Rose sat at her desk with the lamp turned low, sketchbook open but untouched.
The apartment was quiet except for the distant hum of the refrigerator and the occasional car passing outside.
She had changed into her favourite lavender sundress after dinner, the soft fabric a small comfort against her skin.
Her mind, however, was far from the page in front of her.
She kept replaying small moments from the past few weeks—moments that had begun to feel heavier, warmer, more confusing.
The cat cafe.
Jade's hand finding hers under the table after that girl had asked for her number.
The gentle squeeze, the way Jade had looked only at her, as if no one else in the room mattered.
Rose had pretended not to notice the protectiveness in that gesture.
She had smiled down at her latte instead, cheeks warm, heart skipping in a way she told herself was just surprise.
The island trip.
The bonfire on the third night when Jade had leaned in and kissed her cheek for the dare.
Rose remembered the softness of Jade's lips, the way the kiss had lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary, the quiet hush that had fallen over their friends.
She had touched the spot afterward, pretending it was nothing more than a silly game.
But later, alone in her bunk, she had smiled into the dark, cheeks burning, secretly replaying the moment until she fell asleep.
And then there were the smaller things—Jade carrying her heavy bag without being asked, stepping in front of her during dodgeball, offering her hand in the tide pools.
Each time Rose had acted as if she hadn't noticed the extra care, the quiet protectiveness.
But she had noticed.
Every single time.
And every single time a small, secret smile had tugged at her lips when Jade wasn't looking.
Rose pressed her palms to her warm cheeks now, staring at the blank page.
She was happy—deeply, unexpectedly happy—that she had found Jade in this new city.
Jade made the days feel lighter, the silences comfortable, the world a little less lonely.
But lately those feelings had begun to shift into something more.
Something that made her heart beat faster when Jade looked at her for too long.
Something that made her wonder what it would feel like if Jade's hand stayed in hers even after the blanket was gone.
She traced a finger along the edge of her sketchbook, letting the thought linger.
Maybe it was okay to feel this way.
Maybe it didn't have to mean anything more than friendship.
Maybe—
A soft knock came at her door.
"Rose, sweetheart?"
Her mother's voice was gentle but carried a new weight.
Rose sat up straighter.
"Come in."
Elena stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind her.
She looked tired, the lines around her eyes a little deeper than usual.
She sat on the edge of the bed and reached for Rose's hand.
"I just got off the phone with your father's doctor," she said carefully.
"He had a seizure this afternoon.
They've admitted him to the hospital for observation.
It's not life-threatening, but… it's serious enough that they want us to come see him.
Soon."
The words landed heavily in the quiet room.
Rose's hand tightened around her mother's.
Her chest felt suddenly tight, the warmth from moments ago draining away like water through sand.
She thought of the last time they had spoken to her father—his voice strained, talking about "old promises" and "what's best for the family."
The engagement that had been decided years ago, before any of them truly understood what it meant.
"Is he… going to be okay?" Rose asked, voice small.
Elena squeezed her hand.
"The doctors say yes, for now.
But he's asking for you.
For both of you.
He wants to talk about… everything."
Rose nodded slowly, but inside her thoughts were spinning.
The island trip, the bonfire, Jade's gentle kiss on her cheek, the way their hands had fit so perfectly under the blanket—those memories suddenly felt very far away, fragile, like something that could be taken from her at any moment.
She looked down at the sketchbook, the half-finished sparrow staring back at her.
The bird that always came back to her small garden every morning, no matter what.
Her mother stood and kissed the top of her head.
"We'll talk more tomorrow.
Try to get some rest."
When the door clicked shut, Rose let out a shaky breath.
The room felt smaller.
The warmth she had been holding onto slipped away, replaced by a quiet, heavy sadness.
She closed the sketchbook gently and turned off the lamp.
In the dark she lay back, staring at the ceiling, the faint city lights casting pale patterns across the walls.
Jade's smile from the cat cafe flashed in her mind—warm, protective, full of something Rose was only beginning to understand.
She closed her eyes tightly, a single tear slipping down her cheek.
For the first time in weeks, the future she had been quietly hoping for felt suddenly uncertain.