<b>When Irene opened her eyes, the cave was gone. The damp air, the scent of rain-soaked earth, the eerie stillness—all of it had vanished. Instead, warmth wrapped around her like a familiar embrace.</b>


    <b>Her body felt weightless, yet an odd fuzziness clung to her senses. Her face was damp with tears—tears she didn’t remember shedding. She wiped them away hastily, but as her vision cleared, realization dawned.</b>


    <b>The ornate gold-framed mirrors caught the flickering glow of taper candles, casting long, fluid shadows across the cream-colored walls. The scent of jasmine and something faintly sweet lingered in the air. The red velvet blanket beneath her fingers was impossibly soft, its texture grounding her in the present. But it wasn’t the present, was it?</b>


    <b>This was Phoebe’s room.</b>


    <b>Irene’s breath hitched as she looked down, startled to find she wasn’t wearing the same clothes she had been in before. The cave, the ritual—it all felt distant now. She was dressed in a black dress she hadn’t worn in years, and then it clicked.</b>


    <b>A memory.</b>


    <b>She knew exactly which one.</b>


    <b>Freshman year. The night she and Phoebe first kissed.</b>


    <b>She had come here upset over some boy—a fleeting, insignificant crush that had already begun to fade before it even had the chance to become something real. Irene had struggled with relationships then, always feeling like they unraveled before they could settle into something lasting. She had thought it was frustration, an inability to connect. But now, as the memory played out around her, she saw it differently.</b>


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    <b>The door creaked open, cutting through her thoughts.</b>


    <b><i>"You shouldn’t think too hard about it,"</i></b><b> Phoebe’s voice filled the room, smooth yet playful. </b><b><i>"You’ll have different experiences over time. You shouldn’t waste them on one person."</i></b>


    <b>She stepped inside, carrying two bowls of black garlic ramen. Irene’s favorite.</b>


    <b>Phoebe walked toward the bed and handed Irene her bowl, but Irene barely noticed. Her gaze was drawn to Phoebe herself, as if seeing her for the first time.</b>


    <b>Her light brown skin glowed under the soft candlelight, and under certain angles, hints of honey and deep caramel undertones shimmered like molten gold. It was a richness that spoke of her heritage—half Mexican, half Indian—a blend of beauty Irene had never truly allowed herself to admire before. The black streaks of red in Phoebe’s hair caught the warm light, framing the curve of her sharp, well-defined features. The fullness of her lips, shaped perfectly with a deep cupid’s bow. Her strong, arched brows that always gave her an air of effortless confidence.</b>


    <b>Back then, Irene hadn’t understood why she fixated on Phoebe’s features so much. She had convinced herself it was admiration, nothing more.</b>


    <b><i>"Thank you,"</i></b><b> Irene murmured, the words slipping from her mouth as if they had a will of their own.</b>


    <b>Phoebe tilted her head, her dark eyes scanning Irene’s face. </b><b><i>"Were you crying?"</i></b>


    <b><i>"No, I’m just tired,"</i></b><b> Irene lied, avoiding her gaze.</b>


    <b>But something about Phoebe made Irene want to confess, to say things she had never told anyone else. To reach for her, to hold her, to let herself feel.</b>


    <b>Maybe she had always known. Maybe she had been too afraid to see it.</b>