snoring and silence. The message couldn't have been clearer. But now, standing at the trailhead, with the scent of pine and damp earth surrounding her, Verena felt something she hadn't in months: hope.

She smiled to herself as she signed in, whispering soft affirmations under her breath. "You got this. You look good. You are good."

Dressed in sleek black yoga pants and a matching sports bra beneath her light zip-up jacket, she looked effortlessly strong. Her black hiking boots hugged her feet like they belonged there. Her wavy chestnut hair was tied in a high ponytail, and for once, she wore no makeup—just her freckles, raw and real.

She shouldered her mini backpack, took a deep breath, and stepped onto the trail.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

The trail began like a gentle exhale - soft, familiar, forgiving. Dirt packed firm underfoot, sunlight slanting through branches in ribbons of gold. It smelled like earth and old stories. The forest here was dense but not overbearing, just alive in a way the city never could be. AJ walked near the middle of the group, boots falling into rhythm with the crunch of gravel and the occasional murmur of conversation. He adjusted the strap of his backpack and smiled at the man walking beside him - grey bearded, stocky, with a well-worn hiking staff and an accent that hinted at the Midwest.

"First time?" the man asked, nodding toward AJ's still-pristine gear.

"Is it that obvious?" AJ chuckled, pushing a branch aside as they ducked beneath a low-hanging limb.

"Not a bad thing. We all looked shiny once," the man replied. "I'm Mark. Been hiking with this group for three years now. Keeps me sane."

"Adrian. AJ, actually."

"Nice to meet you, AJ. What pulled you out here?"

The question caught him. He hesitated before answering. "Needed air. Space, I guess."

Mark nodded with the wisdom of someone who'd heard it before—and had lived it.

"Good enough reason."

They walked in easy silence for a while, broken only by the sound of a bird overhead and the occasional laugh from the hikers ahead. Another woman - short, dark braids, and a Boston Red Sox cap - introduced herself as Jolene. She cracked jokes that made the uphill climb easier to bear. AJ liked her immediately.

"You hike much?" she asked, shooting him a look.

"Not since college. Used to go up near Seawatch Point, back where I'm from. Coastal trails. Lighthouses, sea fog, that kind of thing."

"Sounds like a goddamn postcard," she grinned. "You leave that behind for spreadsheets and concrete?"

"Architect," AJ said with a smirk. "So, yes. But at least I make the concrete prettier."

Jolene barked a laugh and slapped him on the shoulder. "Stick with us, Carlson. You've got a dry wit and city-soft legs. Both are entertaining."

They kept walking.

About an hour in, the group reached a natural overlook - trees opened up to reveal a distant ridge layered in deep blues and greens. The group naturally spread out, some pausing for water, others snapping photos or settling onto nearby boulders to rest. AJ sipped from his thermos and looked around, feeling lighter than he had in weeks.

That's when he saw her.

She was standing a few feet ahead, just off the main path - back half-turned to the group, face tilted slightly to the sky. Her stance was casual, almost meditative, as if she belonged to the woods in a way the rest of them didn't. A high ponytail of chestnut hair caught the breeze, revealing the soft curve of her neck and the faint freckles across her cheeks.

There was something about her presence - unassuming, yet… still. Like a painting in a quiet gallery. Not loud, not trying. Just there.

AJ didn't realize he was staring until Mark's voice broke through behind him.

"Beautiful view," he said, nodding toward the mountains.

AJ blinked, then shifted his eyes away. "Yeah. Definitely."

He took another sip of water, but found himself glancing back at her. She had moved now - walking slowly toward a patch of sunlight that dappled the trail ahead. Her movements were deliberate. Grounded.

Something about her tugged at a place in him that had been asleep too long.

He hesitated, watching her unclip her water bottle and take a long drink. Then, as if pulled by instinct more than intent, he stepped off the main path and walked in her direction. Not close - just near enough to be heard.

"First hike with the group?"

She turned slightly, eyes meeting his.

AJ wasn't sure what he expected - politeness, maybe. Indifference, like most city strangers. But there was a stillness in her gaze that caught him off guard. Like she saw more than he was saying.

"I'm new too. AJ."

She didn't smile right away. But she didn't turn away either.

"I figured I'd try something different," he offered. "See if walking in one direction for a few hours might help clear the mess up top."

He tapped the side of his temple with a faint, rueful smile. The wind rustled the trees again, filling the pause between them.​

 

[Kita-san]

Hiking was exactly what Verena's soul had been aching for. For weeks, she'd felt a restless weight pressing down on her chest, a quiet storm brewing in her heart — invisible to the outside world but constant within. But now, with every step she took along the winding forest trail, she felt that storm slowly begin to still.

The crisp mountain air filled her lungs, cool and sharp, like a breath of clarity. Towering trees arched over the path, their emerald leaves whispering secrets in the wind. The world was hushed, except for the soft crunch of gravel beneath boots and the occasional call of a distant bird. This place, untouched and vast, offered her something that home never could — space to breathe, to be herself without explanation or apology.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Verena smiled without forcing it.

As she walked, she watched little groups form naturally — some familiar faces, easy to recognize as regulars by their relaxed gait and practiced small talk. Others, like her, wore the uncertain energy of newcomers, tentative and observant. It was beautiful in a quiet way — strangers becoming companions simply by sharing a trail.

Before long, Verena found herself in conversation with a woman named Sophia, whose warm laughter seemed to echo through the trees. They exchanged stories between breaths, winding through snippets of their lives. Verena spoke of her desert hometown. Sophia listened, wide-eyed and kind, and shared stories of her own. The time passed quickly, and soon the group paused for their first break.

They'd reached a hilltop clearing, where the view opened up. Verena pulled out her water bottle and drank deeply. The cold water soothed her throat and awakened her senses. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste. Sweat cooled off her skin. She walked a few steps to a patch where sunlight broke through the canopy, warm and golden on her skin. It sank into her shoulders like a blanket, and for a moment, the world — all its noise, its questions, its heartbreak — faded.

What if I made my own forest? she wondered suddenly, the idea sparking like flint against stone. A ceramic forest. A sanctuary in clay. The thought filled her with something she hadn't felt in a long time — inspiration. But before she could spiral too deeply into her own thoughts, a voice stirred the air beside her.

She turned, startled yet intrigued. Her hazel eyes met a stranger's — a man with windswept brown hair, a day's worth of scruff on his jaw, and eyes the color of the sky just before a storm. There was something raw and magnetic about him.

He said something — she barely heard it at first. Her brain stumbled over itself, too caught in surprise to form a reply. Am I… shy? she thought, a flush of amusement warming her cheeks. That was unexpected.

She chuckled softly, shaking her head at herself. "I hope this works for you then," she replied to his last comment. Her smile blooming with playful warmth. "I'm hoping for the same thing." She tapped a finger against her left temple. She then extended a hand. "I'm Verena — but you can call me Rena."

He took her hand, and there was a pause. Not awkward, but charged — the kind of moment that hints at possibility.

"You said you are new here too?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips with a casual confidence she hadn't felt in a while. "How are you liking it so far?"

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ's hand closed around hers - warm, steady, callused from work. His grip wasn't showy, just solid, like the earth beneath their boots.

"I am," he said, nodding, his voice a low hum over the gentle rustle of wind through the trees. "This is my first time hiking with this group, actually."

He let go of her hand slowly, more thoughtful than hesitant, then slid his thumb across his palm like he was grounding himself. His gaze drifted over the clearing for a second, noting the others - chatting in circles, passing snacks, adjusting their packs - before returning to her.

"So far?" He cracked a slight grin. "It's peaceful. Good kind of quiet. And better company than I expected."

His eyes met hers again, the corners crinkling as he said it. Not flirtation, not quite - more like a rare kind of honesty that didn't require layers. He shifted his weight, boots crunching the dry grass, and adjusted the strap of his pack. The breeze ruffled a few strands of his hair, brushing them across his forehead. He tilted his head slightly as if measuring something about her - not just her words, but how she held herself. The way she stood with one foot planted firmly, the other slightly turned, ready to move. There was a stillness in her, but not of idleness - more like the stillness of someone deciding what direction to go.

"You're from the city?" he asked, catching the earlier flicker of something when she mentioned being new. "Or just passing through?"

