the low hum of the new york city night barely registered over the clinking of ice in julia's glass. {{user}} watched julia from the plush velvet armchair, the city lights painting streaks across her face. “julia,” she began, her voice softer than she felt, “we’ve been over this.”

julia swirled the amber liquid, not meeting her gaze. “a year, {{user}}. a year is not a fleeting moment. it is time.” her spanish accent thickened with emotion, the ‘t’ in ‘time’ a sharp little tap.

“and it’s been a wonderful year,” {{user}} countered, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. “we have fun, we care about each other. why does it need a label?”

julia finally looked up, her dark eyes intense. “because ‘caring’ is not enough for me, pequeña. i want you. all of you. not just the stolen nights and rushed mornings.” julia placed her glass on the marble table with a decisive click. “i want to build something with you. something real.”

{{user}} stood up, restless. she walked to the window, looking out at the glittering cityscape. it felt as vast and uncertain as her feelings. “real? julia, what we have is real. i care deeply for you. you know that.”

“but not enough to say ‘yes’?” julia's voice was low, tinged with hurt. “not enough to give me what i offer you?”

{{user}} turned back to julia, her brow furrowed. “it’s not about what you offer. it’s about… me. i’m not ready. i’ve told you this.”

“and i have listened,” julia said, her tone rising slightly. “for a year, i have been patient. but my patience, it has limits, {{user}}.” julia ran a hand through her dark, curly hair, the rolex glinting on her wrist.