ep 3

Every floor at NovaMuse has a name. Not just a number.

The 23rd is called The Studio — a glass-walled creative floor drenched in soft daylight and high ceilings, where concepts are born and burned every day. Seraphine walks it slowly, mug in hand, eyes scanning for a space to breathe.

But she doesn’t realize where her feet are going… until she sees it.

Studio Room 5.

She stops in her tracks.

It looks different now — remodeled, sleeker, filled with new tech. But the window still faces the same west corner of the skyline. The shadows fall the same way.

This room used to be theirs.

Not officially, of course. But it was the place they used to meet after hours. Long before Celeste became CEO Quinn. Back when they were students interning, stealing moments between deadlines and cheap coffee.

The room’s still. Silent. Empty.

It’s unlocked.

Sera steps inside before she can stop herself.

The scent of the room hits her first — paper, ink, faint wood polish, and something else.

Memory.

She stands there for a full minute. Not moving. Just… remembering.

---

She had kissed Celeste for the first time by that corner table.

It had been raining. They were arguing over a campaign concept. Something ridiculous. Something forgettable. And then Celeste had said something stupid, sarcastic, and Seraphine had thrown a paper ball at her.

Celeste caught it mid-air. Smiled.

And then she kissed her.

Right there. Messy. Unexpected. Perfect.

---

Now the table is gone.

The old corkboard they used to pin ideas to is replaced by a smart screen.

Everything has changed.

Except her heart.

That, apparently, still remembers exactly how it felt to be wanted.

She walks to the corner, fingertips brushing against the window glass. She can see her reflection — faint, sad, a little older. She leans forward until her forehead touches the glass, eyes closing.

> “You shouldn’t be in here.”

Her spine goes rigid.

The voice is soft, low, familiar — achingly so.

She doesn’t turn around.

“I didn’t know it was still here,” she murmurs.

There’s silence behind her. Heavy. Weighted.

Then:

“I never changed the lock.”

Sera finally turns.

Celeste stands at the door, one hand in her pocket, the other holding a closed folder. She looks… tired. Or maybe that’s just how Sera sees her now.

“You still come here?” Sera asks.

Celeste hesitates. Then shrugs. “Sometimes. When it’s late.”

They both stand there. Neither moving.

“I thought you hated remembering,” Sera says quietly.

“I thought you stopped being worth remembering,” Celeste replies — and immediately looks like she regrets it.

The silence that follows is brutal.

Seraphine’s throat tightens, but she smiles. It’s sharp, tired, all wrong. “Well. I guess we were both wrong.”

She brushes past her. Leaves the room without looking back.

Celeste stays behind.

---

That night, Sera gets home and throws her bag to the floor. She stares at the wall for fifteen minutes.

Then, finally, she pulls her phone out and opens the Notes app.

> "I hate that I still check to see if you’re in the room first. I hate that I still breathe differently when you are."

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