I didn't just hear that. I blink. She is lighting the joint again.

  "Wait—what?"

  She releases the smoke on another sigh, and looks at me dead serious, "I discovered - this morning - that Martin is cheating on me." She spaces it out to help me with the shock.

  I cover my mouth. After a second of silence, and well, nothing else to say than "Fuck him", I hug her.

  She nods, eyes glossy. Really holding back the tears. I give her a bit of space — she clearly doesn't want to go there. "What happened?" I ask.

  Her head turns to the door, making sure it’s shut. Then lowers her voice.

  "Once, I found an earring hoop on the car. It was silver, and I fucking hate silver, it doesn't match my skin tone. But I didn't pay attention to that." She taps the ashes to the breeze.

  "Another time, there was animal hair on his clothes, like a lot. I noticed it when I put his socks to wash. We don't have any pets. But I didn't pay attention to that either." A brief silence settles while she lifts the joint again, and inhales deeply. I watch the tip burn bright red and become ashes.

  "But yesterday night, we were going to watch a movie, and there's this new movie on Netflix ‘Fear Street' the Prom one. I told him, ‘Remember that movie Fear Street I mentioned?' And without even looking up from his phone, he goes, "

  She pauses, "I know it sounds stupid."

  "What? you're saying sounds stupid, keep going." I say, squeezing her hand. I notice she relaxes her shoulders a bit, lights the joint again, and takes another long drag.

  "So, he said and I said confused and he proceeded to describe to me, the entire fucking movie—also in this tone of Like I was testing him or something! Which is idiotic because Why—” She stops herself and grabs the bridge of her nose with her fingers, as if it’s the only thing holding her head together.

  "Anyways. We didn't watch that movie. I know that because it was at the cinema before, and I didn't catch it, and it had been on Netflix for like a week, and I've been wanting to watch it since."

  "But, didn't you ask him about it? Maybe he saw it with some of the guys?"

  "No, he hasn't seen these guys in a while. He has though—she makes quotation marks—sometimes until late, and nothing else."

  She let the words float there. I'm speechless.

  "Although, I get what you mean. It isn’t enough, right? Like, enough proof, maybe he just saw a very long trailer and figured out the entire movie. And the hoop in the car, from one time he took a coworker home. And the cat hair from when he went to a chinese restaurant and they made him remove his shoes, and the place was just full of cats.—She smokes what’s left, careful not to burn her fingers—I couldn't sleep all night, thinking of scenarios that explained all this. So then, one night, I checked his phone while he was sleeping. I know, not cool, but— " She raises her palms.

  "You are judging yourself too much, Ana. Who gives a fuck? Your partner shouldn't hide things from you, privacy doesn't mean secrecy. You are not crazy, you are following your instincts based on actual facts, to get to the conclusion that…"

  "To get to the conclusion that he's been fucking his ex for at least six months"

  I gasp. "Six months?! You saw their texts?"

  "I saw everything, Em. Their flirting, their nudes, she told him jokes that he later repeated to me," She starts to tear and looks up, drying her eyes with her sleeve carefully. "And then, their first encounters, the ‘I miss you’ they said to each other—she stops herself again and takes a deep breath. I have the feeling she could talk about this for hours.—Anyway, I just don't know how to confront him yet. I love him so much, and this is the end, you know?"

  My heart breaks for her. "You are mourning a relationship but at the same time you hate him, it must be so hard." She couldn't talk at this point. She is just looking up, placing the fabric of her sleeves under her eyes, to contain the waters. I grab my phone.

  "Ana, here's my contact." I turn the screen toward her. "Whatever happens, text me, let me know if you need anything"

  She immediately adds me, and we hear a couple of on the door.

  I look at Ana, who nods, fanning her eyes with both hands. "Come in!" I shout.

  Martin opens the door. "Babe, let's get going? I have a meeting early."

  We exchange looks. She smiles. "Yeah, sure."

  He enters the room while she is picking her bag and sniffs the air.

  "Did you guys escape to smoke alone?" he says in a playful accusative tone. She stands next to him, and he wraps one arm around her waist, pulling her close to kiss her head.

  Ana laughs, "We needed a girls’ time.”

  I'm just staring at him and thinking . Ana who's always the sweetest, most considerate person in every room. Also beautiful. She looks like an actual princess. Like, what?!

  "Is she okay?" He asks, pointing at me.

  Ana grabs me from my shoulders and softly shakes me. "I don't know, maybe she broke."

  They laugh. I don't know how she can so casually smile like this after what she told me. I would be ripping his face off. Bawling my eyes out.

  "Yeah, I'm not feeling so well, actually". I touch my forehead.