He crouched beside a tree root, tugged his water bottle from the side of his pack, and took a quick sip, then stood again with a practiced ease. He didn't fidget. He didn't fill silence needlessly. But he did look at her like he was actually listening.

"I came out here to get out of my own head for a while," he added, eyes scanning the horizon. "Job's been… heavy. I figured the trail might shake something loose."

There was no dramatic weight behind his words, no self-pity - just a man telling the truth in as few words as necessary. He glanced sideways at her again.

"You strike me as someone with thoughts. The kind that sneak up on you when the trees get quiet."

He didn't press further. Just let the silence fall again, comfortable, like another layer of the forest pressing in around them.

Then, with a small shrug, he said, "Glad I came, though. Sun, trees, and good conversation - hard to argue with that."

His tone was calm, but there was a glint in his eyes now - something curious, open, a little unexpected. He meant it.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena didn't answer right away. The breeze danced through the trees, tugging a few stray strands of hair across her face. She tucked them behind her ear with a slow, thoughtful gesture, her gaze never quite leaving AJ. He was intriguing.

"Yes," she said finally, her voice a touch lower, velvet-edged. "I'm from the city. Eight years and counting." Her eyes traced the line of his jaw, the relaxed set of his shoulders, the way his thumb still toyed with his palm like it was a habit he didn't even notice. "And you?” She asked curiously.

She shifted the strap of her pack, her posture easy, but there was energy humming under her skin. She exhaled slowly, casting her eyes toward the rise of the trail ahead, where sunlight spilled like golden syrup between the trees. Her gaze slid back to him, curious now. A slow, knowing smirk curved her lips.

"And yeah," she said, "you're right about the thoughts. Out here, they don't just whisper—they shout. Maybe that's a good thing?” She she shrugged ever so slightly. There was a spark behind her eyes now—something playful, something a little bold. "I mean," she added with an arch of her brow, "the trail's got its own kind of therapy. And the company doesn't hurt either."

Her laugh came soft but genuine."So, what kind of job puts that quiet heaviness on your shoulders, huh?" There was a slight tilt of her head as she watched him again—attentive, not just interested, but invested in the shape of his answer. "I'm an artist. Ceramics, mostly. I own a little gallery in town—kind of a curated chaos situation. Usually I can lose hours in clay and glaze, but lately…" Her hand lifted, fingers pressing lightly to the back of her neck. "Lately, it's like the muse packed her bags and moved to Bali without leaving a note."

She looked at him again, this time with a more open kind of smile—half vulnerability, half mischief. "So I figured I'd chase her into the woods. And try to convince her to come back.” She teased. “Seems to be working."

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ's gaze softened as she spoke, and he found himself half-smiling before he even realized it. There was something unfiltered in her voice, something honest in the way she described her art and the silence of the woods. His fingers, unconsciously, twisted at the silver band on his ring finger - a nervous tick he only noticed when it caught the sunlight. He stopped, slid his hand into his pocket.

"The city's home for me too," he said after a moment, his voice calm, thoughtful. "Twenty-eighth floor of a building that's more glass than brick. It's… loud. Beautiful, but loud. I like the height though - makes the world feel smaller from up there. Or maybe I feel smaller, and that's the comfort of it."

He glanced ahead at the sunlit curve of the trail, then back at her. His boots shifted in the dirt. "I'm an architect," he added. "Not the glass-and-steel kind, usually. I work on restoring old buildings - historic structures that have been abandoned or stripped of their character. I try to bring them back to life, but with a modern twist. Kind of like giving ghosts a better wardrobe."

He chuckled, the sound quiet and a little self-conscious.

"It's fulfilling… but yeah, heavy. Every project's a puzzle, and some of them fight you the whole way. Lately, I've been stuck on one downtown. It was a music hall in the thirties—burned out in the sixties, forgotten since then. City wants to turn it into a venue-slash-community centre. I want to do it justice, but the plans keep hitting dead ends."

He paused, his thumb grazing the edge of his pocket. "Sometimes I think the building itself is trying to tell me what it wants to be. Like it's waiting for me to stop pushing and just listen."

His eyes flicked to her, more curious now. "Your gallery," he said, catching onto her earlier words, "that sounds like something special. I like that - 'curated chaos.'" His smile returned, crooked and genuine. "Do you show only your own work? Or do you feature others too?"

There was an ease to the way he asked, but his interest was sincere. He didn't just want to make conversation - he wanted to understand what she created, why she cared.

"And ceramics…" he added, letting the word roll around like it meant something heavier. "That's tactile. Grounded. You shape something with your hands and it stays shaped. I envy that a little. Buildings need teams, permits, investors. You—" He stopped himself, then tilted his head slightly. "You get to make something real from nothing. That's powerful."

He looked away for a moment, as if letting the thought breathe, before glancing back. "So what happens when the muse doesn't come back? You just keep walking the woods?"

A pause. A twitch of a smile. "Or do you make something out of the quiet too?"​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena listened in silence, her gaze never fully leaving AJ, though it drifted now and then—to the people around them, to the slight bend of a leaf curling in the breeze. She didn’t noticed his wedding band on his finger but then again she wasn’t necessarily trying to see if he had one. She wasn’t too focused on their conversation to notice. She liked the way he talked about buildings, like they were people with histories and stubborn personalities. Like they mattered.

"I like that," she said quietly. "Ghosts in better wardrobes. That's exactly it, isn't it? You're not just rebuilding—you're remembering. Giving something forgotten a second chance to speak."

She shifted slightly, the toe of her boot nudging a pebble on the path. "I get that weight. When the work means something, it never really is that simple."

A smile flickered at the edge of her mouth, then settled there. "My gallery shows other artists too. I enjoy showcasing other talents. I also like the conversations that happen between pieces. it’s a beautiful thing really.”
She looked at him then, more directly. "My own work's still the core, though. Ceramics, mostly. Some paintings and charcoal. All of it authentically me. I try not to edit myself much but lately I just haven’t been…feeling myself.”

A hint of sadness could be heard in the last few words but she didn’t let the feeling show once. There was a pause, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Just thoughtful.

"As for the quiet…yeah, at some point it will become the work. If I sit and listen I am able to remind myself that I don't always have to force something into being for it to matter." Before AJ had a proper chance to respond one of the event leaders announced that the break was over and the hike will continue.

“Looks like we're starting back up again," she said, her voice light, but laced with something more—an undercurrent of invitation that felt less like small talk and more like a thread she was offering him to hold onto. Without waiting for a response, she stepped forward, her boots crunching against the gravel path, but only for a few strides. Then she stopped, turning just enough to catch him in her periphery.

"Come on," she said, her tone warm and easy, but her eyes searched his face for something—agreement, curiosity, maybe even hope. Her hand lifted in a subtle beckon, fingers curling slightly, like she was opening a door and daring him to walk through it.

There was a quiet vulnerability in the gesture, even if she masked it behind a relaxed smile. She didn't push, didn't pressure—but deep down, she wanted him to follow. Not just along the trail, but into the rhythm of the conversation they'd begun—one that felt less like idle chatter and more like two lives cautiously, curiously, beginning to intertwine.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ hesitated for only a heartbeat before stepping forward. That small gesture - the curl of her fingers, the quiet invitation - shouldn't have affected him the way it did. But it did. It tugged something deep inside, something he hadn't felt in a long time. Something warm. Curious. Alive. He fell into step beside her, the trail narrowing beneath a canopy of dancing leaves. The hush between them wasn't awkward. It was the kind that made space for thoughts he wasn't ready to voice. Or admit.

"You said you haven't been feeling yourself lately," he said eventually, voice low. "That hits close to home."

His hands slipped into his jacket pockets. One thumb began to fidget against the edge of his wedding ring. He didn't even realize he was doing it until the metal pressed too sharply into his skin. He forced his hand still, then tucked it deeper.

"It's easy to lose yourself when what you create is always… visible," he went on, staring ahead. "Criticized. Owned by someone else the second it leaves your hands. Even with buildings - they start as mine, but end up belonging to clients, committees, timelines. Deadlines. They hollow you out a little if you're not careful."

