The next night at Velvet Room felt... different.
The club pulsed with its usual charm: golden lights spilled across the mahogany floor, the chandelier overhead glittered like a diamond prism, and the band carried a soft swing behind the sultry vocals of a temporary lead. Amira wasn't singing tonight — by her own choice.
After last night, her emotions were worn thin like old vinyl. She needed a breath. A night to process. And for the first time since arriving in London, she wasn't running on heartbreak or instinct.
She was choosing peace.
"Everything okay?" Luca leaned against the hallway wall outside the dressing rooms, his head tilted.
Amira, wearing a long oversized t-shirt and fuzzy socks, gave a small shrug. "I didn't want to pretend I was fine tonight. That's all."
Luca nodded, thoughtful. "Sometimes silence is more honest than applause."
That made her smile faintly. "Deep."
He smirked. "I moonlight as a philosopher when I'm not stealing the show on stage."
They stood there for a moment, the quiet between them almost comforting.
"Wanna ditch this place?" he asked suddenly.
She raised a brow. "Ditch Velvet Room?"
"Just for a bit. There's a jazz café a few streets down — no stage, no audience. Just good music, cheap coffee, and maybe... some air that doesn't reek of ego and perfume."
Her lips twitched. "You're inviting me out for coffee?"
He grinned. "I'm inviting you out to not think."
Amira looked at him — not at his face, not just at the cocky curve of his lips or the warmth in his hazel eyes — but through him, into the way he made her feel a little less like a forgotten souvenir.
"Give me five minutes," she said.
---
They took a cab to Camden, where tucked between bookstores and vintage shops was the café Luca had promised. Dimly lit, with mismatched couches and a chalkboard wall filled with quotes, it felt like the kind of place heartbreaks healed and stories were born.
Luca held the door open for her, his hand briefly brushing her lower back as she stepped inside. The warmth of his touch lingered longer than it should have.
They ordered two mugs of black coffee and found a quiet corner near the window.
"So," she said, wrapping her fingers around the warm ceramic. "You always this good at rescuing broken women?"
He chuckled. "Just the ones who sing like thunder dressed in silk."
Her cheeks heated. She sipped her coffee to hide it.
Luca leaned forward, elbows on the table. "I meant what I said last night. I've seen guys like Noah before — they don't lose things; they pause them. Expect you to stay stuck until they're ready to return."
She nodded slowly. "He told me he loved me."
Luca didn't flinch. "I'm sure he did."
"But it didn't sound like love."
"No," he said softly. "It sounded like guilt dressed as romance."
That hit her harder than she expected. She studied Luca for a second — the kind of second that stretches.
"How do you do that?" she asked.
"Do what?"
"Say exactly what I'm thinking... before I even say it out loud?"
He shrugged, grinning. "I listen better than most."
She shook her head, smiling. "That should be illegal."
They sat in silence for a beat, sipping, watching the world pass through the window.
"I don't know what I want right now," she said after a while. "I thought I had it figured out... and now everything feels like static."
Luca didn't press. "Then don't figure it out. Just be."
Be.
She hadn't "just been" in a long time. Not since Noah. Not since her flight from New York.
But sitting across from Luca, under the dim lights and surrounded by warmth and nothingness... it felt like maybe she could start again.
---
They walked back toward the club on foot, the streets hushed and wet from a passing drizzle.
When they reached the alley behind Velvet Room, Luca paused. "You know, I could get fired for skipping my solo set tonight."
Amira grinned. "I could get fired for letting you."
He stepped closer, slow, careful.
"Worth it," he murmured.
Their eyes locked.
The air between them buzzed — not like static this time, but like a song just beginning to play.
Luca stepped back just before their lips touched, his breath warm on her face.
Amira blinked, pulse skipping.
"I'm not going to kiss you unless you want me to," he said quietly. "I'm not him."
Her throat dried.
"I know," she whispered.
But she didn't move either. Not forward. Not away.
They stood there for a few seconds longer, swaying between old pain and something brave and new, before a shout from inside the club cracked the spell.
