ELIZABETH'S POV
The cake was halfway gone, and the quiet warmth of the shop had begun to wrap around me like a balm.
For the first time in days, I wasn't running — not mentally, not emotionally. I was just... here. Breathing. Thinking. Being.
And that, in itself, felt like a miracle.
I reached into my bag and pulled out the little brown notebook I always carried — dog-eared and scribbled through, but still mine. My hands moved before my thoughts caught up, flipping to a fresh page and pressing the pen to paper.
Whisparé.
That would be the name.
A fragrance line born out of silence. Out of secrets. Out of the things we never say, but feel deeply anyway.
Scents that whisper to the soul, not shout.
Ideas poured out of me — scent combinations, bottle shapes, taglines. Words like bare, timeless, ache, velvet, dusk found their way onto the page in loops and curls.
The pastry shop felt like a bubble—warm, golden, distant from the world i didn't want to return to just yet. With my notebook open and pen moving in frantic curves, I scribbled.
I wrote fast, almost feverishly, the kind of flow that only comes when something inside you finally breaks free.
The guy at the counter glanced over at me, then smiled when our eyes met.
"Looks like something exciting," he said, eyes kind.
I nodded, cheeks flushed, and returned to writings. For once, the weight of the past didn't feel like a chain—it felt like a foundation.
By the time I checked the time, it was close to 6 p.m. The sun had begun to dip outside the window, painting the pavement gold. I gathered my things into my bag.
As I stood, the guy gave a small nod in my direction. "Hope to see you again, ma'am."
"Thank you," I said, and I meant it.
Not just for the cake.
For the space. The quiet. The way I was allowed to exist here without explanation.
With my notebook tucked close to my chest, I walked out of the shop.
The breeze hit me differently this time — not harsh, but expectant. Like something had shifted inside me.
Like something had finally begun.
-*-*-*-*-
The sky had begun to bruise with evening hues—dusky purples melting into orange—as I walked the familiar path home, my notebook hugged tight to my chest like a secret.
For once, my thoughts weren't suffocating.
They weren't gone, not completely, but they'd quieted—eclipsed by the fire of something new. Purpose.
Hope, maybe.
The estate gates came into view, and as I walked through them, I felt the weight return—just a little. Familiar pressure. But I didn't shrink beneath it.
I had something now. A plan. A whisper of direction.
And maybe that was enough.
Inside the house, it was quieter than before. No low murmurs from Mom or Jayda. Just the rhythmic hum of the fridge and the soft creak of my own footsteps.
I headed straight to my room, closed the door behind me, and dropped onto my bed with a soft exhale.
Tomorrow, I'd speak to Mav.
Tonight, I'd dream with my notebook still open on my chest.
-*-*-*-*
The morning sun spilled through the curtains like golden lace, warm against my skin. I hadn't slept much, but I didn't feel tired. My notebook was still beside me, half-open, ink smudged from where my hand had rested across the page. The name stared back at me like a secret waiting to be told.
Whisparé.
I hugged the notebook to my chest and sat up.
It was time.
After cleaning myself up, I went to the livingroom greeted everyone Mom especially, she didn't deserve my attitude. I wanted to apologise but no words came out. So I decided to talk to her later.
After cleaning myself up, I went to the living room and greeted everyone — Mom especially. She didn't deserve my attitude. I wanted to apologize, but no words came out.
I asked where Maverick was and then made my way to the backyard.
He was seated on the low wooden bench near the hibiscus shrubs. His phone was in his hand, but he wasn't scrolling — just staring.
He looked up as I approached.
"Hey, Lizzy," he said, a soft smile pulling at his lips. "You disappeared yesterday."
I sat beside him, legs curled under me. "Yeah... I needed to clear my head."
He gave a slight nod, waiting.
I didn't give him everything.
Not the memories. Not the fragments I'd stitched together. Not the ache I carried in places words couldn't reach.
But I did give him this—what I could.
"I want to start something," I said, opening the notebook and holding it out to him. "A fragrance line. It's called Whisparé."
His brows rose slightly as he flipped through the scribbled notes and ideas. "You did all this yesterday?"
"Yeah," I said, almost sheepishly. "The ideas just... came."
He glanced at me then—sharp, searching. "Is everything okay?"
I nodded too quickly. "I'm fine."
"You sure?" he asked, a bit more gently this time. "You've been… different lately."
"I just want to focus on moving forward," I said, looking away. "That's all."
A pause.
Then he nodded, accepting it for now.
"Well, your handwriting still sucks," he said, teasing as he flipped a page.
I laughed—genuinely—and for a moment, the heaviness loosened again.
"You should draft a proper proposal," he said, more seriously now. "Something solid I can show Alex. If it's this good off the top of your head, imagine what you could do with structure."
I smiled, that warm kind of smile that starts deep in your chest and curls up your throat. "You'd help?"
"Of course," he said without hesitation. "I believe in you."
I didn't say anything in response, just leaned into the quiet support that radiated from him.
And for a moment, it was enough.
-*-*-
MAVERICK'S POV
I watched her as she spoke—her words calm, but her body guarded.
She clutched that notebook like it was a lifeline, her fingers drumming nervously against its spine.
Lizzy had always been many things—fiery, stubborn, brilliant—but this version of her? Quiet, uncertain, careful?
It didn't sit right.
Not because I needed her to be the same—but because it felt like she was hiding.
Still, I listened as she explained her vision. Her eyes finally lit up when she said the word Whisparé, and for the first time in days, she looked like herself again—alive, inspired.
That spark was real. Whatever she'd been through… this business idea was something pure. Hers.
But I couldn't ignore the way she dodged when I asked if she was okay. Or the flash of hesitation when I mentioned she'd been acting distant.
She was lying.
Not maliciously. Just… protecting herself.
And maybe she wasn't ready to tell me the truth.
So I chose not to press. Not yet.
Instead, I promised to help her. Because if this was the one thing anchoring her right now, then I'd make damn sure it didn't slip away.
Still, something in me whispered—
She remembered.
I didn't know how. I didn't know when.
But the look in her eyes when I said her name—Lizzy—was different now.