He glanced at her, then quickly looked away. What am I doing? The question landed like a stone in his chest. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was married. Even if things had gone cold with Serena - frigid, really - even if the silence between them now was filled with more disdain than words, she was still his wife. He wore the ring. He shared the home. The history.

And yet… here he was. Wanting to be near someone else. Wanting to keep walking beside her. Wanting the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about clay, or the way her laughter lingered in the trees long after it faded from her lips. He hated how natural it felt. His hand brushed against the ring again. Guilt bloomed sharp and sudden in his stomach, but it didn't stop him. That was the worst part. It didn't stop him.

"I'd like to see your gallery," he said finally, quieter than before - and not just from nerves. "I mean… really see it. The work you've made. The space. You said the pieces talk to each other - I want to hear what they're saying."

There was more in his voice than he meant to share. As they walked on, the sunlight spilling through the branches ahead felt both too warm and not warm enough. He wasn't sure what scared him more — that he was drifting toward someone new, or that he didn't want to pull himself back.​

 

[Kita-san]

When AJ stepped in beside her, Verena felt a quiet breath leave her chest — one she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Whether he was walking beside her out of curiosity, companionship, or something he hadn't yet named, she didn't know. But he was there.

And that, right now, was enough.

The trail narrowed ahead of them, winding beneath a canopy of swaying branches. Sunlight danced through the trees, painting golden flecks across the dirt path like scattered coins. Their footsteps crunched softly in rhythm, and the silence that settled between them wasn't the awkward kind that demanded to be filled — it was rich. Intentional. It gave Verena space to breathe, to think.

And to feel.

"Sounds like you and I might be struggling with the same problem," she said finally, breaking the quiet with a note of gentle honesty. "I know what that hollow feels like. Like you're giving pieces of yourself away, one project at a time, one compromise after another. Until one day you look up and realize there's nothing left to give that still feels like you."

This wasn't just about her art. It hadn't been for a long time. It was about James. It was about love turned routine. About trying so hard to hold something together that she'd forgotten what it felt like to be held.

A low-hanging branch jutted out in her path, thin and stubborn, reaching across like an arm daring her to turn back. Verena lifted it with one hand and ducked under gracefully, her shoulder brushing against AJ's as she passed. The contact was brief, accidental — and yet not. It grounded her, just enough to keep her from drifting too far inward.

"I used to think if I made enough—created enough—I could fix the cracks," she continued, her voice quieter now, more intimate. "Like the work would stitch me back together, hold me upright. But… that hasn't been the case."

She exhaled slowly, the sound heavy with the weight of things unsaid. Her eyes softened as a flicker of sorrow passed through them — not dramatic, but unmistakable. That tired ache of someone who's been trying too hard for too long. For someone who didn't seem to see her anymore.

And then — AJ's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts.

Simple. Sincere.

He wanted to see her gallery.

Verena turned to him, startled not by his words, but by the effect they had on her. Her heart gave a soft, unexpected kick — not romantic, not quite — but awake. She hadn't felt that spark of excitement in so long, she'd almost forgotten what it was.

"You would?" she echoed, and this time she met his gaze fully, letting the edges of her sadness fall away for just a breath.

"I'd like to show you the gallery," she said, her voice warming with emotion she didn't bother disguising. "Not just the walls and the lighting. The soul of it. The little rebellions in each piece. The conversations they're having when no one's watching."

She gave a soft, lopsided smile — the kind that tugged more to one side when she was being completely honest. "It's chaotic. But it's mine.”

As they walked, her steps lightened a little. She wasn't thinking about James now. Or the hollow. Or the ache. Just the idea of AJ — this quiet, complicated architect — standing in her gallery, surrounded by things she had shaped with her own hands. Listening to what the clay whispered when the room was still.

She turned to him again, mischief glinting now behind the softness in her eyes. "When we finish this hike, let's trade numbers," she said with a playful tilt of her brow. "That way you can actually see the place. I'll give you the full Verena Bristol Tour. Sculptures, chaos, caffeine — all the essentials."

The breeze picked up around them, stirring the leaves in a warm hush. Something had shifted — not loudly, but unmistakably. The path ahead was still winding, still uncertain.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to hide the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. The "Verena Bristol Tour." God, he wanted to say yes. Wanted to step into that world she was offering - one filled with clay-streaked floors and quiet rebellion in glaze and texture. He didn't even know exactly why, not yet. Only that he needed to be around something real. And she was that.

"I'd like that," he said simply, his voice roughened slightly by something he didn't dare name. "All of it. The chaos, the caffeine… the soul."

They continued walking, the rest of the group spread out along the narrowing trail. Someone up ahead cracked a joke; others responded with easy laughter. But AJ stayed close to Verena, tuned to her rhythm, matching her stride. It felt unspoken but understood - this ease between them. Uncomplicated, at least for the moment.

The canopy thinned gradually, sunlight pouring more freely through the trees as they neared the summit. The incline grew steeper, their breathing deeper. Leaves rustled in the breeze, and the scent of pine and warm soil drifted around them like incense. When they crested the final ridge, the view opened up - vast, sun-drenched, and golden. The valley below stretched wide, quilted in greens and browns. The group gathered in a loose semicircle, some pulling out phones for photos, others simply standing in quiet awe. AJ slowed, letting the moment settle inside him.

Verena turned to him, brow arched expectantly. Without hesitation, he pulled his phone from his pocket and handed it to her. "Let's make the exchange official," he said, keeping his tone casual. But inside, his heart was louder than it had been in weeks. They traded numbers. Her name lit up on his screen like something new - a possibility he hadn't been prepared for. He didn't say anything else. Just met her gaze for a second longer than he should have, then looked out over the valley again.
​

---

AJ returned home that evening, the weight of the day still humming through his limbs. He rode the elevator to the 28th floor, shoulders tight, pulse unsettled in a way he hadn't felt in years. When he stepped into the apartment, the space felt immediately colder. Serena was waiting for him. She stood in the kitchen, arms crossed over her silk blouse, her expression carved from ice. The light from the windows cast sharp lines across her face. Her phone lay on the counter beside a half-empty glass of wine.

"Well," she said, tone clipped. "Did the wilderness cure your sudden need for silence?"

AJ dropped his keys in the bowl by the door and didn't answer right away. He toed off his boots and met her gaze across the distance. He'd expected this. Part of him had been bracing for it since he stepped off the trail.

"I told you I was going," he said, keeping his voice even. "You didn't seem to care."

Serena's mouth twisted. "I didn't care because I assumed you were just brooding in some architect's wet dream of solitude. Not running off with strangers into the woods."

AJ blinked, stunned by the venom in her voice. "Jesus, Serena. It was a group hike."

"Was it?" she snapped. "Or was it just easier to disappear for a while than admit you haven't been present in this marriage for months?"

AJ felt something inside him snap — not loudly, not dramatically, but with the quiet finality of a thread giving way.

"Where were you last night?" he asked sharply, stepping further into the apartment. "Out until 2 a.m. Again. No message. No call."

Serena's eyes flashed, her jaw tightening. "Don't turn this around on me."

"I'm not turning it around," he said. "I'm asking a question."

She picked up her wine and downed the rest in a single, elegant motion. "I was at my mother's. Needed space."

"Funny," AJ muttered. "You only need space when I start asking real questions."

The air between them turned electric, the kind of charged silence that only follows years of quiet resentment.

"I can't do this tonight," Serena said, setting the glass down too hard. "I'm going to my parents' for a few days."

AJ stared at her. "So that's it? You're leaving."

"I'm taking space," she snapped. "Something you clearly already started doing without me."

He didn't respond. Just watched as she packed a small overnight bag with practiced ease, her heels clicking against the hardwood like punctuation marks on a sentence they both stopped trying to finish long ago. The door closed behind her with a quiet thud. AJ stood in the silence of their high-rise apartment - all windows, all empty light - and realized how far gone they already were.

He looked down at his phone. One new message.

Verena: Glad you came along today. Let me know when you're ready for the tour.

He didn't reply. Not yet. Instead, he sat down at the edge of the bed, thumb absently grazing the edge of his wedding ring. The guilt returned, low and heavy. But it didn't drown out the other feeling — the one that scared him more than anger or loss.

