The supermarket smelled of bleach and stale bread, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead as Eleanor pushed the cart down the narrow aisle. Her back ached, legs screaming beneath her tiredness, but she smiled at the elderly man fumbling with his coupons.
"You take care now," he said, chuckling at her patience.
Eleanor nodded, her lips twitching into a weak grin. "I will. Thank you."
Her mind, as usual, drifted elsewhere. She imagined Gabriel somewhere, alone, practicing his new song. She could almost hear the low hum of his voice, see his tousled hair falling into his eyes. Her chest warmed. He's mine. She clung fiercely to the thought, letting it erase the ache of her tired muscles.
By lunch, her small phone buzzed. She ignored it at first, counting inventory, scanning labels, her hands precise from long hours of practice. Finally, curiosity won. A friend from her old school had sent a link—a headline splashed with Gabriel's face, and beside him, someone Eleanor didn't recognize at first. A woman. Blonde, tall, smiling brightly.
She blinked, staring at the screen. "Gabriel Graves spotted with Olivia Harlow at late-night studio."
Her stomach tightened. The picture looked casual, but intimate—Olivia adjusting his collar, laughing at something only he said. Eleanor's fingers trembled, but she swallowed hard and shook her head.
It's publicity, she told herself. They're just photos. They're paid to smile together. Gabriel wouldn't… he can't…
The thought brought a bitter smile to her lips. She had survived years of sacrifice for him, had shaped his dreams into reality. She was the one he truly loved. Of course. No glossy photo, no gossip article, could touch that.
---
Meanwhile, in the world Eleanor could never reach, Gabriel sat across from Olivia in a dimly lit café. Her laughter sparkled, spilling into the room, and the soft brush of her hand against his sent a thrill up his spine. She had everything Eleanor wasn't: glamorous, rich, effortlessly magnetic. The type of woman everyone would expect him to be with.
And yet, there was Eleanor.
He couldn't explain it. She was dull, quiet, ordinary—but essential. She wrote his songs, soothed his stress, gave herself without question. Olivia was excitement. Eleanor was a foundation. He told himself it was possible to have both: Olivia for the world, Eleanor for himself.
He smiled at Olivia, a little too easily. "You always know what to say," he murmured, brushing a stray lock of her hair behind her ear.
"And you always listen," she replied.
Yes, he thought, his chest tightening slightly. But Eleanor listens too. She obeys. She never asks for more than he is willing to give. That is hers. Always hers.
---
Eleanor's evening shift at the restaurant was a blur. Orders clattered, knives scraped, customers demanded. She moved through the chaos with mechanical precision, forcing smiles, holding back groans. During a short lull, she peeked at her phone again. Another headline: "Gabriel Graves and Olivia Harlow spotted leaving studio late night."
Her stomach sank, but she shook it off. I'm the one who matters. I know him. He loves me.
Still, a quiet sting gnawed at the back of her mind, fleeting but insistent. Why did the world insist on whispering what she didn't need to hear?
After her shift, she walked home under streetlights, her bag heavy, shoes worn thin. She glanced at the giant billboard flashing Gabriel's face—Olivia's name now printed beside his. Her fingers traced the glass on the windowsill of the building, imagining herself there, closer to him, part of the glittering world he inhabited.
But she didn't step closer. She couldn't. She was Eleanor, and her world was streets and shadows, factories and small rooms, tips and cheap concert tickets. She was proud of it, in a quiet, stubborn way. It was love. It was sacrifice. And it was enough.
---
Gabriel, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair, swirling a glass of whiskey, thinking of Eleanor. She was waiting somewhere, probably counting coins for a seat in the back row of his next concert, smiling at his voice as if it were meant for her alone.
A pang of something strange—jealousy?—passed through him. She would never know, never see me like this with Olivia. She would still believe she's the only one.
He closed his eyes, tasting the sweetness of possession. Eleanor could never leave him. Even if the world wanted her, even if Olivia shone too brightly, Eleanor would always be there: his anchor, his shadow, his secret.
Olivia was everything Eleanor wasn't, and that excited him. But Eleanor… she was essential. The thought tightened his chest in a way only she could.
---
By the time Eleanor reached her flat, the city was quiet, the night stretching over rooftops and streetlamps. She dropped her tips into the small jar under her bed, careful not to make a sound. Every coin counted. Soon, she'd have enough for the next concert. She imagined him performing, her lyrics rising in his voice. She pictured the crowd, screaming and applauding, none of them realizing that the music that moved them was hers.
She curled up on the thin mattress, eyes closed, and whispered his name into the darkness. "Gabriel."
Somewhere far away, he was with Olivia, her laughter brushing against his skin, her body bright and warm. But Eleanor slept, believing in her heart she was the only one he truly loved.
And for now, that belief held her together, even as the cracks of another world crept closer, barely visible in the corners of her reality.