At home, she dropped her tote bag by the door and headed straight for the shower. She didn’t even bother to turn on the bedroom light. Everything felt like a blur — not dreamlike, just faintly unreal.

​

Hot water stung her skin.
She let it.

​

Afterward, she stood in front of her bathroom mirror, towel wrapped around her, hair damp, face bare. Her eyes looked softer in the harsh light. Not sad. Not proud. Just... stripped of whatever armor she usually wore.

​

What was that?

Not regret. Not guilt.

But something was still lodged in her chest like a stone she couldn’t cough up.

​

She didn’t sleep right away.

She curled on her bed, lights off, phone face down on the pillow beside her. Minutes passed. Then an hour. Then her phone lit up once in the dark.

​

Telegram — Zach.

Zach: You okay?

​

She stared at the message for a long time.

No emoji. No flirting. Just that.

​

Another message followed.

Zach: I know tonight was a lot.
I’m not trying to make it worse.
But... I wanted to ask you something.

​

She waited. Her chest was tight, not from fear — but from expectation. She could feel something coming. She wasn’t sure if she wanted it or not.

​

Then it came.

Zach: Would you have dinner with me?
Not a shoot. Not anything like that.
Just… real dinner. No strings.

​

Celeste blinked at the screen.

It wasn’t what she expected.

​

She thought maybe he’d offer more money. Maybe something riskier. But instead, he was… pulling away from that.

Not a shoot. Not like before.

​

She typed slowly.

Celeste: Why?

​

There was a pause.

Then:

Zach: Because I want to see you again.

But not like that.
I want to know who you are when no one’s asking for anything.

​

Her fingers hovered.

​

She read his words again. And again.

Not a shoot. Not a role. Not Luna.

​

Celeste: One dinner.
If it gets weird, I’m leaving.

​

Zach: Fair.

That was it.

​

No hearts. No teasing.

Just agreement.

​

She turned off her phone and lay back, eyes wide in the dark. She felt... seen. Not fully. Not yet. But like maybe someone had opened a window in a room she didn’t know she was locked in.

​

And for the first time in days, she didn’t dream about money.

​

She dreamt about silence — and what it might mean to break it with someone who, maybe, just maybe, was trying to start again too.

​

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To be continued in Chapter 13...