Hope.​

 

[Kita-san]

The hike unfolded like a dream—so effortlessly, so naturally, Verena hardly noticed the time slipping away. The gravel crunching beneath her boots, the scent of pine and sun-warmed earth, even the occasional birdsong—all of it faded into the background as she lost herself in conversation with AJ. It was as if the rest of the world had momentarily disappeared, leaving just the two of them suspended in some hidden pocket of time.

What startled her most wasn't how easily the words flowed—but how alive she felt. AJ had asked about her art. Not just in passing, but with real curiosity, as if what she created actually mattered. She couldn't remember the last time a man had looked at her like that—with interest, with respect. Certainly not James. Her fiancé had long since stopped asking about her passions, her work, her day—her. And somewhere deep inside, that realization twisted like a knife.

As the hike came to a reluctant end, the warm laughter and lingering smiles gave way to polite goodbyes. Verena thanked the event hosts, offered AJ a soft smile, and turned to walk away. Yet her steps were slow, hesitant. She wasn't ready to let go of the feeling. She wasn't ready to return to her reality. Every fiber of her wanted to invite him for coffee, to stretch the moment just a little longer. What am I doing? she thought, pausing beside her car, gripping the door handle as if it could anchor her. This isn't me… I'm engaged.

She hadn't worn her ring. She'd left it in the little porcelain dish by the bathroom sink, right after James had purposely ignored her that morning. Her excuse? She didn't want to get it scratched during the hike. The truth? She didn't want to be reminded. A cold ache settled into her chest as she glanced at her empty finger. That old sadness crept in again—quiet, but relentless. She exhaled, started the engine, and drove home.

Before stepping inside, she sent AJ a simple text since he was still on her mind. The moment she crossed the threshold, she heard movement in the kitchen. "Hello?" she called out, unsure what version of James she would encounter. He stood by the counter in workout shorts and a tight Nike top, sculpted and cold. "Where have you been this entire time?" he asked without turning, his voice flat as he poured protein powder into the blender.
She blinked, caught off guard. "I texted you. I went on a hike—a community thing. It's held on weekends sometimes."

James gave a nonchalant shrug, then: "You could've invited me. But I guess I'm not part of your weekend plans anymore." His words hit like a slap. Subtle, dismissive, laced with quiet accusation. What is happening right now? "You were asleep," she said, her voice gentle, as if treading over broken glass. "I was trying to be considerate. You've said you like to sleep in on weekends…"

He turned to face her then, eyes narrowed, face unreadable. "You know, Verena, I do a lot for you. For us. That art gallery? You wouldn't have it without me. But you keep acting like you're single." Her breath caught. "That's not true," she said, anger blooming beneath her ribs. "You're the one acting single. When's the last time we went on a date? When did you last ask how I was, or talk to me without checking your phone?"

He didn't flinch. "Where were you last night?"
Her heart thudded. "I was at my studio," she snapped. "You canceled our dinner plans. Again. I didn't feel like coming home to a ghost. And were you even here?""I was at the office," he replied with a shrug, already turning on the blender, drowning out her rising fury.

She stared at him—this man she once adored—now so cold, so distant. "Hey! We're having a conversation here!"

"No. You're having a conversation. I'm done." His voice was hard, final. "I'm going to the gym. Figure out dinner. I'll be out with coworkers."

He poured the drink, grabbed his gym bag, and was out the door before she could even breathe. The silence left behind was louder than any fight they'd ever had. Verena stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen, chest tight, eyes burning. What the hell just happened?

Their fights never ended. They just… stopped. Nothing was ever resolved, nothing ever healed—just a series of emotional bruises left to fester. And yet, despite everything, she still clung to the memory of what they used to be.

Defeated, Verena made her way to the bedroom, her limbs heavy with exhaustion that wasn't just physical. The hot shower scalded her skin but failed to wash away the ache. Maybe I should stay at the studio for a few days… she thought bitterly, wiping steam from the mirror. Even now, part of her still wanted to fix it. Still believed there was something left worth saving. But another part—quiet and brave—was beginning to wonder if maybe, just maybe, she had already outgrown the life she'd built with James. And that scared her more than anything.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

The next morning, AJ sat at the kitchen table with his coffee growing cold between his hands. His apartment was still, the kind of silence that used to feel peaceful but now scraped against his nerves. He hadn't slept much. The fight with Serena had left a bitter taste in his mouth, one he couldn't shake no matter how many times he ran through the argument in his head.

Her parting words echoed like a siren: "You've already started taking space without me."

He rubbed at his temple, watching the early sun filter through the blinds, casting long stripes across the hardwood floor. He didn't like the way her words lingered. Because they weren't entirely wrong. He'd walked beside Verena yesterday, matching her stride, listening intently to her every word like they were fragments of something rare. And he had wanted to know more. Not out of flirtation, not explicitly. But out of hunger - for connection, for meaning, for something that wasn't just spreadsheets and contracts and a wife who looked right through him.

Still, the guilt coiled deep in his stomach. He was married. To a woman who had once made him feel everything Verena had sparked in him yesterday. And yet here he was, replaying the sound of Verena's laughter, the way her voice dipped when she spoke of her art, the press of her shoulder as she passed under the low branch.

AJ sighed and pulled out his phone. The screen blinked on.

Verena: Glad you came along today. Let me know when you're ready for the tour.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard, then retreated. He wasn't ready to answer. Not yet.

He showered and dressed slowly. Despite it being a Sunday, he drove out to one of his smaller project sites to check on progress. But even as he walked the half-finished hallways, inspecting beams and wiring and the precise cut of crown mouldings, his thoughts drifted. He imagined what Verena's gallery might look like. Not the polished version she presented to the world, but the backstage chaos - shelves of half-formed sculptures, smudges of charcoal on the walls, notes scrawled in the margins of sketchbooks. A world shaped by her hands.

He wanted to see it. No, he wanted to see her in it. That scared the hell out of him.

By late afternoon, he pulled into his building's garage, reluctant to head upstairs. The apartment still felt like enemy territory after last night. He wasn't wrong for questioning Serena's absences. But he wasn't innocent either. Not with thoughts like these running wild in his mind. He moved upstairs and sat on the edge of the couch, head in his hands. Their marriage had been unravelling for a long time, and last night hadn't been a spark - it had been the inevitable fire.

What would he say to Verena if he saw her again? That he wasn't looking for something? That he wasn't ready for anything? That he couldn't stop thinking about the way she said chaos like it was a gift? He pulled out his phone again. This time, he typed slowly, carefully.

AJ: Hey. I'd still like to see your gallery. If that tour offer still stands.

He stared at the message for a full minute before hitting send. No expectations. No assumptions. Just a thread, quietly extended. He leaned back, exhaling. Whatever came next, he wasn't sure. But as he looked around his half-empty apartment, AJ realized something: the version of himself that had been silently suffocating in his marriage wasn't the version he wanted to carry forward. And maybe, just maybe, Verena's world wasn't just a place to escape to - it was a place to begin again.​

 

[Kita-san]

James had promised he wouldn't be home that evening. Another vague excuse wrapped in nonchalance, another night Verena would spend alone in their apartment. Maybe he'd taken clothes to change into. That would explain why he hadn't come back after his workout. Still, a small, stubborn part of her hoped he would show up, walk through the door, say her name like it still meant something.

But he didn't.

With a soft, defeated sigh, Verena accepted the fact she'd be dining alone. Again. The thought of cooking used to bring her a sense of calm — the gentle hiss of garlic in a pan, the warmth of something homemade — but tonight, the sadness curled heavy in her chest, anchoring her limbs with apathy. The kitchen light felt too bright, too false, for the emptiness she carried.

"Takeout it is," she mumbled, voice barely louder than the quiet hum of the fridge. Her fingers aimlessly scrolled through food apps, the glow of her screen casting pale light across her tired face. She settled on lobster ravioli. It sounded indulgent — something that might fill the hollow space, if only for a while. The rest of the evening passed in a haze of television noise and the comforting weight of pasta and cream sauce. When sleep started tugging at her consciousness, she turned off the TV, the silence once again settling around her like a too-tight sweater. Slipping into the bed she shared with James felt wrong. The sheets were cold on his side. She curled up, wrapping herself in the comforter, more for emotional armor than warmth.

