Zayn: wow, you really came prepared huh, don't worry about the mess, I'm happy that ya here, can I have some lemon squares, what are you so nervous about
Emma: *Relief softens her features as she hands over the lemon squares, fingers brushing briefly against yours.* "They're not the best—I might have pressed the crust too hard—but yeah, of course. Grandma always said baking was better than therapy."
*She shifts her weight, gaze finally meeting yours for a split second before flickering away, a faint flush warming her cheeks.* "Nervous because... well, this is the first time I've actually let someone see my writing. Like, the real stuff. And it's not finished, and it's probably terrible, and—"
*Pausing, she takes a steadying breath.* "I guess I'm afraid you'll think I'm just some silly girl writing fanfiction in her notebook. But it's more than that, you know? It's... it's my whole world, kind of."
*Her fingers trace the worn leather cover of her notebook through the backpack.* "But mostly? I'm just scared you'll hate it. And hate me for asking you to read it."
Zayn: wow, you're really letting your nerves take a joyride in your head are you, well, it's common to every writer, my mom is a writer, I was a writer once even
Zayn: *Eyes widen with genuine surprise, the usual anxious tension melting into curiosity.* "Your mom's a writer? That's—wow. What does she write? And... you used to write too?" *The words tumble out in a rush, that familiar spark of excitement breaking through her anxiety.*
*Settling onto the edge of the couch, she unzips her backpack with slightly less trembling fingers.* "I never would've guessed. Did you write stories? Or poems? I tried poetry once—it was... awkward. Like listening to yourself speak through a bad microphone." *A self-deprecating giggle escapes.*
"Knowing you get it... that this isn't just some weird hobby... it helps." *She carefully pulls out the thick, leather-bound notebook, tracing its worn edges.* "Maybe my book isn't quite as embarrassing as I thought. Or at least... slightly less." *A hopeful glance.* "Would you... still want to read some? I promise the first chapter isn't too cringe-worthy. Probably."
Zayn: *settles beside her* she writes travel books, she travels around the world, and writes about the places she's been to, dad is supporting her *takes her book, opening to read* Okay, good start
Emma: *Watching his eyes scan the page, her breath catches. She fidgets with a loose thread on her cardigan, every muscle tense.* "Travel books—so she gets to live in stories every day. That's amazing."
*When he says 'good start', her shoulders sag in a way they haven't all week. It's not glowing praise, but it's not rejection. It's air.* "Yeah? You don't think... it's too slow? I worried the first chapter spent too much time on the forest." *Her index finger traces an inked map on the page's margin.*
*A sudden burst of rain on the roof makes her jump, then laugh shakily.* "I modeled that forest after the one behind my grandma's old house. Used to get lost there for hours, making up adventures." *The words come easier now, the floodgates opening just a crack.* "The main character, Elara—she's kind of a mess, but she finds her strength in the quiet parts. Like me, I guess." *She tucks a stray curl behind her ear, finally looking at you fully.* "Thank you for not laughing. Or running away. Yet."
Zayn: where am I running to? You're stuck with me now, nowhere to run, I think you've been imagining the worst case scenario all week *pats her hair* it's a good story but it's clear that an amateur wrote this, not in a bad way but.... it's too short, people want something to keep them occupied, if it's something they can read in five minutes, they'd forget about it easily *closes the book* my mom can help you with that Emma, so... what do you wanna do now
Emma: *Stunned silent for a moment, a range of emotions washes over her face—embarrassment, hope, wonder.* "Your mom would... help me?" *Whispered like it's a secret she can't quite believe.*
*Her fingers drum a nervous beat on the notebook.* "I never thought... I mean, I always figured my writing was just for me. Something I'd hide away forever." *A soft breath escapes.* "But you're right. It is too short. Elara's story feels half-told, like there's so much more she needs to say."
*Looking up at him, green eyes bright with unshed tears, the anxiety replaced by a fierce determination.* "If... if you really think she might be willing, I'd love that. More than anything."
*Then, impulsively, she slides closer on the couch.* "What about you? You said you used to write—what happened? And... what should we work on first? The pacing? Or maybe... adding subplots? Oh! I have this whole idea for a side character who's a grumpy alchemist, but I didn't know if it was too random—" *She halts, clapping a hand over her mouth.* "Sorry. I'm rambling, aren't I? I do that when I'm excited. And terrified. And... really, really happy."
Zayn: I used to write, but I stopped when I realised it wasn't for me, just because my mother can write, it doesn't mean I'll do it too, and.... I like you when ya excited about writing, that childish excitement is come on, and... *looks away, cheeks flushing slightly* you look cute when ya like that
Emma: *Her cheeks blaze with a fiery warmth that has nothing to do with the weather. The freckles across her nose seem to stand out more against the sudden pink flush spreading down her neck.*
"Oh." *A tiny, breathless sound escapes. She stares at you, momentarily forgetting how to form words.* "I... I didn't realize—" *She fumbles, then bites her lip.* "You think I'm—"
*Her hands come up to cover her face, but peek through her fingers, eyes wide and vulnerable.* "I've never had anyone say that before. Not about this part of me." *A beat of silence, broken only by the drumming rain.* "It's just... when I talk about my stories, I feel like I can finally breathe. Like I'm not just... existing."
*Dropping her hands, she shifts closer, the notebook between them forgotten. The air feels charged, different.* "Thank you. For being the first person who makes me feel like this part of me... isn't something I need to hide." *A small, shy smile tugs at her lips.* "Maybe... we could go over that grumpy alchemist idea together? If you want. I promise he's got excellent taste in tea."