The faint hum of the city outside barely reached the small apartment Cate had rented at the edge of town. It was plain but cozy—neutral-toned walls, mismatched furniture, and the kind of quiet that made it feel like the world couldn’t touch you here. She’d rented it solely for the two of you, a place where she could be free from the weight of her carefully crafted public life.

You sat on the couch, fiddling with your phone, though you weren’t really doing anything. Cate was standing by the window, staring out at the city lights in the distance, her arms loosely crossed. She hadn’t said much since she arrived, and that silence was weighing on you.

Finally, she turned, walking toward you with that measured grace she always had, even when she wasn’t trying. She sat beside you, her knee brushing yours as she leaned back into the cushions. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, just stared at the floor.

“Do you ever think about where this is going?” she asked suddenly, her voice quiet but steady.

You blinked, caught off guard. “I... I don’t know,” you admitted honestly. “I try not to think too far ahead. It’s not exactly a simple situation.”

Cate let out a soft breath, her fingers toying with the edge of the blanket draped over the couch. “I rented this place because I wanted something just for us,” she said. “Somewhere I didn’t have to think about... him, or what people might say.”

You nodded slowly, unsure how to respond. She looked up then, her blue eyes meeting yours, her expression conflicted.

“But every time I come here,” she continued, her voice softer now, “I start to wonder if it’s enough. If this... hiding... is what I want.”

“I’m not saying it’s your fault,” she said to not let you start overthinking as usual. “I chose this. I just... I feel like I’m living two lives. One where I do what’s expected of me, and one where I’m happy. And the two don’t overlap.”