And then — morning.

Verena stirred to find James beside her, sleeping soundly, his face calm, boyish in the morning light. She watched him, feeling the familiar pang of conflicted love and slow-burning resentment. God, he was beautiful. And utterly infuriating. This was the pattern: arguments that evaporated overnight, words that fell on deaf ears, wounds that never truly healed. And he always acted like nothing had happened. That's what killed her — not the silence, but the ease with which he carried it. They never resolved anything. Verena's feelings were potholes he swerved around, never stopped to fix.

She got out of bed, making no effort to be quiet.

"Heading out early today?" James's voice was gravelly with sleep, his eyes half-closed as he yawned. "Yeah," she said, not turning. "Clearing space at the gallery. I've got two new artists coming in." Her tone was flat, colorless — emotionally parched. "It'd be nice if you helped me clear out one of the rooms for them," she added, a final attempt, even if she already knew the answer.

"Can't. Meeting my parents today. Gotta talk about the family business." He rolled over, presenting her with his back — a wall she was used to running into.

"…Wait. Your parents are in town? Don't you think I should be a part of that? We could get lunch or something."

"They're leaving today. There's no time. Just go do what you planned." Another yawn. "I'm going back to sleep."

And just like that, the door closed again — not slammed, but gently shut in her face. Verena stood there, swallowed her fury like a bitter pill. Yelling wouldn't change anything. It never did. She left without another word.

At the gallery, one of the downstairs rooms waited, cluttered and quiet. She began to clear it out — boxes, old sculptures, dust-covered fragments of her own creativity that hadn't seen the light in months. It felt good to repurpose the space, to make room for something new. Two new artists would soon showcase their work here. Finally, this room would breathe again. She tried not to think about James. Tried.

But the questions circled endlessly. Was he punishing her? For what? Why had their love become a battlefield of miscommunication and dismissal?

Her eyes caught her bare ring finger. She hadn't worn her engagement ring again. Not out of spite, but because it no longer felt like a promise — just a reminder of everything that wasn't being said. Before she could spiral deeper, her phone vibrated. A message.

AJ.

A smile slipped onto her face before she could stop it. Her chest lifted with the rush of something she hadn't felt in weeks — anticipation, warmth… hope. She opened the message, and her hazel eyes lit up. "Perfect," she whispered, fingers hovering over her phone. But then she hesitated. Would it be too eager to reply right away? She decided to wait, to finish cleaning first. Let the moment breathe.

Hours passed. Dusk rolled in. With the gallery cleaned and quiet, she left with a milk tea in hand, savoring its sweetness as she drove home. But the condo was still empty.

No James. Again.

She sighed, a low sound of disappointment and exhaustion. Dinner with friends, she thought bitterly. Not with his parents. Of course not. The ache returned — sharp and familiar. But then she looked at her phone.

AJ.

This time, she didn't wait.

Verena: Hey, of course it does. Let me know when you're free?

And just like that, the silence began to crack.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ stared at Verena's reply, the glow from his phone soft against the dim corners of his apartment. Outside, the city was slipping into its evening rhythm - tail lights blinking red in slow procession, windows flickering with soft amber, the faint sounds of horns and distant laughter dissolving into dusk. He could hear it all through the cracked window beside him, but none of it quite reached him. He read her message again.

Verena: Hey, of course it does. Let me know when you're free?

It was simple. Uncomplicated. But something about it made his chest shift - like a room with stale air had just been opened. He felt the corners of his mouth pull into a smile before he could stop it. A real one. No irony. No restraint. He tapped a reply with his thumbs before his mind could catch up.

AJ: I'm free Thursday afternoon if that works. I could come by the gallery around three?

Sent. For a long moment, he just sat there, staring at the screen. Then he exhaled slowly and let the phone drop to the couch beside him. He leaned back and rubbed the back of his neck, pressing his fingers into the knots that had formed there from nights of poor sleep and too much thinking. Serena was gone now. No texts. No calls. No accusations. Not even the usual flare of anger she'd once wielded like a weapon. Just nothing. And while part of him had expected it - welcomed it, even - the quiet still rang louder than any fight they'd ever had.

He hadn't reached out either. He told himself it was about giving her space. Letting the dust settle. But the truth was heavier, quieter. It wasn't space he was offering. It was surrender. A quiet acknowledgment that they'd both already let go, even if no one had said it aloud. What caught him off guard wasn't the silence. It was how much he was looking forward to Thursday.
​

---

Thursday, 2:52 PM

AJ eased the car down a familiar side street, his eyes catching on the ivy-choked brick, the worn archway above the old door, and the small brass placard beside it that read Mason Gallery. A small, unexpected rush moved through him - nostalgia, clear and sudden.

There it was. The first project. Back when everything still felt like a beginning.

He pulled into a spot across the street and cut the engine. For a few seconds, he stayed inside, hands resting on the wheel, as memories surged without warning. He had been twenty-six when he first stepped foot in that building. Newly hired at a boutique architecture firm with a reputation for merging preservation with modern design. His first assignment: shadow a senior architect on a modest historic restoration - an old textile merchant's showroom being converted into a contemporary gallery.

AJ could still remember the first time he'd run his fingers along the cracked baseboards, traced the arch of the upper windows, felt the grain of the original wood under years of paint. There had been something sacred about it. The building felt alive, like it was holding its breath, waiting to be seen again. He'd worked late on that project. Volunteered for the dirty jobs. Took photos of the light coming through the southern window every morning, just to study how it shifted. That building taught him more than blueprints ever could.

Before the firm swallowed his life.
Before Serena.
Before everything got... complicated.

Now he was here again. But for an entirely different reason.

Not for work.
Not for approval.
Not for ambition.

For her.

His fingers hovered near the door handle. He could tell her. About the history. About the young version of himself who used to eat lunch on the back stoop during breaks, covered in dust and dreaming about the kind of life he wanted to build.

But he didn't. Not yet. Some things, he felt, were better held close a little longer - kept like seeds not quite ready to plant. He stepped out of the car and crossed the street.
​

---

The moment he stepped inside, the scent hit him - familiar and oddly comforting. Clay. Varnish. A hint of lavender. He paused near the threshold, heart kicking once against his ribs. The gallery hadn't changed much. The wood floors were still scuffed but gleaming. The beams - he'd fought to keep those exposed - still stretched across the ceiling like the spine of something strong and enduring. Light filtered in just like it used to, casting gentle shadows that moved as if they had their own quiet choreography. He ran a hand along the edge of the nearest wall, where he'd once stood with a clipboard, arguing about whether the trim was salvageable. His thumb grazed the texture of it, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

It was strange. Coming back to something so intimately familiar, but through someone else's world. Footsteps echoed softly down the hall. He turned toward the sound - and there she was.

Verena.

Walking toward him in soft jeans and a paint-streaked blouse, her hair pulled back loosely, a smudge of charcoal near one temple like she'd forgotten it was there. She looked... alive. In her element. As if this space wasn't just her workplace, but an extension of her. And in that moment, AJ wasn't thinking about Serena. Or the silence in his apartment. Or the past versions of himself who once haunted these walls.

He was thinking about now.

And how strange - and maybe even beautiful - it was that the first place he ever worked in this city... was where something new might just begin.​

 

[Kita-san]

The ping of an incoming message made Verena's heart skip. She grabbed her phone, eyes scanning the screen with eager anticipation. It was AJ—he had replied almost instantly. His message was casual but confident, suggesting a time and day that, to Verena's surprise, fit perfectly into her schedule. She smiled to herself, a quiet thrill fluttering in her chest. Without hesitating, she texted back to confirm, attaching the address of her art gallery. As she hit send, she almost felt as if she doing something she wasn’t supposed to. Did she feel guilty? For what? Verena shook that guilty feeling away.

The days leading up to Thursday blurred into a routine fog. Verena and James moved through the house like distant satellites, orbiting the same space without ever truly colliding. They exchanged only the necessary words—and even those were rare. James only spoke when he wanted something. If Verena tried to reach out first, her efforts were met with silence, as though she were invisible. Despite it all, she couldn't bring herself to treat him with the same cold detachment. She still had warmth to give, even if it often went unreciprocated.