  Ana raises her eyebrows. "What's going on?"

  "Nothing, I was with a low fever in the afternoon. I just need to lay down."

  I walk them to the door and as I hug her I slide a “Text me later” on her ear.

  She smiles and waves, “Take care.”

  Then I pop back into the living room. "Bye everyone, I'm going to bed." I give a general wave. They answer all at once — different versions of , , maybe a — a blur of voices.

  As soon as I stop smiling, my body seems to power down. I feel exhausted, suddenly and completely.

  Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

  I think about brushing my teeth, about washing my face, but my body is already moving in another direction. I go straight to bed.

  I lie there with Ana's sadness sitting heavy on my chest, replaying everything she said, following the thread. And Daniel at the bar comes to my mind. Is this a hunch I’m brushing off and I should explore? I don't get to spiral. I'm already gone.

  I jolt awake — sunlight flooding the room, already too bright.

  I’m late. I have to be.

  Maybe ten thirty? The studio meeting was at ten. The video call starts at eleven. My heart is racing before I’m fully upright.

  Fuck.

  I’m sweating, my sheets tangled around my legs, my clothes sticking to me like I’ve run somewhere instead of sleeping. My head is pounding, a dull, insistent beat behind my eyes.

  I stumble out of bed and head for the bathroom. I splash water on my face, cold and careless, barely looking. My hands shake as I pat myself dry.

  I need my phone.

  I turn back to the bedroom, lifting pillows, checking the nightstand, and the floor. Nothing. I feel that specific kind of panic — the one where time keeps shrinking and you feel you’ll never gonna make it.

  It has to be here. I had it last night. Maybe it’s charging in the living-room.

  I step out into the hallway, already halfway through a mental list of excuses. The light there is dimmer, wrong somehow, like it doesn’t belong to the hour.

  No phone on the table. Not on the couch either.

  My chest tightens.

  I turn back toward the bedroom, frustrated, moving too fast, and catch my reflection in the mirror by the door.

  I stop at the glow. I’m wearing a white dress.

  Soft. Ruffled. Too much fabric — like I’ve stepped out of the wrong century.

  I don’t remember putting it on.

  I can hear time ticking. Arriving late to the first meeting would be insanely disrespectful.

  I grab my boots and pull them on without sitting down, nearly losing my balance. My heart is still racing, my head still pounding. I need to go. I need to be there.

  I open the door to exit my building, and as I enter The Studio I notice the lights are flickering. Like they’re struggling to stay awake. Everything feels a bit staged. I’m heading upstairs and I kick a paper cup. No. It’s an empty noodle cup, and looking around they’re everywhere— piled in corners, stacked along tables, scattered across the floor.

  I head upstairs.

  Jessie is already there, surrounded by them, noodle cups arranged like offerings in a shrine — towering, scattered, glowing faintly under the unsteady lights.

  I stop at the top of the stairs, staring at the scene, trying to make sense of this surreal image.

  She turns her chair. "What's up?"

  I feel as if I'm melting. I'm worried sick, "What happened with the meeting?".

  She laughs, "It's almost time Emma." The noodle cups start to move, to rustle in place, and fall from their piles. And from inside them, little rabbits are rolling out, balls of fur white as snow, colliding with one another, startling and jolting somewhere else. Wondering around the office. So Many Rabbits, for moments they look like an irregular fur carpet in the office.

  Okay, I'm tripping. I look at my dress and I'm full of thin carmesí satin ribbons, tied into dozens of tiny bows — delicate, precise. From each bow, a ribbon extended outward — vibrant threads connecting me to places I can’t see, to people I haven't noticed yet. I pull a ribbon and nothing happens, there is no resistance, but it isn't giving in either.

  The rabbits gathered at my feet, jumping, multiplying. Curious pale blue eyes. Pink ears. A thousand soft, silent questions. I'm kneeling down to grab one, I get close and I notice they also have little red ribbons on their necks, and they connect to each other. I reach for one, but it darts off — fast and slick, like its fur is made of mist.

  I wanna get close to Jessie. But trying to avoid all the ribbons, crossing everywhere to all directions, and not to step in a rabbit, is making everything so hard. I look up and Dean is standing right in front of me—investigating a red bow on his wrist very closely.

  "Cute," he said, amazed.

  I notice my red bows are connected to both of them.

  Jessie stands up and grabs my arm. "It's almost your birthday."

  We all fall in this huge whole of darkness that grew under us. I feel like Alice falling. I can see the red laces of my dress extending to the infinite. My hair grows as if I'm Rapunzel, and is also full of red bows, with laces extending flying everywhere.

