How does this read?

I had this idea, but i don't know how well I've conveyed that idea into my writing, and I don't know how the ending actually lands for others so I'd love some feedback. It's my first time finishing something. Feel free to be harsh.

Word count: ~3k

Genre: biography. Romance adjacent?

TW: implied sex

I

Turning at the corner, her sneakers faltered before the window display. 

It was a rainy afternoon. She had taken the long way home from school again, like every other day. Beneath the sharp fumes of gasoline, an undercurrent of sweeter scent blended in—a whiff of scorched sugar and browned butter. The window display never changed: an oversized cake with a bunny on top, caramel melting all over it. She peeked through the glass and spotted Tommy alone, tinkering with a white dough behind the counter. The chubby middle-aged man, always in his brown apron. He caught her eyes and waved her in with a smile. 

There were too many sweets inside. Rows of chocolate bears, birthday cakes, cheese cakes, lemon loaf slices, shortbread cookies. She looked to her left. Cinnamon rolls, wrapped caramels, pistachio macarons. A lot of things of which she did not know the name.

Tommy’d asked her for help, which, in his shop, meant trying out his new recipes, and today it was a muffin with cheddar cheese melted inside. 

As fun as his new creation was, something else was on her mind—the plain blueberry cupcakes in the corner, at the back of the display fridge.

There likely wasn’t a real blueberry in there, but they were the closest thing to the blueberries her father had magically brought her once. That mild tang folding into sugar and butter, dissolving on her tongue the moment she closed her teeth—they never failed to brighten her day. 

She didn’t ask for the cupcakes. It was enough knowing they were still there. But Tommy asked her to take one anyway. 

Sweets get you out of shape, Valerie. Her mother’s words rang in her head. 

Tommy insisted. He always did. Said he’d put it on her father’s tab the next time he dropped by. “Has he today?” she asked, though it didn’t matter. She liked the sound of it—her father’s name being talked about by someone. Someone like Tommy. 

She ended up taking the cupcake anyway. There was a strange comfort leaving a tab in his name. 

On her walk back, she’d finished the cupcake, making sure the packaging along with the last of the frosting from her thumb was gone before stepping back into the apartment. 

The still, echoing apartment that never held any sweets. Not anymore. Not after her father moved out. Not even when she kept her head down and aced every exam. 

She could pass by Tommy again tomorrow, she thought, and maybe tomorrow, her father would be there too. 

It continued for a few years, taking the little detour on her way home. 

Then one afternoon she didn't turn at the corner. 

Neither did she the next day. 

A week went by, then another. Eventually she stopped hesitating around the corner. The walk became only a walk. 

Years later, on another rainy afternoon, the air was clear enough to smell the freshly-cut grass. She followed the familiar bend, her boots paused at the window display again. 

The oversized bunny cake was gone. Tommy looked older with his grey hair. So did she with her cyberware. 

She waited by the door, watching the rain until the shop was empty. 

“What are you making new, Tommy?” 

He leaned his weight against the counter, giving her a weary smile. “Haven’t felt much like tinkering with new recipes in a bit.” 

She looked away, her eyes lingering on the familiar, aging tiles behind him. A single one of her optics probably cost more than the shop itself—the tiles, the flour, and Tommy himself. 

“How much is the tab?” she asked. 

Tommy hesitated, then said to leave the tab open just in case. 

“He’s not coming back,” she said, “I’ll close it.”

As her eyes lit blue transferring the eddies, her Kiroshi drifted to the back of the display fridge, searching for the familiar shape.  

“Sorry,” Tommy said, "I don’t make ’em anymore."

Her optics darkened. 

“It’s okay.” She turned to the door. “They were just some cupcakes.”

“Wait.” Tommy wiped his hands on his apron, brown as always. “That’s too much for the tab.” 

“Consider it payback for all the samples I stole when you weren’t looking, Tommy.” 

She walked out without looking back. 

After that, she never turned that corner again. 

II

The mattress dipped as River’s weight settled slowly into her hips. His mouth found the damp hollow of her collarbone, dragging through the thin sheen of moisture, unhurried. Heat followed the wet trail up the side of her neck, then his lips caught hers. 

His hand, calloused and careful, brushed the swollen skin around the stitches at her ribs. It hurt. Yet, she pressed closer, chasing the burn. 

They fell into each other, into the synth sheet. Again, then again, until she let out a sigh into his mouth, fingers tightening against his back before they eased. 

For a while they didn’t move. 

