You're going to rot in that house," Zara said, leaning against Liana's bedroom wall with her arms crossed and a teasing smile dancing on her lips.
Liana rolled her eyes and sank deeper into her desk chair. "I'm not rotting. I'm just... safe."
"Safe," Zara echoed, dragging the word out dramatically. "You mean boring. You haven't been to the mall in months. You haven't tasted iced coffee since last Christmas. You haven't even looked at a boy."
"I look!" Liana defended quickly, cheeks heating.
"Looking out the window at boys walking their dogs doesn't count," Zara shot back, walking over to flick Liana's notebook closed. "You're eighteen now, Lia. You're allowed to live a little."
Liana's heart gave a traitorous flutter at the thought. But the weight of her parents' rules settled just as fast, heavy and immovable.
"You know how they are, Zara. I can't just—"
"Yes, I do know how they are," Zara interrupted gently. She walked to the window and pulled the curtain open, letting warm afternoon light spill into the room. "But I also know you. And I know you're miserable."
Liana didn't argue. She couldn't. Because it was true. Every carefully laid rule, every scheduled meal, every locked door past seven p.m.—it was starting to feel like a slow suffocation.
"I dream about it, sometimes," Liana said quietly, her voice almost lost in the hum of the outside world.
Zara turned, her eyes softer now. "About what?"
"Just... walking into a place and no one knowing who I am. Laughing too loudly. Sitting in a café and ordering something I can't pronounce. Meeting someone who doesn't see me as 'the obedient daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Lawson.' Someone who sees... me."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The sunlight warmed the hardwood floor, stretching toward Liana's chair like it was urging her to reach for more.
"You deserve that," Zara finally said. "You deserve more than just safe."
Liana let out a breath. "What if it's not enough for them?"
Zara smiled. "Then make it enough for you."
The words sat with Liana long after Zara left that afternoon. They echoed in her head as she folded her laundry, as she helped her mother stir the pot in the kitchen, as she stared at the blank ceiling in her bedroom later that night.
She closed her eyes, and for the first time in a long while, she let herself imagine something wild.
Freedom. A name she didn't know yet. A hand brushing hers under a table. A laugh shared in the dark.
Something about that dream felt too beautiful to ignore.
Liana lay in bed, eyes wide open in the dark, listening to the steady tick of the clock on her nightstand. Each second passed like a quiet dare.
She turned to her phone under her pillow and opened her texts. There were no new messages. There never were—just Zara, her only contact outside the walls of this carefully constructed life.
You deserve more than just safe.
She read that text again.
Her thumb hovered over the keyboard.
Liana: Are you still awake?
The reply came almost immediately.
Zara: Always.
Liana: If I said yes... would it be too late?
There was a pause. Then:
Zara: Yes to what?
Liana: Going out.
Zara: GIRL. You just made my whole night.
Liana stared at the screen, heart pounding in her chest like a fist against a locked door. She typed one more message.
Liana: Just one hour. That's all I can risk.
Zara: One hour is all we need. I'll be outside in ten. Wear something cute but sneaky. We're starting slow.
Liana slipped out of bed, legs trembling beneath her. She crossed to the closet as quietly as she could, pulling on her most ordinary hoodie and a pair of dark jeans. She paused, then added lip balm again—even if no one would notice.
Even if she wasn't ready to admit who she wanted to notice.
The hallway outside her room was silent. Her parents' bedroom door was closed. She didn't dare breathe too loud. Moving like a shadow, she cracked her window open and slipped one leg out, then the other. The grass was cool beneath her feet, and the night air smelled like something new.
Zara was waiting at the end of the driveway with a smug smile and two helmets.
"You look terrified," she whispered.
"I feel like I'm walking into a felony," Liana whispered back.
"It's just coffee, Lia. Not a bank heist."
They both muffled giggles as they climbed onto the scooter Zara had borrowed from her cousin. Liana held on tightly, her arms around her best friend's waist as they sped off into the quiet night.
And for the first time in her life, Liana didn't feel like she was running from something.
She felt like she was running toward it.
The café was tucked between a used bookstore and a flower shop, glowing soft gold in the dark. It was quiet, cozy, and smelled like cinnamon and fresh espresso.
Zara pushed open the door with a wink. "Welcome to freedom."
Liana stepped in and immediately felt the warmth soak into her skin. The buzz of conversation, the soft indie music playing overhead, the low clatter of mugs—it was all so... normal. So alive.
They found a table near the window, half-hidden by a tall plant. Zara ordered them drinks—hazelnut iced coffee for herself, vanilla chai for Liana.
As Liana took her first sip, her eyes closed without meaning to.
Zara grinned. "That good, huh?"
"You have no idea."
They talked quietly, laughter bubbling between them like a secret. Every few minutes, Liana glanced around, half expecting someone to burst in and drag her home.
But no one did.
People chatted and read books and kissed and yawned and checked their phones. And for once, she was part of it all—not a bystander.
She was just finishing her drink when the bell above the café door rang.
