Chapter 75: Chapter 75
Celeste smiled faintly, watching Nana’s eyelids flutter again. Her breathing had slowed, like her body was getting tired of pretending it could keep up.
"I wish I could’ve met you sooner," Celeste whispered.
Nana didn’t open her eyes this time, but she smiled. "You met me when you were meant to."
"I don’t know how to do this," Celeste said, barely breathing the words. "Letting go again."
"You don’t have to let go," Nana murmured. "You just have to carry me forward. In how you love yourself, and him. In how you live your life from now on."
Celeste leaned in, forehead brushing Nana’s frail hand. "I will."
A soft breath. Then silence.
Then Nana said, almost too softly to hear, "I’m not afraid."
Celeste’s throat closed. "I am."
Nana’s hand gave one last squeeze. "That means it mattered."
Her eyes fluttered closed again, this time longer. Her chest rising and falling like waves slowing before the tide retreats for good.
And Celeste just sat there, fingers locked with hers, heart breaking with every second that ticked louder than the monitors.
She didn’t know how long she sat there.
......
Amara drew in a deep breath.
She wasn’t even sure why she came out tonight. The surrounding was dimly lit, golden hues reflected off the polished mahogany counter, and the low hum of jazz spilled like velvet into the air. It was the kind of place people came to disappear or be found. Sometimes, both.
She sighed and made her way to the bar, her heels clicking gently against the hardwood floor. Her fitted dark green dress hugged her body without asking for attention. The neckline of the dress was teasing, but not loud.
It happened fast.
She turned just a second too late.
A man had been walking past, and her elbow caught the edge of his drink. The glass tilted and tipped, amber liquid cascading down his black shirt.
"Oh my God—" she gasped, startled. Her eyes were wide with horror as the ice clinked to the floor.
The man stilled.
His brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t look angry. His gaze swept down his now-wet shirt, then slowly back up to her face.
"I am so, so sorry," she said quickly, fumbling for a napkin from the counter and stepping closer, eyes filled with mortified sincerity. "I didn’t see you there— I— I swear I’ll get you another one—"
The stranger held up a hand, stopping her mid-rush. His voice was warm. Deep, and controlled.
"Don’t worry about the drink." His eyes stayed on hers, a shade of steel blue that somehow softened with every passing second. "I’d rather have your time instead."
Amara blinked.
For a moment, she thought she’d misheard. But he wasn’t smirking or trying to flirt in that overly rehearsed way men usually did. He said it as if it was the most natural, gentle suggestion in the world.
"I mean... if you’re not in a rush," he added, running a hand through slightly tousled dark brown hair. "I just... I could use some company tonight."
She hesitated. Looked him over once.
His shirt was damp, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even look embarrassed. In fact, the quiet calm on his face struck her more than anything else. There was something heavy behind his expression, and behind his eyes. Something that had nothing to do with the spilled drink.
Amara slid onto the stool beside him. "You sure you don’t want me to buy you a drink?"
"I’m sure." His mouth curved slightly at the corners. "I don’t need another one. I just needed someone to talk to." He said wistfully.
She tilted her head, resting her elbows on the counter, intrigued now. "Does that line always work?"
He chuckled. "I wouldn’t know. You’re the first person I’ve said it to."
The bartender approached, and she ordered herself a drink. He didn’t.
They sat in silence for a moment, nothing awkward but lingering. He seemed to be weighing his thoughts before speaking again.
"My name’s Elias."
"Amara," she offered back.
He gave a small nod. "You don’t look like someone who goes out much."
Amara raised an eyebrow, playful. "What gave it away?"
He grinned faintly. "You keep looking around like you’re making sure you’re still invisible."
That made her laugh softly. "That obvious, huh?" she shrugged. "I loved parties back in school. Life is just beginning to look a bit too serious, and my deadline to finish my books is beginning to strangle me."
"Hmm, a writer." Elias leaned back slightly in his seat. "But I get it. Nights like these... it’s easier to be somewhere else. Somewhere with noise. Lights. So you don’t have to be in your own head."
Amara glanced at him then. He hadn’t even touched his glass.
"Is that what you’re doing?" she asked gently. "Trying to escape your own head?"
Elias looked down at his hands, fingers loosely intertwined.
"I just came from a memorial," he said quietly. "An old friend of mine. We hadn’t spoken in years, but... she died suddenly. There was no warning. Not even little time to fix things."
The air shifted. His voice was steady, but something behind it wavered.
Amara stayed silent. She stared at him, feeling goosebumps all over her arm.
"I spent most of the service wondering if I even had a right to be there. We hadn’t spoken since she moved away. We had a falling out—stupid, now that I think about it."
Elias swallowed. His hands curled tighter together.
"She was the kind of guy who believed in people. Even when they didn’t believe in themselves. And I... I let her down. I pushed her away. Because that’s what I do. She was so different from me, happy and free. Every time someone gets close, I pull back. I disappear."
He exhaled long. His eyes met hers. "Tonight, I just wanted someone to listen. Just someone to sit across from me and not pretend like everything’s okay when it’s not."
Amara felt her chest tighten. There was something achingly honest in the way he spoke.
She also felt that way deep in her chest but she’d never cross that line of telling someone her hurt or pain. Well, this was a stranger, and she’d never see him again after today so, the risk might be worth it.
She reached for her glass and took a small sip before speaking.
"Well... then I guess you got lucky spilling that drink."
Elias let out a small laugh. It wasn’t forced nor loud.
"Maybe I did," he murmured.