Page 93 of Hidden Echoes

Zane’s smirk fades. His voice is quiet, almost solemn. “Then don’t worry. I’ll learn to be the man who deserves to be your first.”

The afternoon sunspills through the cracks in the curtains, lighting up the room with a warm, golden glow. I’m stretched out on the couch, the bowl of buttery popcorn still perched on my lap, as the voices of Sex and the City fill the air. It’s been a whole day since I started watching—almost done with the first season now—and I’m totally hooked. What began with a random GIF on the forum has turned into this fun, slightly chaotic obsession. Honestly, I’m kind of thinking I could base my whole personality on them. Why not, right? Life’s too short not to channel a little Carrie Bradshaw energy. After all, it shouldn't just be about killing people, right? I'm kind of determined to change that. I'm a changed Mia.

My feet are tossed to the side, and every time I bring a piece of popcorn to my mouth, the salty, buttery smell fills the air. Across the room, Zane is bent over his sketchbook, headphones on—probably listening to some Blackpink song—his charcoal gliding smoothly across the paper in precise, measured strokes. He doesn't say anything, focused as ever, and I don't speak either. I just watch.

Then, he mumbles something about dead headphones and sets them down on the table next to him.

I’ve noticed something about Zane. He has this quiet appreciation for Asian culture. I remember him once mentioning that he and Abby used to watch anime a lot when they were younger. He misses it, but it’s not the same without her.

I turn my gaze back to the screen, where Carrie’s walking down the streets of New York in a tight dress and stilettos, her voiceover narrating some epiphany about relationships. I chuckle softly when Miranda throws a sarcastic comment, but I don’t turn to see if Zane reacts. He’s immersed in what he’s doing, and I enjoy the soft sound of the pencil on paper in the background.

But then, slowly, I notice his focus start to slip. The cadence of his lines becomes more spaced out. He’s still drawing, but he’s not as absorbed as before. I glance at him—he’s not looking directly at the TV, but his eyes shift subtly, as if he’s listening involuntarily.

I say nothing.

The episode continues, and without me realizing it, Zane moves. First, just a slight shift in the way he holds his notebook. Then a more direct glance at the screen. Eventually, he turns his body slightly toward the TV, resting his elbow on the arm of the couch—like he’s not really watching, but not ignoring it either.

I pretend not to notice.

Time passes, scene after scene, the sound of charcoal on paper filling the room. Then, a comment from Samantha makes Zane let out a breath of laughter—low and short.

I turn to him, watching sideways. “You laughed,” I say, my voice quiet but full of amusement.

He doesn’t look up from the drawing. “No.”

I smile. “Yes, you did.”

He pretends to be indifferent, but he’s no longer drawing. His fingers are still holding the charcoal, unmoving. Realizing it, he drops the pencil onto the table and leans closer to me. The couch sinks a little under his weight.

I expect a sarcastic remark, but he just watches me.

His shoulder brushes against mine lightly, a natural movement as he settles in. His tension starts to dissolve, and I realize his breathing is syncing with mine.

Minutes pass, and without even thinking about it, my hand slides across the popcorn container and brushes his. Neither of us pulls away immediately. My fingers linger just a second longer than necessary before I pull the popcorn to my mouth.

The corner of his mouth twitches almost imperceptibly.

I smile but say nothing.

Zane stays quiet, his eyes fixed on the screen. The episode continues, but then—out of nowhere—he asks, “Is this guy an asshole?”

I glance up at him, surprised. “Which one?”

He points with his chin at the screen, where Carrie’s arguing with Big.

“I think so.” I pop more popcorn in my mouth.

He frowns. “Why?”

I shrug. “Because he is clearly playing her.”

He stares at me for a beat, then looks back at the TV. The episode continues, and I can tell he’s actually paying attention now. He doesn’t even realize he’s leaned forward a little, eyes narrowed.

“What about this?” he gestures to Miranda, who’s rolling her eyes at Charlotte’s random comment.

“Miranda? She’s a good character.”

He nods slowly, taking it in.

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