  We land softly in a field of grass. Like someone's invisible hand had set us down with care.

  This is definitely a dream because this place is too pretty to be real. The sunset sky is layered in the most soft colors, pinks, yellows, and blues. Little stars are already blooming through the dusk like freckles. Wildflowers in every color sway gently around us. The ground is scattered with shallow pools that mirrored the sky, it mixed the flowers with the clouds. It is a familiar dream.

  We are lying down beside each other. Not touching, but close. Breathing in sync.

  Dean looks over at me, laying on his side, propped on one elbow. His voice is quiet, almost amused. "Why do you hate your birthday?"

  "I don't hate my birthday" I say, defensively.

  Daniel says, "What?"

  "That I don't hate my birthday" I repeat, emphasizing my statement.

  "What are you talking about?" he asks again, confused.

  I wake into reality, sunny light hitting the white curtains momentarily blinding me. I look at him, still blinking, and he smiles.

  "Interesting dream." He teases me. "And I know you hate your birthday."

  Half asleep, I roll my eyes. “I don’t it,” I complain. “I just feel too much pressure to enjoy the whole thing. It makes me anxious. I told you — I invited people to my party and no one came. I’m traumatized.” He smiles at that.

  "I knoooow," he says, wrapping me in his arms and kissing my forehead. He pauses his lips there for a bit. "Babe, I think your fever is flying high."

  starts playing, I turn off the alarm. "It's okay, I'll take a Tylenol. We have an important meeting today and I have to be there."

  I take two just in case, but I'm not feeling the fever really.

  I start to get dressed, "At what time everyone went home last night?"

  Daniel is still in bed in his cellphone, "Around eleven, not so late." He looks at me for a moment, "I love how those jeans look on you."

  I blow him a kiss and finish getting dressed.

  Blue jeans, high-waisted, cinched with a thick black belt. A black bodysuit stretched tight against my skin. Gold necklaces — thin, long, maybe a chain? I find a red ribbon in a drawer and, without thinking too much, tie a few small bows into my hair. I smile at myself.

  I kiss my boyfriend and walk outside. Wednesday is bright and slightly cool, the kind of morning that makes you want to keep walking but my car is almost here. There are just enough clouds scattered across the sky — I reach up with my hand, trying to touch one like when I was young, but they’re too distant. Not like in Buenos Aires, where the sky hangs low enough to brush the moon. I check my phone on my way to The Studio. Still no news from Dean.

  I open the door and apparently I'm the first one here. I turn on the lights, the computers. Prepare some coffee, and set everything for our video call.

  Jessie arrives and my brain is already counting time,

  As soon as she sees me, "Ohh, I love the red ribbons. Very on theme."

  "I had the weirdest dream last night, and I dreamed about these red satin ribbon bows, and one long ribbon coming out of the bow like making the connections, but like, all around."

  "And it actually looks more high fashion than wool red thread that was what I had in mind."

  "So, you like it?" I say rushing her.

  "I Love it!." She drops her things, "No Dean?"

  "No Dean," I say, shaking my head.

  "Okay, that's it. I'll text his cousin, I felt I shouldn't because maybe we make her worry without knowing anything, but it has been almost 2 days, and I have to know."

  "Pls Do So. Oh my god, if I knew you had the cousin’s number. I've been so anxious about this."

  "Yeah, we exchanged contact that time I went to a coffee shop with them."

  We sit on the table around her cellphone. ‘Hi Dana, Jessie here. Do you know something about Dean? He hasn't texted since Monday and we are a bit worried.' send.

  She puts her cellphone on the table, "Now, just wait." and starts to organize her notes for the meeting.

  My brain, .

  "We talk from the same computer, right?" I suggest.

  "Yeah, that's what I was thinking also."

  I pull the computer to the center of the table and flip open the screen. We both lean in, adjusting our positions until we're both visible in the little preview window. We scoot our chairs in, lean closer. She moves left, I move right. We test the frame "Looks good," Jessie says, I nod.

  We sit, and start fidgeting with the papers on the table.

  Then we hear it — the door downstairs slams shut. We look at each other and exchange a smile. Footsteps pound up the stairs loud, rushed, taking the stairs two at a time. Dean appears out of breath, face flushed, grinning. "I made it!"

  Jessie and I shoot to our feet. "What happened?!" "Where the hell were you?" "Why didn't you text us back?"

  He holds up both hands. "Chill. Some dude on the subway stole my phone Monday. I'll tell you guys later. Let's focus on the meeting — I'm sorry for being late. Anything I need to know?"

  We share the two small changes we decided on yesterday, then quickly run through two backup concepts in case they don't vibe with the main threads.

  The Zoom dings.