The weight of the past twenty-four hours pressed heavily on Amelia's shoulders, yet somehow, exhaustion never fully settled in. How could it, when the impossible sat just a few feet away, tracing the rim of a coffee cup like she belonged here?
Celeste.
The name still felt foreign on Amelia's tongue, but the girl wearing it seemed to embody it so effortlessly, as if it had always been hers.
Amelia leaned against the counter, hands wrapped around her own coffee mug, letting the warmth ground her. "Okay," she started, her voice still hoarse from sleep. "We need to figure some things out."
Celeste looked up from her cup, curiosity gleaming in her deep-set eyes. "Like what?"
Amelia exhaled, setting her mug down. "Like—where do we go from here? What does this mean? How did you even—" She gestured vaguely toward Celeste, toward the space she had once occupied as nothing more than a painting. "—happen?"
Celeste tilted her head, thinking. "You painted me," she said simply, as if that explained everything.
Amelia groaned, running a hand down her face. "Yeah, but I've painted so many things. None of them ever just… walked out of the canvas."
Celeste studied her for a moment, then spoke softly. "Have you ever painted something with as much longing as you did me?"
That made Amelia pause.
She had painted countless things—portraits, cityscapes, abstracts filled with emotion she couldn't put into words. But this one… this one had been different.
She had painted Celeste on a night when loneliness had sat so heavy on her chest she could barely breathe. When the city outside had felt too big, too distant, too cold. When she had needed something—someone—to be there, even if only in the swirls of her brushstrokes.
Amelia swallowed hard. "No," she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
Celeste smiled faintly, as if she had known the answer all along.
Silence settled between them, thick and charged. Amelia shifted, breaking eye contact as she reached for a notebook lying on the counter. She flipped to a blank page, tapping her pen against the paper.
"Alright, so let's try to make sense of this." She jotted down a quick list:
1. Celeste is real.
2. She came from the painting.
3. That is not normal.
4. There has to be a reason.
Celeste leaned over slightly, peering at the page with interest. "You think writing it down will help?"
"It helps me process things," Amelia muttered, adding a fifth bullet point: Find out how and why this happened.
Celeste hummed, resting her chin on her hand. "Do you believe in magic?"
Amelia blinked at her. "What?"
"Magic," Celeste repeated. "The kind that exists in stories. Do you believe in it?"
Amelia hesitated. As a kid, she had believed in all sorts of things—wishing on stars, fate, the idea that love could transcend time. But adulthood had a way of stripping away wonder, replacing it with logic and practicality.
Yet, here Celeste was. Proof that something beyond logic was at play.
"I don't know," Amelia admitted, tapping the pen against the paper. "I want to believe."
Celeste smiled. "Then maybe that's enough."
Something about the way she said it made Amelia's chest tighten.
A sudden knock at the door shattered the moment. Amelia jumped, heart slamming against her ribs. Her eyes darted to Celeste, who immediately tensed.
"Were you expecting someone?" Celeste asked quietly.
Amelia shook her head. She set down the notebook and crept toward the door, peering through the peephole.
It was Jane.
Amelia's best friend. The only person who had ever been inside this apartment aside from her father's staff when they insisted on sending people to check in on her.
"Crap," Amelia muttered under her breath.
Celeste stood, watching her cautiously. "Who is it?"
"My friend," Amelia whispered. She turned back to Celeste, eyes wide. "Okay. Um. You need to—uh—hide?"
Celeste blinked at her. "Hide?"
"Yes! I can't exactly explain why there's a girl in my apartment who wasn't here yesterday!"
Celeste frowned but nodded. "Where?"
Amelia scanned the room frantically. There weren't many options.
"…Closet," she said finally. "Go."
Celeste hesitated, then stepped inside the hall closet, pulling the door shut behind her just as Amelia exhaled and unlocked the front door.
Jane stood there, arms crossed, blonde hair pulled into a messy bun, wearing her usual mix of art student meets thrift store aesthetic. She eyed Amelia suspiciously.
"You look weird," Jane said by way of greeting.
Amelia forced a laugh, stepping aside. "Wow, thanks. Come on in."
Jane walked inside, gaze sweeping the apartment. "Are you okay? You didn't answer my texts last night."
"Uh, yeah! Totally fine. Just—fell asleep early."
Jane narrowed her eyes. "Uh-huh." She wandered toward the kitchen, eyes landing on the two coffee mugs sitting on the counter. "You had company?"
Amelia's stomach dropped. "What? No. Pfft. That second cup? That's mine."
Jane slowly raised a brow. "So… you poured yourself two cups of coffee this morning?"
Amelia winced. "I was really tired."
Jane didn't look convinced, but thankfully, she let it slide. She grabbed an apple from the counter, biting into it as she turned to Amelia.
"So, are we still on for the gallery opening this weekend?"
Crap. Amelia had forgotten all about it.
"Uh—yeah! Of course."
Jane chewed thoughtfully. "You sure? You seem… distracted."
Amelia forced a smile. "I'm fine. Promise."
Jane studied her for another long moment, then shrugged. "Alright. But if you bail on me, I will guilt-trip you for a month."
Amelia let out a relieved breath. "Noted."
Another bite of the apple. Another sweep of the apartment with those sharp, observant eyes.
Then—
"Why is your closet door cracked open?"
Amelia stiffened.
Jane started walking toward it.
Panic flared in Amelia's chest. "WAIT!"
Jane froze, hand inches from the door. She turned back, brows furrowing. "Uh. What?"
Amelia scrambled for an excuse. "There's—uh—there's a mouse in there."
Jane yelped, jumping back. "WHAT?!"
"Yeah! Yep! It ran in there last night and I, uh… I'm still figuring out how to deal with it."
Jane took a full step away from the closet. "Okay, ew. Call your landlord or something."
"Yep. Totally. Will do."
Jane shuddered. "Gross. Alright, I'm leaving before I start imagining mice crawling all over me." She grabbed her bag and headed for the door. "Call me later?"
"Yep!"
"Love you, weirdo."
"Love you too."
The second the door shut behind her, Amelia sagged against the wall.
A beat of silence.
Then, the closet door creaked open, and Celeste peeked out. "…A mouse?"
Amelia groaned, covering her face. "I panicked."
Celeste giggled, stepping out fully. "That was impressive."
Amelia dropped onto the couch, exhaling hard. "That was stressful."
Celeste sat beside her, smiling softly. "You handled it well."
Amelia shot her a look. "I lied horribly."
Celeste only shrugged. "But she believed you."
Amelia huffed, shaking her head. "This is going to be a lot harder than I thought."
Celeste leaned her head against Amelia's shoulder, her warmth a quiet comfort.
"We'll figure it out," she murmured.
And somehow, Amelia believed her.