By 9 AM, Verena was already at the gallery, the city still rubbing the sleep from its eyes. A warm paper cup of coffee was cradled in one hand, and in the other, a box of perfectly frosted gourmet cupcakes. She unlocked the door and stepped inside, greeted by the familiar scent of varnish, canvas, with a hint of lavender and potential.

The gallery space came alive under her touch. She flipped on every light, letting the spotlights bounce off the walls and the artwork hanging on them. The soft hum of ambient music filled the air. She swept the floors with the ease of ritual, then arranged the cupcakes by the entrance like a sweet little welcome. Sure, they were for the guests—but also, they were for her. A small indulgence, a reason to smile.

Buzzing with energy, Verena headed to the back room which was a second studio for her. Here is where some of the real magic happens. She decided to work on a few commissioned pieces that had been waiting patiently for her attention. Like most projects, the clients had provided a vague concept and a few preferred colors or themes, but the rest was hers to mold. She loved that freedom—the creative trust people placed in her hands.

She let herself get lost in the process. Her fingers moved instinctively, smudging charcoal and layering paint, sketching out emotions that didn't yet have names. The hours melted away as the studio filled with the gentle rustle of paper and the occasional clink of her tools. It had been too long since she felt this… alive. Completely immersed. It was the kind of bliss that only came from doing what you were born to do.

The quiet click of the front door startled her out of her reverie.

"Hm?" she murmured, glancing toward the sound. Her eyes darted to her phone. 3:00 PM. Right on time.

Quickly, she wiped her hands on a towel, trying to remove the smears of charcoal and flecks of dried paint from her skin. Her clothes had taken a hit too, but that was part of the uniform—a black blouse, dark blue jeans, and low black heels. Casual, comfortable, yet stylish in that effortless artist way.

As she stepped into the gallery's main room, rounding the corner, her gaze locked on her new potential friend.

"You made it," she said, her voice lifting with genuine happiness. A smile played on her lips, soft and inviting. As she approached, she hesitated ever so slightly. Should I hug him? Or is that too much? The moment stretched just long enough for her to second-guess it. No, better to keep it simple.

"Thank you for coming," she said instead, extending her hand. "I'm really glad you came."

AJ took her hand, and for a brief second, their eyes met—something unspoken flickering between them. To ease the spark of nerves rising in her chest, Verena gestured toward a nearby table. "Can I get you something to drink while you look around? There's water, wine, or tea," she offered, her tone light and playful. "No pressure, but I did convince myself that this place would look better with cupcakes, so… take one.” She offered with a soft chuckle.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ shook Verena's hand with a relaxed grip, his thumb brushing lightly against hers before letting go. Her voice, warm and smooth, had wrapped around him the moment he stepped inside, but it was the gallery that caught him first - just like it had all those years ago.

He took a slow breath, the faint scent of varnish, paper, and lavender rushing back with startling clarity. It hadn't changed. Not really. The bones of the building still whispered to him, each beam and windowpane a relic of the younger version of himself that once worked these walls with quiet reverence.

He didn't say any of that. Instead, AJ smiled, letting his gaze drift around the room as if seeing it for the first time. "Cupcakes and art? That's dangerously charming," he said, moving toward the small table she'd gestured to. The cupcakes were perfectly arranged - bright swirls of frosting, delicate little designs, almost too pretty to eat. He picked one up, examining it like a collector might inspect a rare find.

"I'll take you up on that," he added, peeling back the wrapper with care. "Might need a cup of tea to go with it, though. Something about eating a cupcake without a hot drink feels like I'm breaking a rule."

He took a bite - light, sweet, just enough lemon to surprise - and nodded in quiet approval. "Okay, yeah. That was the right call."

Then, as Verena moved behind him, offering quiet suggestions about what was on display, AJ let his eyes roam the space. It was different now - brighter, fuller - but he could still see the echoes of what it once was. The walls, once stripped down and raw, were now clean and curated. Art of all forms - portraits, sculpture, abstract panels—lined the room with intention.

She'd made this place breathe.

"You've done something special here," he said, turning to glance at her. "I mean that. It's not just a gallery - it feels like someone lives in it. Not literally," he added with a faint smirk, "unless you've got a secret cot in the back."

His comment earned a flicker of something across her expression - maybe amusement, maybe something deeper - but AJ didn't press. He wandered slowly, letting the silence settle comfortably between them. His eyes landed on a charcoal piece displayed near the centre wall. Abstract but emotional, its layers seemed to shift as he looked at it longer. AJ tilted his head slightly.

"This one's yours, isn't it?" he asked without turning. He didn't need confirmation. He could see her in it - the movement, the risk, the quiet conflict stitched into every bold stroke. "It's… raw," he said finally. "But not in a way that's trying too hard. It just is. Like it couldn't have turned out any other way." He looked back at her. "That's a gift, you know." He wasn't trying to flatter her. He meant it.

And something about saying it in this space, standing in the gallery that had unknowingly shaped the beginning of his career, made it feel like everything had somehow come full circle. Strange, how life could fold over on itself like that. How paths could cross in places you thought you'd left behind.

His gaze drifted toward the back room. The door was cracked just enough to hint at what lay beyond - brushes, canvases, the hum of unfinished work. AJ felt a tug of curiosity.

"This where the real magic happens?" he asked, nodding toward it. "Or are you one of those artists who keeps the chaos hidden?"

Before she could answer, he held up a hand, grinning. "No, wait - don't ruin it. Let me guess. You've got three cups of cold tea, a mess of charcoal smudges on everything, and one chair that's barely holding together but is somehow the most comfortable thing in the world."

He gave her a sideways glance. "Close?"​

 

[Kita-san]

When AJ decided to have a cupcake Verena couldn’t help but smile. She didn’t exactly expect him to have one but she was glad he did. He has a fun side. Besides who can say no to a cupcake. She thought. As he took his first bite, Verena turned, already moving toward the side table where she kept her tea setup. She always kept tea around. It was a quiet comfort, something grounding. The scent of jasmine, or the slightly grassy bitterness of plain green tea—it had a way of softening the edges of a hard day.

“You’re absolutely right. Cupcakes without tea are a crime against comfort. And I can't have a criminal in my gallery. Bad for business."

Once he had what he needed she began to slowly walk around the building with him.
Her eyes flicked to him—quietly amused as he took in the space with the reverence of someone revisiting a chapel built of memory and soft light. She pointed things out now and then, stories trickling from her like sunlight through leaves. There was pride in her voice when she spoke about her pieces, but not vanity. Just the quiet joy of someone who had made something from nothing and wanted to share it with someone who might actually see it.

When AJ made the joke about a cot, Verena gave a light laugh, but there was something thoughtful behind it. "A cot?" she echoed, then chuckled softly, her voice mellowing just a touch. "No, no. I don't necessarily stay the night here. I've thought about putting one in the back… but my real studio's elsewhere."
She hesitated a beat, her gaze flicking briefly toward that half-cracked door at the back of the gallery."I do have something of a room set up there, though. Let's just say… sometimes nights there are needed."

Her tone dimmed—just slightly—but it was enough. The undercurrent in her words hinted at something more: quiet storms, long nights, a relationship left unspoken. She didn't explain. But it was there, between the lines, as present as the art hanging around them.

When he paused at the charcoal piece, Verena instinctively held her breath. That one was raw. Not just visually, but in spirit. She'd drawn it one night when everything had felt like too much—too loud, too tight, too far gone—and that emotion had clawed its way out of her and onto the canvas when she finally gave in.

And then—"It just is."

Verena blinked, caught off guard by how precisely he saw it. Saw her, really. She didn't often get unnerved. After pausing for a few seconds she moved to stand beside him, arms folding gently across her chest as she stared at the piece with him. "I guess I gave up on trying to make it into something that I couldn't," she said after a long pause, voice quiet but sure. "This is what happens when I stop fighting and just… clear my head." There was no performative sadness in her tone. Just truth. Honest and unpolished, like the charcoal strokes behind the glass.

She turned on her heel, leading him toward another section of the gallery, but stopped when he mentioned the studio tucked away behind that old door. "Oh, you mean the Chamber of Beautiful Disaster?" she said with faux gravitas. His guess as to what was behind the door only caused her grin to widen. “So close," she said, shaking her head in amused surrender. "But yes, that's the one. Where the tea dies nobly, the furniture begs for retirement, and the floor is part charcoal, part paint, part clay—and most importantly—questionable decisions."

