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One year.
A long year full of personal discoveries. A year with each of them at opposite ends of the world. While one lived the day, the other navigated the night. Not a single message had been exchanged since that "take care." Habits changed, and new companionships were built.
Shasha couldn't stop herself from going to Gorya's parents' restaurant. She claimed it was for the food, but the designer’s mother knew it was just to get news of her daughter; so, as if mentioning it by chance, she would keep the model updated.
On the other hand, Gorya followed every single one of the model's campaigns. Unbeknownst to Shasha, she even took part in selecting the wardrobe for the last Fashion Week the model attended in the city. Gorya knew that body in a way no one else did, yet she could, out of pure martyrdom, imagine how many others had discovered it over the past year. She wanted to hold onto the faint hope that Shasha had done things differently, but her mind insisted that she would never change.
The model was definitely not the same. Post-event parties were now strictly for networking; no drinks, no flirting, and no one-night stands. The penthouse was left behind, and she now lived in a house with an orange cat that, ironically, had invaded her days. The creature simply walked in and stayed. Before long, he stopped biting Shasha’s long fingers and learned to snuggle up to her when the days grew cold.
She was now facing weekly sessions with a therapist, revisiting traumas and difficulties. The pain had led her to self-discovery and a desire to change. At first, she had done it for Gorya, but week after week, she realized she was doing it for herself—because she deserved that internal apology. She understood that the nights spent in constant company only served to silence the exhausting sound of loneliness. She didn't want lonely nights, yet she felt more alone than ever as soon as the "fun" ended.
Alone, she finally found the best company she could ever have: her own.
Gorya also began an internal shift: she started practicing yoga. Aligning her body helped align her thoughts in tandem. Each new pose that seemed impossible became a victory through persistence, calm, and an understanding of her limits—without letting them stop her. She realized she could achieve whatever she wanted if she believed and persisted, as long as she knew how to respect her own pace. Knowing her worth was never the problem for Gorya; the challenge was, finally, believing in it.
She was worth it. She was inferior to no one.
The twelve months away from her old life made her perceive perspectives that proximity had once blinded her to. Prim had been the greatest empty promise of her life; Gorya knew it deep down but had refused to accept it. Over the last year, their exchanged messages allowed her to see the truth: Prim was not the knight on a white horse her teenage self had idealized when she was protected from that gang. She was just an ordinary woman, with more flaws than her ego would let her admit.
Gorya understood that they weren't the same, either. She felt deeply, while Prim simply didn't want to lose the certainty Gorya's devotion provided her whenever Bambi surrounded her with uncertainties.
Their days were filled with appointments and the frantic rush of the fashion world, but not a single day went by without them thinking of each other. Whether it was imagining a garment that would fit Shasha’s body perfectly, or how a piece would be better structured under Gorya’s sharp vision.
But their thoughts also lingered in simple things. Shasha now drank matcha every morning because, somehow, it was like recapturing the taste of the designer’s lips on hers. Gorya’s perfume, meanwhile, had shifted from a floral to a soft woody scent; she claimed she was looking for a change, but deep down, it was the longing she felt for the strength and the striking presence the model used to exude.
Gorya was drawing sketches that would be the foundation of her own brand, but, inevitably, every line she drew had one specific model in mind. She wanted Shasha to be the face of her brand; she wanted her to be her daily inspiration. With the distance, Gorya finally understood that she wanted to be closer and closer to that complicated, once-broken woman.
Far from the night the designer was living in New York, the warm morning in Bangkok brought Shasha to her favorite place.
— Auntie, I finished setting up Lovely’s room — the model said, already pulling out her phone and opening the gallery to show the space designed for her little copper-furred beast. The older woman listened intently, a faint smile on her face.
— Sha... — She already called the model in a tender way, almost like a mother. Shasha looked up, attentive. — She’s coming back.
— Oh...
The woman gave her a confused look. After all, shouldn't Shasha be radiant? She had spent almost every day of the past year there, and upon discovering that the daughter of the house was returning, she reacted only with an uncertain sigh?
— I thought you’d be happy, dear...
— I am happy, Auntie, very much so... — Shasha tucked her phone into the inner pocket of her suit and straightened her posture, looking around. — I just got so attached to coming here to see you, eating your food... and now...
— Nothing will change, Sha. — The woman held the model’s hand, giving it gentle pats. — I don’t know what happened between you two, darling, but it’s been a year. You are no longer the person who walked through that door, and Gorya is no longer the hurricane that left through it.
She let go of Shasha’s hand with a final, affectionate touch on the shoulder before heading to the kitchen. The food seemed to smell even better now; it had a new seasoning Shasha had waited a long time for: hope.
These days now carried a different energy for both of them. Gorya felt the sadness of saying goodbye to those who had been her family for a year, but her pulse quickened every time she imagined herself back in her country, in her home, with her parents... with Shasha. Meanwhile, the model seemed to overflow with energy; she didn't know exactly when Gorya would return, but she felt she had to be ready for the day it happened. She had to show that she had changed—not just for the designer, but for herself, because for the first time, she had chosen herself.
