A week passed.
A week of whispered questions in the dark, of hesitant laughter over cups of coffee, of Celeste discovering the world one small wonder at a time.
A week of Amelia trying to convince herself that this was normal.
Celeste had seamlessly slipped into her life as though she had always been there. She moved through Amelia's apartment like she belonged, her fingers brushing across books, canvases, and coffee mugs with quiet fascination. She asked questions—so many questions. Why did people rush when they walked? Why did the stars look so distant at night? Why did Amelia always bite the inside of her cheek when she was deep in thought?
And Amelia found herself answering, even when she didn't know how.
But with each passing day, something gnawed at the edges of her mind—an unspoken fear that settled in the quiet moments, when she watched Celeste trace the rim of a teacup as though it held some great secret.
How long could this last?
Would Celeste always be here?
Or had Amelia simply borrowed her from something greater, something beyond her control?
She didn't have an answer.
—
Celeste had discovered music that morning.
Amelia had left her alone for an hour while she ran errands, only to return to find the apartment filled with soft, floating melodies. Celeste sat cross-legged on the floor by the record player, listening with rapt attention as the needle spun over an old vinyl.
"What is this?" Celeste asked, looking up as Amelia closed the door behind her.
"Music," Amelia said, setting down her bags.
Celeste hummed. "I think I like it."
Amelia smiled despite herself. "I would've guessed."
She walked over and sat beside her, watching as Celeste's fingers hovered over the spinning record, never quite touching. She looked lost in thought, her brows drawing together slightly.
"Do you ever feel like something is missing?" Celeste asked suddenly.
Amelia's stomach tightened. "What do you mean?"
Celeste hesitated. "I don't know. It's just a feeling. Like there's something I should remember, but I can't."
Amelia swallowed. "Maybe it'll come to you eventually."
Celeste looked at her then, her gaze searching. "And if it doesn't?"
Amelia held her breath.
Then what?
Would Celeste stay as she was forever—untouched by memory, unburdened by the weight of a past she didn't have? Or would the truth unravel one day, slipping through Amelia's fingers like paint bleeding into water?
"I guess we'll figure it out," Amelia said, trying to sound certain.
Celeste smiled, but something lingered behind her eyes.
And for the first time, Amelia wondered if Celeste could feel the same weight of uncertainty pressing against her chest.
Because despite the warmth between them, despite the quiet moments that felt like something sacred—
Neither of them knew what would happen next.