Her laugh bubbled up, warm and clear, echoing softly through the space like a familiar melody. It felt good—this moment. Real. Uncomplicated. Then she tilted her head toward the door and raised a brow. "Would you like to see?" she asked, voice lighter again. "I can't promise you won't end up with a smudge of cobalt on your sleeve or charcoal in your hair, but—" she leaned in, eyes glinting, "—you're welcome to risk it."

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ chuckled at her warning, already halfway intrigued. "Cobalt and charcoal? Sounds like the dress code for questionable choices," he said, lifting his tea in mock salute. "Lead the way."

He followed her through the narrow passage to the back room, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the aged hardwood beneath them. The gallery's back studio was a different kind of sacred - a space humming with chaos, colour, and intent. AJ paused at the threshold, the scent of paint and old wood thick in the air, mingling with the faint undercurrent of jasmine from his tea. He let the moment settle before stepping inside.

The room looked like it had grown itself out of instinct. Brushes were clustered in jars like wildflowers, tubes of paint stacked haphazardly on open shelving, canvases leaned in every corner as if whispering to one another. There was beauty in the mess - an organic kind of elegance born from function and fervour.

"Damn," he said, softly, more to himself than to her. "This is exactly what I hoped it would be."

He stepped carefully, not wanting to disturb the rhythm of the place. There was something vulnerable about seeing where someone else created - like being invited into a cathedral of their inner world. AJ glanced over at a large canvas by the far wall. Still wet. Still raw. He could see the brushstrokes in real time - intentions made visible.

"Don't let the architecture degree fool you," he murmured, running his hand just above the surface of another nearby canvas, careful not to touch. "I've always been jealous of people who can create like this. With their hands. I deal in lines and structure and zoning regulations. I mean, it's art in its own way, but…"

He looked back at her, a soft shrug lifting his shoulders.

"There's something about this mess, this realness, that makes it feel like life instead of design."

He let his eyes wander again, to the desk cluttered with palettes and journals, to a stool so paint-stained it looked more like an artifact than a seat. This wasn't just a studio - it was a story.

"Did you always know?" he asked, voice lower now. "That you were going to do this? Make things that… meant something?"

He moved toward the tall window near the back, the one partially cracked open to let in the city's heartbeat. He stood there for a second, letting the breeze brush past his collar. "I think I used to know," he said. "Back before all of it got so... heavy. Before it became about deadlines and client meetings and signing off on rooftop patio specs for people who'll never care what it took to design them."

He turned back toward her and smiled, just a little. He didn't mention Serena. Not now. Not in this room. Instead, he looked back toward the paint-splattered floor, where cobalt had bloomed across the hardwood like a quiet rebellion. He sipped his tea and let the silence speak for them both for a while. Eventually, they wandered back out to the main gallery, where afternoon light spilled through the tall windows, golden and warm. AJ moved slower now, more thoughtful, pausing before certain pieces with new appreciation. Not just for the art, but for the woman who made it.

He found himself stealing glances - at the tilt of her head as she watched him take in her work, at the way her fingers occasionally tapped against her thigh in idle rhythm. There was something effortless about her presence. She didn't perform, didn't press. She just was. And that, maybe more than anything, made AJ want to stay longer than he should. As they reached the end of the loop around the gallery, he finished the last of his tea and set the cup down gently beside the platter of cupcakes.

"Well," he said, running a hand through his hair, "you weren't kidding. No one walks out of that studio clean. I think I've got half a fingerprint of cobalt on my back pocket."

He smirked, then leaned against the side table, arms crossed casually. "Thanks for today, Verena. I needed… I don't even know. This. Just something that wasn't pretending. It's been a long time since I let myself slow down long enough to actually see things. Let alone feel them."

The words surprised him as much as they seemed to surprise her. But they were true. He looked around once more, then back at her. "I'm not saying I'm quitting my job and picking up a paintbrush," he added, "but if you ever need someone to build a second gallery - maybe one with secret trapdoors and ethically sourced mood lighting—I'm your guy."

There was a beat of shared quiet. Then his gaze dropped briefly to his hand as he reached for his phone. The light caught the band of gold on his left ring finger—subtle, but still there. A small glint, a sharp truth. And just like that, the light shifted.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena watched AJ as he crossed the threshold, her eyes softening at the way he took it all in—not just with interest, but with reverence. That mattered more than she expected. People were always curious about the place where the magic happened. They liked to assume what it looked like and always requested to see the room but Verena never showed it to anyone but for some reason she allowed AJ inside her very sensitive bubble. He seemed to understood it—or, at the very least, he respected it. And that made Verena feel… seen, in a way she hadn't in a long time.

She stayed near the doorway at first, letting him absorb the space without commentary. This room, more than the curated walls of the gallery, was hers. Honest. Messy. Unapologetically alive. It was where her hands remembered what her mind couldn't always explain. When he whispered, "This is exactly what I hoped it would be," something tugged gently behind her ribs.

Her eyes drifted over to the large, still-drying canvas he hovered near. It was unfinished, pulled from a restless night where she couldn't sleep and didn't want to. Creating felt easier than dreaming some nights. Less risky. She looked back to him when he mentioned his envy—his careful way of acknowledging that his world was measured in straight lines while hers spun in spirals.

"It is art," she said, sincerely. "Architecture. Design. Structure. You build spaces that hold people. You give shape to the things they don't even know they need. That's not so different from what I do—except maybe your medium doesn't stain as badly."

She stepped closer, crossing the room with ease, passing her stool (the one with the busted leg that she refused to fix) and the journals stacked unevenly beside it. "But I get it. There's something about making things with your hands—messy, imprecise, emotional things—that can't always be explained. It's like… it pulls something primal out of you." She paused beside him near the window. The breeze rustled a few sketch papers pinned to the wall, and the scent of paint and city air mixed into something strangely familiar.

"Did I always know?" she echoed, her voice going quiet. Thoughtful. "Not exactly. Hell, I thought I was going to be a nurse up until I graduated high school. But I always felt it. Even before I really had the skill. I just always loved to create. Even when I was just a kid sketching in the margins of notebooks instead of doing math homework." She smiled a little. "I think a lot of us used to know," she said. "Before we got taught to chase the practical. Before we convinced ourselves that 'should' mattered more than 'want.'" Her tone was steady, not judgmental. Just real. "But it's still in there. That knowing. It doesn't die. It just waits for us to come back."

There was a quiet between them—not empty, not awkward. Present. Like the room itself was listening. And then, without ceremony, they drifted back into the gallery. The air felt lighter now, or maybe he did. She noticed the way AJ moved slower, as if seeing the art with new eyes. Or maybe just seeing himself with new eyes. She caught the way he looked at her, too—quick glances when he thought she wasn't watching. She didn't call attention to it. She didn't need to.

Back near the cupcakes, he leaned against the table with that half-smile of his and made a comment about cobalt on his pocket. "I warned you," she said, eyes twinkling. "Cobalt has no sense of boundaries. Neither does magenta. They're troublemakers."

Then his voice softened again—earnest, unexpectedly open. "Thanks for today, Verena…"

She stilled, just for a moment, the full weight of his gratitude settling into her chest like a stone in a velvet pouch. Heavy, but gentle. His words weren't performative. They were real. And they landed exactly where she would feel them most. She stepped forward, not too close, but enough that he'd see the sincerity in her face when she spoke.

"I'm glad you came, AJ," she said. "Really. The gallery's always open to visitors… but not everyone spends the time to ask questions or understands what is being done here. So thank you for coming. This was more enjoyable than I expected.” She hesitated then, catching the flicker of light on his hand as he reached for his phone. The gold glinted like a quiet bell, soft but unmistakable. She saw it. Of course she did. And just like that, the moment changed.

Not ruined. Just… shifted.

Her smile didn't falter, but it folded in on itself slightly—became something more measured, more knowing. Not cold, a bit disappointed for some unknown reason but just… aware.