Gorya had never hated the inability to teleport as much as she did on the day of her return. She just wanted to blink her eyes and feel the air filled with the aromas of her mother's cooking; she wanted her father’s soft embrace. She yearned to take the first step into her new life. She wanted to meet Prim for the campaign meeting; the two had been holding weekly conversations, and the director had secured valuable sponsor contacts for the launch of Gorya’s brand. Their relationship finally possessed a clear and defined structure, which had been good for both of them.
Prim was no longer a thorn in Shasha's side, either. They were nowhere near being friends, but they maintained a solid professional relationship. On the other hand, Bambi had proven to be a good friend, just as Shasha had for her. The two were alike in many aspects, although they had different motivations. Through psychological support and even couples therapy, Bambi and Prim were working things out—no rush, no strings attached, and with understanding. It was through this bridge that Shasha allowed herself to know more about Prim, and the director began to understand the model better. There was also Gorya’s finger in all of this, of course, but she didn't need to know that.
— This campaign has too many sponsors. Why? — Shasha flipped through the contracts. She had never seen a sponsorship list like that. There was no brand name hiring Prim’s production company; everything was being outsourced and kept under excessive secrecy.
— Is this something illegal? I’m trying to be the "good girl" now, you know?
— You’re still quite annoying, you know that? — Prim glanced at the notification that arrived on her phone and flashed a smile as she looked back at the model. — Your questions are about to be answered. Our client has arrived…
Prim stood up and walked to the door. Shasha was still busy reading when she heard the click of the doorknob; the director made way for the mysterious client. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion: the vibrant, strong red hair glowed under the light, and the woman’s smile was tender when her gaze finally met the model’s. Shasha felt a lump in her throat. Prim made a discreet signal for Praew and Min to follow her out of the room.
— It’s you…
The model stood up abruptly, but her body slowed as she drew near Gorya. Her hand hovered in the air, near the small face that framed those large, sparkling brown eyes; Shasha had never seen them so full of life and color. She bit her lower lip, trying to hold back the tears, but when the designer closed the little space that separated them, wrapping her in her arms, Shasha could no longer hold back.
Gorya didn't smell like the past anymore; she had a musky scent with a woody undertone that mirrored Shasha’s own perfume. In contrast, Gorya could smell her mother’s spices and the matcha imbued in the model. They had found their homes again. Shasha’s long, strong arms pulled the petite body tightly against her own, her face buried in the curve of the neck that seemed tailor-made for her. A muffled "I missed you" escaped through the crimson strands. Shasha felt a damp vibration from the short laugh Gorya let out, as she, too, cried from the longing she had felt for the model.
Gorya was the first to take the initiative to pull away. She tried to step back a little, but Shasha wouldn't let her go—perhaps due to the unconscious fear that if she let go, she wouldn't come back. Small hands cupped the model's angular face, and their eyes traced each other's features, recognizing each other carefully before their gazes locked.
— I told you it wasn't final…
— But a year was a bit too performative, even for you…
They both laughed, and Gorya’s thumb brushed the small mole at the corner of Shasha’s upper lip. Their eyes were still damp, stinging, yet overflowing with unspoken feelings.
— Will you agree to be my model?
— I will always be your model… — Shasha pulled Gorya closer, her long fingers intertwining in the red strands. She leaned in closer, her voice low, intimate, and true: — I’ll be whatever you want me to be.
Gorya closed her eyes as she felt the warm breath against her skin. She had missed the woman who kept her on her feet; she missed her kisses, her touch. The parted lips and heavy breathing were the invitation for the model to seal the deal. Shasha went slowly, recognizing what she once knew by heart, but the hunger grew, and it didn't take long before they were devouring each other—hunger and longing in the most visceral way possible.
Shasha pressed Gorya against the wall, and the thud brought her back to reality; they weren't alone, and certain steps needed to be taken before that point. Gorya let out a soft laugh upon seeing the desire she had missed so much in Shasha’s eyes, and held the model's chin before the kisses could resume.
— We have work to do. I’ve changed, but not that much.
The model looked frustrated and received a kiss on the chin as a consolation. She stepped back, helping to fix Gorya’s hair and clothes, who looked at her with an admiration she couldn't quite explain.
— It’s only the beginning, Shasha.
The model looked at her carefully and understood that it truly was just the start. Everything that had happened a year ago was left behind; they weren't the same people trying to restart, they were new people beginning a different story.
— Let’s start this meeting. The model is ready.
Gorya smiled and went to the door to call everyone back in. They sat down, and Gorya stayed beside Shasha. While Prim explained the storyboards for the presentation videos, Gorya’s hand rested on the table. Long fingers intertwined with hers; she glanced sideways and let a smile play on her lips as she felt her ears grow warm.
The two of them were the worst and the best thing that had ever happened to each other.