The room had gone dark, but sleep wouldn't come. I lay on my back, eyes open, heart still tangled in the quiet after Harper said she had a boyfriend—Loe. His name felt like a wall I didn't see coming. Minutes passed, maybe more. Then I heard Harper shift, her voice soft in the dark.
"You awake?" she asked.
I turned toward her. "Yeah," I whispered. "I can't sleep."
She let out a breath, one that sounded like relief. "Me neither."
Harper exhaled, the sound almost lost in the hum of the air conditioner. "I'm sorry this night got so complicated," she said softly, her voice muffled by the pillow. "I hate barreling into your space like this."
I smiled, though she couldn't see it. "It's okay. It's… kind of nice."
We settled into a comfortable silence. Then Harper shifted and turned to face me, blinking in the dim light.
"Tell me something about you I don't know."
My heart thudded. I hesitated, then offered, "I used to read tarot cards." It felt absurd, superficial, but the words tumbled out. "In college. I knew it was silly, but it was the only time I felt like I might glimpse a future that wasn't just spreadsheets."
Her eyebrows lifted. "Tarot? Seriously?"
"Yeah." I shrugged. "I haven't touched them in years."
Harper sat up on her side of the bed, curiosity bright in her eyes. "Do you still have the deck?"
"Somewhere in my closet back home." I looked away. "It always felt like a private thing."
She nodded slowly. "I get that."
We talked then—really talked—for the next hour. About favorite childhood books (I confessed I loved Charlotte's Web), worst job experiences (her first internship in a stuffy law firm), the first concerts we'd ever attended (me: a local folk singer; her: her cousin's high school band). We laughed at awkward moments and sighed at bittersweet memories. I felt the wall around my heart soften with every shared secret.
At one point, she asked, "What does real love look like to you?"
I paused, searching for an answer. "Honestly? It looks like knowing someone's flaws and wanting them anyway. Like staying with them in the dark, even when you can't see clearly."
Her lips curved into a sad smile. "That's beautiful."
I wanted to reach out—to brush hair from her forehead, to let my hand linger on her arm. But I didn't. I bit my lip instead and watched the steady rise and fall of her chest as she fell asleep.
I lay there long after her breathing evened out, my mind noisy with unspoken words and dangerous dreams. I closed my eyes, willing myself to sleep.
Morning light seeped through the curtains, and Day Three unfurled with an almost sacred quiet. We met for breakfast as a team—Dani with Maya at her side, Ethan teasing about last night's lightning show, and Ms. Grafton reminding everyone of the closing panel.
I kept close to Harper but said little, saving my energy for the day's final "celebration": an evening party at the hotel's rooftop lounge.
The last session ended in a blur of applause and business cards exchanged. I felt lighter—some amusement at the cheesy motivational speaker, some relief that tomorrow I'd be home.
That evening, the rooftop bar glittered against the city skyline. String lights twined around railings, and a small band played soft jazz. Tables draped in white linen held plates of hors d'oeuvres and trays of cocktails that smelled like fruit and summer.
I'd never been much of a party person. But tonight, buoyed by wine and laughter, I felt a brave spark. Dani and Maya coaxed me onto the dance floor for a slow song. I swayed, letting the melody chase the tension out of my limbs.
Harper joined us, slipping an arm around Rae, who'd flown in for the final night. The sight tugged at my insides, but I turned elegantly, offering Harper a quick smile before twirling away.
Later, Dani pressed a glass of rosé into my hand.
"Here," she said. "You look like you could use another."
I sipped, warmth blooming in my chest. I leaned against the bar, studying Harper in the crowd—her laugh, her easy confidence, the way her hair caught the light. My cheeks heated. I drained the glass, then asked for another.
By the time the band played its last set, I was tipsy—heady, loose-limbed, and bolder than I'd been in years. I laughed with Maya over a table of dessert shots, then stumbled across the terrace to find Harper alone, gazing at the city lights.
"Hey," I slurred gently. "Mind if I join you?"
Harper turned, concern flickering in her eyes. "Carly, you okay?"
"Better," I said, tipping my head backward. I blinked up at the stars—or what I thought were stars above the city's haze. "This place… it's beautiful."
She offered her arm. I took it, leaning into her side. We walked to a quiet corner, leaning on the railing. My heart thrummed—part joy, part ache—as I pressed closer.
"I'm glad we're here," I whispered.
Harper smiled softly. "Me too."
We stood there until the lights dimmed for last call. Dani waved us back over, and Harper kissed my cheek before we rejoined the group.
The party wound down, and I felt the evening's buzz trailing off into a warm, sleepy haze. Back in our room, Harper went straight to bed, pulling the covers up and closing her eyes.
I sat on my own bed, head spinning. I stared at her sleeping form, her breath soft in the quiet. The moonlight slanted through the curtains, illuminating the gentle curve of her cheek, the bare skin of her shoulder.
I slid off the bed and moved closer, hesitating at the edge of hers. I sat beside her, so close our blankets touched. A reckless part of me wanted to reach out, to pull her into a tight embrace, to let her feel how firmly my heart beat.
Instead, I lay down next to her, careful not to disturb the rhythm of her breathing. I curled an arm around her waist, pressing my body against her back. The fabric of her shirt was soft under my palm.
I closed my eyes, imagining what might happen if she woke up, if she felt that press of skin and saw the hope swirling in my gaze. But she slept on, unaware.
And so I lay there, heart full of things unsaid, praying—silently—that one day, she would see me, would understand the quiet love I held in the space between us.
Some stories remain untold.
Others are written in the space between two hearts.