Her eyes lifted.
He walked in quietly, his dark hair slightly messy, a guitar case slung over his shoulder, like he was born carrying music. He ordered black coffee, thanked the barista with a soft smile, and turned to find a seat.
And then his eyes met hers.
It wasn't a long look. A second, maybe two.
But in that second, something inside her shifted.
She quickly looked away, heart racing for a reason she couldn't explain.
Zara, ever the detective, leaned forward. "Who's the guitar boy?"
"No one," Liana said quickly, but her cheeks were warm.
Zara raised an eyebrow. "You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The 'I just made eye contact with someone who might undo my entire life' look."
Liana shook her head, but her smile betrayed her.
She peeked again.
He was seated now, a few tables away, notebook open beside his coffee, tapping a pen against his lip in thought.
He hadn't looked at her again.
But she felt it anyway.
That flicker.
That spark.
As they left the café, Zara chatting about her plans for the weekend, Liana stayed quiet, the cool air brushing her skin like a promise.
One hour.
That's all it had taken to crack something open inside her.
And she wasn't sure it would ever close again.
Liana lay in bed, eyes wide open in the dark, listening to the steady tick of the clock on her nightstand. Each second passed like a quiet dare.
She turned to her phone under her pillow and opened her texts. There were no new messages. There never were—just Zara, her only contact outside the walls of this carefully constructed life.
You deserve more than just safe.
She read that text again.
Her thumb hovered over the keyboard.
Liana: Are you still awake?
The reply came almost immediately.
Zara: Always.
Liana: If I said yes... would it be too late?
There was a pause. Then:
Zara: Yes to what?
Liana: Going out.
Zara: GIRL. You just made my whole night.
Liana stared at the screen, heart pounding in her chest like a fist against a locked door. She typed one more message.
Liana: Just one hour. That's all I can risk.
Zara: One hour is all we need. I'll be outside in ten. Wear something cute but sneaky. We're starting slow.
Liana slipped out of bed, legs trembling beneath her. She crossed to the closet as quietly as she could, pulling on her most ordinary hoodie and a pair of dark jeans. She paused, then added lip balm again—even if no one would notice.
Even if she wasn't ready to admit who she wanted to notice.
The hallway outside her room was silent. Her parents' bedroom door was closed. She didn't dare breathe too loud. Moving like a shadow, she cracked her window open and slipped one leg out, then the other. The grass was cool beneath her feet, and the night air smelled like something new.
Zara was waiting at the end of the driveway with a smug smile and two helmets.
"You look terrified," she whispered.
"I feel like I'm walking into a felony," Liana whispered back.
"It's just coffee, Lia. Not a bank heist."
They both muffled giggles as they climbed onto the scooter Zara had borrowed from her cousin. Liana held on tightly, her arms around her best friend's waist as they sped off into the quiet night.
And for the first time in her life, Liana didn't feel like she was running from something.
She felt like she was running toward it.
—
The café was tucked between a used bookstore and a flower shop, glowing soft gold in the dark. It was quiet, cozy, and smelled like cinnamon and fresh espresso.
Zara pushed open the door with a wink. "Welcome to freedom."
Liana stepped in and immediately felt the warmth soak into her skin. The buzz of conversation, the soft indie music playing overhead, the low clatter of mugs—it was all so... normal. So alive.
They found a table near the window, half-hidden by a tall plant. Zara ordered them drinks—hazelnut iced coffee for herself, vanilla chai for Liana.
As Liana took her first sip, her eyes closed without meaning to.
Zara grinned. "That good, huh?"
"You have no idea."
They talked quietly, laughter bubbling between them like a secret. Every few minutes, Liana glanced around, half expecting someone to burst in and drag her home.
But no one did.
People chatted and read books and kissed and yawned and checked their phones. And for once, she was part of it all—not a bystander.
She was just finishing her drink when the bell above the café door rang.
Her eyes lifted.
He walked in quietly, his dark hair slightly messy, a guitar case slung over his shoulder, like he was born carrying music. He ordered black coffee, thanked the barista with a soft smile, and turned to find a seat.
And then his eyes met hers.
It wasn't a long look. A second, maybe two.
But in that second, something inside her shifted.
She quickly looked away, heart racing for a reason she couldn't explain.
Zara, ever the detective, leaned forward. "Who's the guitar boy?"
"No one," Liana said quickly, but her cheeks were warm.
Zara raised an eyebrow. "You've got that look."
"What look?"
"The 'I just made eye contact with someone who might undo my entire life' look."
Liana shook her head, but her smile betrayed her.
She peeked again.
He was seated now, a few tables away, notebook open beside his coffee, tapping a pen against his lip in thought.
He hadn't looked at her again.
But she felt it anyway.
That flicker.
That spark.
As they left the café, Zara chatting about her plans for the weekend, Liana stayed quiet, the cool air brushing her skin like a promise.
One hour.
That's all it had taken to crack something open inside her.
And she wasn't sure it would ever close again.