The faint hum of traffic filtered through the cracked window of her sister's flat. Amira stood by the sill, her arms folded across her chest, the night chill kissing her bare skin through her camisole. Down below, London pulsed in rhythm with the restlessness in her veins.
Her phone buzzed on the counter behind her. She didn't look. She didn't need to. She already knew who it was.
Noah had been calling. Again.
She let it ring, letting his name light up her screen like a wound she refused to bandage.
Instead, she turned her gaze back to the street — a stream of lives in motion while hers remained paused, caught in the quiet between heartbeats, between what was and what might be.
Behind her, her guitar leaned against the wall, Luca's scarf still hanging loosely from its neck. She smiled faintly at the memory of him draping it over her shoulders outside the club just two nights ago — that silent gesture, so simple yet so gentle. The kind that stayed with you.
He hadn't kissed her yet.
And somehow, that restraint haunted her more than if he had.
She hadn't seen him since that night. Their shifts hadn't aligned, and she had needed the space. To think. To breathe.
To not fall too hard, too fast.
The doorbell rang.
Amira blinked, turning her head toward the sound, her pulse quickening slightly. She walked to the intercom and pressed the speaker.
"Yeah?"
"It's me," Luca's voice crackled through the speaker.
She froze for a moment.
Then, without a word, she buzzed him in.
He was standing at her door thirty seconds later, a vinyl record in one hand, two steaming paper cups of coffee in the other.
"I figured if I bribed you with caffeine and music, you might not slam the door in my face," he said, his voice soft, slightly amused.
She stared at him, lips twitching. "Smart man."
He stepped inside. The silence between them was warm, not awkward. Comfortable in its quiet.
Luca handed her a cup, then walked to the turntable by the bookshelf. "I found a Nina Simone original at that little antique record store near Brick Lane."
Amira's brows lifted. "Seriously? Those are hard to come by."
He gave her a lopsided grin. "For you, I'd dig through every dusty crate in London."
She sipped her coffee, letting that line hang between them, thick with meaning. Her heartbeat skipped, caught between affection and hesitation.
As the needle touched the vinyl, soft jazz floated into the room — melancholic and beautiful. Nina's voice was timeless, raw, vulnerable.
Much like how Amira felt.
Luca sat across from her on the edge of the sofa, legs apart, elbows on his knees. He looked at her carefully, as if trying to read the chords hidden beneath her silence.
"You've been quiet lately," he finally said.
She nodded, gaze on her cup. "A lot on my mind."
"About him?"
She exhaled. "About... everything. Music. My future. Me."
Luca leaned forward slightly. "You don't have to pretend with me, Amira."
Her eyes flicked up to his. "What if I don't know how to be anything but strong?"
"Then maybe it's time you learned that strong doesn't mean silent."
That struck a nerve. Her lips parted but no words came.
Luca stood and walked over, sitting beside her on the sofa. "Can I ask you something?"
She gave a slow nod.
"If he hadn't broken your heart... would you still be with him right now?"
Amira's throat tightened.
"I don't know," she whispered.
"That's fair."
He didn't push. He didn't need to. His presence did the talking.
She looked at him, eyes filled with something unspoken. "What about you? Why haven't you kissed me?"
Luca blinked, surprised. Then, slowly, a wry smile pulled at his lips. "Because I want to mean more to you than a distraction."
Amira's breath hitched.
"I don't just want a song," he continued. "I want the whole album."
She swallowed hard, her emotions caught somewhere between the past and the promise of something new.
Suddenly, her phone buzzed again.
Luca glanced at it.
Noah.
Amira stared at the screen, then silenced it.
She turned to Luca.
"Stay."
"I'm here."
Not just physically. But emotionally.
It was the first time in weeks she didn't feel alone.
And for tonight, that was enough.
The next morning began in muted light, London draped in a soft grey that blurred the skyline into watercolor. Amira sat at her kitchen counter, one hand around her mug, the other sketching lyrics on a napkin.
Luca was still asleep in the living room — or at least pretending to be. He'd stayed the night, like she'd asked. No lines crossed, no hearts forced open.
Just presence. Quiet and whole.
She glanced toward the doorway, her mind muddled with the scent of him still clinging to the couch cushions. That warm, cedar-like note she'd come to associate with calm.
But her calm didn't last.
Because her sister walked in.
"Please tell me that's not Luca on the couch," Zaynab said, eyebrows already raised.
Amira rolled her eyes. "Good morning to you too."
Zaynab crossed her arms, peering into the living room. "I'm just saying... I hope you know what you're doing. Juggling old heartbreaks and new distractions can get messy."
Amira lowered her pen. "He's not a distraction."
"Oh?" Zaynab leaned on the fridge. "Then what is he?"
"I don't know. Something different."
Different was safe. Different meant not Noah.
Zaynab's expression softened just a touch. "He seems good for you. I just don't want you getting crushed again."
"I won't," Amira murmured. "I've learned."
But had she?
The lyrics on her napkin — raw, bitter, hopeful — said otherwise.
Later that afternoon, Amira found herself wandering through Camden Market, Luca by her side. It was spontaneous — she had suggested it as a way to breathe.
And breathe she did. Between the smell of incense and street food, the energy of the crowd and Luca's occasional teasing, she felt alive.
"I bet you used to be one of those indie girls with a septum ring," Luca joked, watching her eye a stall selling vintage earrings.
Amira smirked. "Used to be? Baby, I still am."
They both laughed.
Moments like these scared her. They made her forget how heavy her heart used to feel.
They made her want to open it again.
Too fast.
Too soon.
"I booked a slot at Blue Room," Luca said as they walked past a music store. "Next Saturday. You want to perform?"
She stopped in her tracks. "Seriously?"
"I'm serious about a lot of things when it comes to you."
She bit her lip. "Okay. Let's do it."
The confidence in her voice surprised even her.
But not as much as what she saw next.
Across the street, Noah stood with his manager, frozen in place, his gaze locked on hers like he hadn't seen sunlight in days.
Luca followed her line of sight. His body stiffened the moment he saw who it was.
Noah didn't move.
Neither did Amira.
But her heart? It raced like a needle skipping violently over vinyl.
Luca stepped forward, subtly putting himself between them. "Do you want to leave?"
She nodded slowly, hand curling around Luca's.
They walked away, Noah still unmoving, a statue in the heart of the city.
---
That evening, she found a letter slipped under the door.
Noah's handwriting.
Amira,
I know I'm the last person you want to hear from, but please — one conversation. One chance to explain what I couldn't that night in Oxford. Not an excuse. Not a plea. Just… the truth.
Tomorrow. 7 p.m. Hyde Park. If you don't show, I'll understand. But I'll wait anyway.
—N
Amira read it twice. Then a third time.
The part of her that used to dance barefoot to his songs wept. The part that had crawled through heartbreak screamed in protest.
She folded the letter neatly and tucked it beneath her pillow.
Luca knocked lightly on her bedroom door. "Everything okay?"
She forced a smile. "Yeah. Just tired."
But inside, she wasn't okay.
Because even when you changed the record, some songs kept playing in your head.