"Luca! You've got ten minutes to warm up!" It was Marnie, the sound tech.
He sighed, offering a boyish shrug. "Rain check?"
Amira exhaled a shaky laugh. "Definitely."
He gave her one last glance before disappearing through the side entrance.
Alone now, Amira leaned back against the alley wall. Her heart thumped. Not with panic. Not with confusion. But with... clarity.
She liked him.
Not just liked — she felt him. The way he listened. The way he didn't try to fix her but also refused to let her rot. The way he made her laugh with a single expression. The way he respected the space between her and her pain.
And he hadn't kissed her.
That meant more than any kiss ever could.
---
The next few nights moved differently.
Amira returned to the stage with more edge, more presence. Her voice glided like smoke over the piano, and the audience grew — not just in numbers, but in attention. Whispers about the girl with the ghost-silk hair spread through London's underground jazz scene.
Luca, too, was different. They didn't label anything, didn't push it. But there were lingering touches, deeper glances, quiet laughter between sets. The energy between them built like a slow-burning song — not a pop hit, but a classic. One that stayed.
And still… Noah's voice remained in the background of her mind like an unskippable track.
She hadn't heard from him since that day at the bar. And though a piece of her hoped he'd try to reach out again — most of her prayed he wouldn't.
But life, in its usual dramatic fashion, didn't care what she prayed for.
---
It happened on a Thursday night.
The club was buzzing. Amira had just finished her second set and was sipping water backstage, sweaty and high from the music. Luca winked at her as he passed, teasing her with a mock bow as if she were royalty.
She grinned.
And then… she saw him.
Standing at the far end of the bar. Tall. Golden brown hair. Fitted coat. Eyes that once held galaxies but now looked... hollow.
Noah.
Her heart dropped like a cymbal crash.
The glass in her hand nearly slipped.
He hadn't seen her yet.
But she saw everything — the regret in his posture, the twitch of his jaw, the red-rimmed eyes. He looked tired. He looked broken. He looked... too late.
He finally turned — and their eyes locked.
The rest of the room blurred.
Amira could barely breathe.
He began walking toward her.
---
Luca noticed him first. He stepped forward instinctively, blocking Noah's path like a wall of calm rage. The air between them crackled.
"I just want to talk to her," Noah said.
"No," Luca said, voice low and firm, "she doesn't want to talk to you."
"I can speak for myself," Amira said.
Both men looked at her.
Her voice was calm. Steady. "Give us a second, Luca."
Luca hesitated, eyes scanning her face. But he trusted her.
Noah stepped outside with her into the alley — the same alley where Luca almost kissed her.
The irony was loud.
---
"I messed up," Noah started.
"Noah—"
"Let me finish," he begged. "I panicked, okay? I didn't know how to tell you... that I wasn't ready. That everything felt too fast. The pressure. The distance. My own mess — I thought pushing you away would make it easier."
Her arms folded, defensive.
"And ghosting me was the solution?" she said.
"I was scared. And selfish. And wrong."
She didn't answer.
"I haven't slept properly since I saw you leave the bar. I— I didn't expect you to show up. And when you did, I felt like the villain in my own story."
"You were," she replied flatly.
"I miss you."
The words hovered between them like ash.
Amira blinked slowly. Her heart didn't jump. Her knees didn't shake. There was no spark, no pull.
Just... silence.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"I believe you," she answered.
Hope flickered in his eyes.
"But that doesn't mean I want you back."
His expression cracked.
"You said you loved me," she whispered. "But love doesn't abandon. It doesn't disappear. It doesn't humiliate. It doesn't take me for granted."
Tears brimmed in his eyes.
She didn't look away.
"You can read a book twice," she said softly. "But you can't change the ending."
Noah looked shattered.
And for the first time, she didn't feel broken in return.
---
She walked away — back through the alley, back into the warmth of Velvet Room, back to the place where her voice held power.
Luca was by the piano, waiting.
"Everything okay?" he asked, brows knit.
She nodded.
He didn't press.
Instead, he held out a hand. "Wanna sing something with me?"
She slipped her fingers into his. "Let's make a new record."