Saturday did not arrive loudly. It slipped in quietly, wrapped in soft sunlight and the smell of coffee.
Élise woke to the sound of movement in the kitchen. Not rushed. Not stressed. Just the calm clatter of plates and the low hum of someone completely at ease in their own space. For a few seconds, she lay still, staring at the ceiling, letting herself remember where she was.
Zara's apartment.
A Saturday.
No work.
She exhaled slowly and rolled onto her side, listening.
Zara was humming. Badly.
"That woman has no shame," Élise muttered to herself, a smile tugging at her lips.
When she finally walked into the kitchen, barefoot and half-awake, Zara turned dramatically.
"There she is," she said. "The woman of the hour."
Élise frowned. "What hour?"
"Any hour you enter a room," Zara replied, sliding a mug toward her. "Coffee. Strong. You looked like you needed it."
Élise wrapped her hands around the mug, warmth seeping into her palms. "You're too kind."
"I know."
They sat across from each other at the small table. Zara had gone all out. Croissants. Bread still warm. Jam. Fruit. A tiny plate of cheese.
Élise raised an eyebrow. "Is this how Italians recover from the workweek?"
Zara shrugged. "This is how I recover. Food first. Complaints later."
Élise took a bite of the croissant and sighed. "I might never leave."
"That's the spirit."
They ate in comfortable silence for a moment before Zara leaned back in her chair, studying her.
"So," she said casually, "tell me the truth."
Élise stiffened slightly. "About?"
"You," Zara said. "Your face yesterday at work. You were somewhere else."
Élise hesitated, then sighed. "It's just… a lot."
Zara nodded. "Milan?"
"Work," Élise corrected. "People. Watching. Talking."
Zara tilted her head. "You mean Pedro."
Élise nearly choked on her coffee. "Zara."
"What?" she said innocently. "I see how people look when you two talk."
"There is nothing," Élise said quickly.
"I didn't say there was," Zara replied. "I said people think there is."
That settled heavier than Élise expected.
"And," Zara added, "people don't like when an intern attracts attention."
Élise stared into her cup. "I didn't ask for it."
"I know," Zara said gently. "That's why it scares them."
They finished breakfast slowly, talking about small things. Zara complained about a supervisor who talked too much. Élise talked about her family back in France, her mother's daily messages, her father pretending not to worry.
By the time they cleared the table, the apartment felt warm, lived in, safe.
"So," Zara said, clapping her hands, "what kind of Saturday do you want?"
Élise thought for a moment. "One where I don't feel like I'm being watched."
Zara smiled slowly. "Then we go outside. We disappear into the city."
They took their time getting ready. No rush. Music played softly in the background. Zara danced while doing her makeup. Élise laughed from the doorway.
"You're impossible."
"And you love me."
Outside, Milan was alive in a different way. Slower. Warmer. People laughed louder. Walked slower. Sat longer.
They wandered. Talked. Stopped whenever something caught their attention. Élise felt herself loosening, her shoulders relaxing.
"Do you ever miss home?" Zara asked suddenly as they sat on the steps of a square.
"All the time," Élise admitted. "But I also feel like… something is starting here."
Zara looked at her knowingly. "Careful. Milan doesn't start things gently."
As evening approached, the city shifted again. Lights. Music. Movement.
Zara grinned. "Tonight, we go out."
Élise hesitated. "Out how?"
Zara leaned closer. "The kind of out where people forget who they're supposed to be."
Something warm and dangerous curled in Élise's chest.
"Okay," she said softly. "Let's go."
As night fell, neither of them noticed the way this weekend was already rewriting the rules. How absence could be louder than presence. How attention, once sparked, refused to die quietly.
And somewhere far from Zara's apartment, a man who never spent weekends thinking about interns found himself restless for reasons he refused to name.
---
By the time Élise and Zara stepped back out into the street, Milan had changed its skin. The air felt warmer, thicker, charged with anticipation. Music leaked from open doors. Laughter bounced off stone walls. People moved like they belonged to the night.
Zara adjusted her jacket and smiled sideways at Élise.
"See?" she said. "This is the Milan you haven't met yet."
Élise glanced around, her pulse quickening. "It feels… different."
"That's because it is," Zara replied. "Day Milan works. Night Milan tempts."
They walked slowly, shoulder to shoulder, past glowing bars and crowded cafés. Zara pointed out places like memories.
"That one? Terrible drinks, great music."
"That one? Good wine, bad decisions."
"And that one," she paused, "that's where people go when they want to be seen."
Élise laughed softly. "And where are we going?"
Zara's smile widened. "Somewhere in between."
They stopped outside a club tucked between two old buildings. Music pulsed faintly through the walls. A line curved along the sidewalk.
Élise hesitated. "Zara…"
She leaned in, voice low. "Relax. Tonight, you're not an intern. You're just Élise."
Something about the way she said her name made her stomach flutter.
Inside, the air was warm and electric. Lights flashed softly, not blinding, just enough to blur the edges. Music wrapped around them, deep and rhythmic.
Zara grabbed her hand. "Come on."
They pushed through the crowd until they found a small space near the bar. Zara ordered without asking, sliding a glass toward Élise.
"Trust me."
Élise took a sip and winced slightly. "Strong."
"Everything worth feeling is," Zara said.
They talked loudly over the music at first — laughing about coworkers, mocking office emails, exaggerating small annoyances until they became jokes.
Then the music slowed.
The lights dimmed.
The air changed again.
Zara leaned closer. "You've been holding yourself too tightly."
Élise frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Zara said gently, "you walk like someone afraid of taking up space."
That hit deeper than Élise expected.
"I don't want to give people reasons to talk," she admitted.
Zara snorted. "They'll talk anyway."
Élise laughed softly, but her eyes drifted across the room. Faces blurred. Movement. Heat.
And suddenly, without meaning to, her mind drifted.
To the way Adriano looked at her when he thought she wasn't paying attention.
To the tension in his voice when he spoke her name.
To the way silence felt heavier around him.
"You're thinking," Zara said, noticing.
Élise met her gaze. "Am I allowed to?"
Zara smirked. "Depends who about."
Élise didn't answer.
The music picked up again. Zara pulled her onto the floor without warning.
"No thinking," she said. "Move."
At first, Élise felt awkward. Too aware. Too stiff.
Then the rhythm caught her.
She closed her eyes.
Let the music take over.
The world narrowed to sound and movement. Sweat. Laughter. Freedom.
She opened her eyes and met Zara's grin.
"There you are," Zara said.
They danced until their legs ached and their lungs burned. Until time blurred.
Later, outside, catching their breath, Élise leaned against the wall, heart racing.
"I needed this," she admitted.
Zara studied her face. "You're changing."
Élise swallowed. "Is that bad?"
"No," Zara said softly. "It's dangerous."
As they walked home, Milan quieted just a little, but something had already shifted.
Élise didn't know it yet, but this night — this freedom — would soon be twisted into something else entirely.
Because absence creates curiosity.
And curiosity, in the wrong hands, becomes obsession.