"Trapdoors and mood lighting, huh?" she said gently, letting the levity return just enough to cushion the space between them. "I'll keep that in mind. When I expand, I expect blueprints drawn in crayon." There it was again, her subtle yet silly charm. Verena couldn’t help but let herself joke around from time to time, she couldn’t let herself be so serious. She had enough of that at home.

Nice piece of gold on your finger," she said gently, her voice warm but edged with a new kind of awareness. There was no sarcasm in her words, no ice. Just softness, and something else tucked beneath it—genuine curiosity, tempered with care. Her smile lingered, subdued but sincere. "Congratulations." She let the words hang there for a moment, respectful in their simplicity. Then, after a breath, she tilted her head slightly, her tone still quiet, but with a note of inquiry that invited truth without demanding it.

"How long have you been married?”

It wasn't an accusation. It wasn't even discomfort. Verena wasn't someone who needed people to explain themselves—but she was someone who listened carefully to what wasn't being said. And up until now, AJ's silence on something so foundational had felt more like omission than oversight. She didn’t judge, it wasn’t like she was forthcoming about her own relationship with James. Never once did she bring up her engagement or partner. It wasn’t on purpose, or at least that’s what she thought.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

AJ's posture shifted. Not dramatically - just a small recalibration. The kind that happened when something inside tightened unexpectedly, a quiet pang under the ribs. He looked down at his hand, at the glinting band that had caught the light and, with it, caught her attention.

"Ah," he said softly, almost smiling. "Caught red-handed. Or gold-fingered, I guess."

He paused. Not out of guilt, but consideration. Verena's tone hadn't been sharp. There was no edge. Just awareness. An opening. He looked up again, meeting her gaze without flinching. "It's… complicated," he said, the words coming slower now, more deliberate. "We've been married seven years. Met in grad school. She was all spreadsheets and order, I was designing cafés with rooftops no one would ever approve." He huffed a quiet laugh. "We balanced each other, at first."

He reached for his tea again, even though it had cooled. It gave him something to do with his hands.

"I think we started off wanting the same things," he continued. "Build something meaningful. Be a team. And for a while, we were. But then life just… layered over us. Promotions, projects, late meetings, her travel for work, me pulling all-nighters to meet zoning deadlines. We stopped making time for the messy stuff. The in-between stuff."

He looked around the gallery again, at the textured canvases, the imperfect beauty of the room they'd just left. "We started curating each other, if that makes sense. Like we were afraid of the mess. So we just… kept things clean. Polite. Predictable."

His voice had dropped now, almost to a whisper. "Technically, yeah—still married. Legally. But I've been… ."

He caught himself, realizing how much he was saying. His expression shifted again—sheepish this time, his eyes apologetic.

"Sorry," he said, lifting a hand as if to physically push the words away. "That was probably more than you needed to know. Or asked to hear. I've just… been holding a lot of that in lately."

He stood there for a moment, the silence humming around them. Then, in a gentler voice, he added, "I think being in your space - it just made me feel like I could say it. Like maybe someone would actually hear me, and not just nod while thinking about their next meeting."

He glanced at her again, a little grateful, a little vulnerable. Then something in his expression shifted - playful, but not evasive.

He gave her a small, crooked smile. "So what about you, Verena? You strike me as the kind of person someone would be lucky to come home to. Let me guess - there's someone brilliant and broody waiting at home, probably sipping espresso and writing poetry on recycled paper while listening to vinyl records. Right?"

He said it lightly, but there was more behind the question. Not pressure. Just interest. A quiet hope that maybe she wasn't quite as unavailable as she seemed—because whatever was between them, whatever this had been today, it had stirred something in him that hadn't moved in a very long time. Not attraction alone. Not infatuation. Something simpler. More real.

And for once, he wanted to know—not just guess—what someone else had tucked behind the walls they so carefully built.​

 

[Kita-san]

Verena listened without interrupting, her expression shifting with each word he offered—subtle changes in her eyes, the set of her mouth, the soft tilt of her head. She stood steady, her arms relaxed at her sides, but there was a stillness to her now—a kind of presence that felt more like witnessing than simply hearing.

When he finished, when his voice quieted and that sheepish, almost self-conscious apology slipped through, she didn't rush in to reassure him. She let the silence breathe, let the weight of what he'd said have its place in the room. Because it deserved to. Because he deserved to not be silenced by hurried kindness or platitudes. And then, gently, she stepped closer—not invading his space, but grounding herself a little nearer to him. A quiet offering of proximity, of shared understanding.

"Don't apologize," she said, her voice soft, but certain. "That wasn't too much. That was honest. And honesty is a rare kind of bravery most people don't know how to carry—especially when it's about love." Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, and there was no judgment in it—only empathy. Because she did hear him. And not just with her ears. "I'm sorry you've been holding that in," she continued. "But I'm glad you said it. Really. I think sometimes the mess just needs a place to land."

She gave him a small, wistful smile, something quiet blooming behind it. Then, in response to his gentle, teasing pivot—his imaginary poet on recycled paper, his playful hope tucked carefully beneath the lightness—Verena let herself laugh softly, the sound low and warm. "Brilliant and broody, huh?" she echoed, amusement flickering in her eyes.
She leaned against the table now, mirroring his casual posture, but not the evasion. There was a trace of openness in her—guarded, yes, but real.

"Yeah…" she said, her voice trailing off as her gaze drifted toward the gallery windows, where the fading afternoon light spilled across the floor in soft, uneven gold. "Well. I'm engaged." The words came out with more weight than she expected. Not heavy with pride or anticipation—just… weight. A truth she hadn't said out loud in a while, not like this. Not in a room that felt safe enough to hold the echo of it. Her lips twitched into something like a smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "He's definitely not writing poetry," she added, her tone dry, tinged with irony. "Or drinking an espresso.”

She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice dropped into something quieter. Something honest. "He's not… at home waiting for me." The confession hung between them, soft as breath and sharp as glass. Verena looked down, her hands absently brushing the fabric of her blouse, grounding herself. Then she glanced back at AJ, and in that glance was something deeper than explanation—something raw and unfinished.

"I've been engaged for a few years now," she said finally, forcing herself to look him in the eyes. "No wedding date. No dress. No plans. Just the ring." She gave a short, hollow laugh, more self-aware than self-deprecating. "I guess that's the part that matters, right? The symbol. Anyway…We started off so full of fire. Full of plans. Like the world couldn't touch us. And for a while, that was true. He believed in me—loved me, I think, in the only way he knew how."

A breath.

"But somewhere along the way… it stopped being about us. He's strong, honestly. Ambitious. Relentless. He's the kind of man who can build a future from nothing but a deadline and a spreadsheet. But—" She stopped herself, lips parting as if she was still trying to find the words. When they came, they came slower, more deliberate. "He can't see past his own perspective. It's his way, his rhythm, his version of right. And I think I started shrinking myself to keep the peace. To avoid being another 'problem' he needed to solve." Her voice faltered then—not from sadness, but from something that felt like quiet exhaustion. And still, she stood tall.

"I think we're lost," she admitted. "I think we've been lost for a long time. But he doesn't see it. Or… maybe he does, and he just refuses to name it." She closed her eyes for a second, gathering herself—not out of shame, but because saying it out loud made it real in a way that thinking it in the dark never quite could. Boy was it frustrating. When she opened her eyes again, she exhaled sharply, as if trying to push the weight of it all out of her chest.

"Anyway," she said, attempting a lightness that didn't quite land. "It's not important. That's life, right? You start with a spark and end up with routine. With roles. With silence.”
But even as she said it, Verena knew it was important. Because deep down, she couldn't lie to herself anymore. She'd just spent the afternoon with a stranger who, without trying, had seen her more clearly—listened to her more fully—than the man she was supposed to marry. And that was the truth she couldn't ignore.

Because here AJ stood, offering nothing but presence and curiosity, and somehow, it felt more like connection than anything she'd known in years. Her eyes met his again, softer now. Tired. Unapologetically human. "I don't even know why I'm telling you all this," she said, her voice laced with a light tone. “Ok, enough of this. It’s so depressing.” The nervous chuckle returned. “So um…are you heading home after this or do you still have work to do?” She threw out a question, just wanting to change the subject since she wasn’t entirely sure that AJ wanted to talk about their relationships.