Madrid breathed differently at night.
It wasn't quiet — not really. The streets still hummed with life: car horns, laughter from rooftop
bars, the distant hum of a Vespa slipping through narrow alleys. But there was a softness to it.
Like the city exhaled once the crowds thinned and the lights got warm.
Lena walked slower than usual.
The wind played with the hem of her dress, brushing it against her legs like fingertips. She pulled
her jacket tighter, not from cold — just habit. A silence hung between her and the night, one she
hadn't asked for but never really fought.
She had just left Camila's birthday dinner. A long table, clinking glasses, too many stories, too
many near-secrets, and one too many reminders that everyone was moving somewhere —
careers, chaos, something. And Lena?
She was standing still.
Home wasn't far. Five blocks, maybe six. The kind of distance you could pretend was a walk and
not an escape. She passed the same bakery with the same display of half-lit croissants. The same
alley where the same broken streetlight flickered like a bad memory.
When she opened the door to the apartment, Mason wasn't on the couch."Hey," he called from the bedroom. His voice was steady. Predictable. Worn.
"Hey," she said back, slipping her shoes off without looking up.
She walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, stared at it like it owed her something.
Nothing. Not even wine.
In their bedroom, Mason was already under the blanket, laptop balanced on his chest, glow
washing over his face. A spreadsheet. Or email. Or something that didn't involve her.
"Fun night?" he asked, not looking away.
"Yeah. Loud."
He nodded. She sat on the edge of the bed, rubbed the back of her neck.
"You eat anything?" she asked.
"Leftovers. Wasn't really hungry."
Of course not. That was Mason in one sentence.She lay beside him, both of them staring at different screens. She wasn't mad. Not even
disappointed. Just… there. Like furniture. Familiar and fading.
Later, when he turned off the light and rolled away to sleep, Lena stayed awake, glowing screen
lighting her face.
She opened the blank document again.
The one she'd stared at for nights — wanting to write, but too afraid to say the truth out loud.
Tonight was different.
She wrote one sentence. Then another.
And when she typed his name — Julian — her chest tightened like she'd been caught doing
something wrong.
Because she had.
She had never stopped thinking about him.
Not once.