When he finally did, it was a slow glide of his hand into her hair. Large fingers threaded through the damp strands, stroking the curve of her skull in slow, repetitive passes. 

It soothed the noises in her head. It always did. 

When the room settled again, she laid sideways in her bed, watching the same hand dwarf a paper bag across the room. It worked its way to take out some brown rings, one after another, setting them into a plate gently. The morning orange glow caught his jaw, softening the harsh angle at the edge of its shadow. 

“What’s breakfast?” she asked. 

“Donuts.” 

He took the last brown ring from the bag and sat beside her, offering the plate before biting into one himself. 

V sat up, planting a soft kiss on his jaw. The faint rasp of his stubble caught at her lips. 

“I don’t do sweets, River.”

It wasn’t fully a lie. 

She’d avoided pastry shops and never looked at dessert menus when she ate out. The past few years went by just fine, mostly. On windless days, when she saw children hanging out in the sun eating ice cream, she’d find herself watching them, wondering if the cold sugar still tasted the same as her memory. 

Then she’d let it pass. They weren’t good for her shape. Plus, she didn’t like the tooth-aching rush anyway. Didn’t like the cloying mush they left on her tongue. 

That was what she told herself. 

“That so?” 

River turned his head, catching her lips with his. Beneath the rough stubble, his lips were so soft it made her want to lean in for more. 

He pulled away an inch, close enough that she still felt his breath. “Joss said the cookies in the trailer were gone last week. I didn’t have any.” His lips curved up a little. “It was a whole jar, V.”

V’s hand stilled on the sheet. Heat rose in her neck. 

“Guess the kids are stealthier than you give 'em credit for.”  

“They can have cookies whenever they want to. There’s no reason for them to eat a whole jar and lie.” 

V kept her eyes off the plate, reaching out to take it from him and setting it aside.

“What are you trynna say now, detective?” 

He leaned in and kissed her again, slow and unhurried. Against the velvet pressure, she caught the leftover honeyed taste on his tongue. She found herself nuzzling closer, her hand crawling up the back of his neck. 

After a while, he broke the kiss. The smile tugging at his mouth was unmistakably smug.

“Just trying to convince you to have some donuts.” 

He raised the donut to her, the scent of warm dough and melted sugar filling the small space between them. 

The warmth. The sugar. This all felt like a trap. 

“You’re the worst,” she muttered, “Just this once. I’m buying breakfast next time.”

She snagged the smallest donut and bit in. The honeyed note coated her tongue, then followed the richer flavor of fried dough. 

The familiar drag of browned butter that belonged to Tommy’s pastry shop. 

“Well?” River asked, organic eye searching hers. 

“‘s alright.” Chewing slowly, she focused on keeping her face still. "Donut's a donut." 

He grinned and said nothing. 

Just when V swallowed the last bite, her eyes strayed to the remaining donuts on the plate. 

"You don't have to. We can eat out," he said, still holding that smile.

She looked away, down at the sheet gathered at her knees, then reached out for another donut. 

“For the record, I’m starving.”

III

Three months later

They went to bed without the lamplight, without the neon colors from the skyscrapers and ad banners. When she rolled to face River, moonlight pooled on his arm in pale silver, smoothing the hard line into a soft curve. 

Noises in her head had silenced. 

Her hand in his, she watched the cloud drifting over the moon, wanting to stay awake. But amidst the even rhythm of his breathing, her eyelids were lead. 

It was a dreamless sleep until a surge of dull ache at the back of her head woke her. 

In the earlier days, pain used to only surface after a heated fight, after the adrenaline drained away and her body started feeling the flesh. Lately it arrived without warning, hitting in the quietest moments—even in his arms. 

Her hand was empty. She reached across the bed, only to catch the cold fabric. Besides her, the mattress still held the shallow curve of his weight. Carefully she rolled into the space he’d left empty, sinking her body into the faint trace of him, waiting for the throb to ease.

The thin orange line at the horizon slowly turned into amber, casting slanted light and long shadows across the sheet. 

As the pain slowly ebbed, inexplicably, a faint sensation crawled up her chest. Something familiar. Warm and tender. Her nose turned. It was the smell. A thin sweetness—honeyed and luscious, mixed with a jammy scent—swallowed quickly by the coffee aroma. 

She followed the scent to the kitchen. There, a brown sponge freckled with dark-blue stains, was a cupcake. 

A note was tucked underneath, blue ink tracing the handwriting with that slanted y he left every time.  

When I'm with you, I feel like I'm in a dream. Of course, inevitably I have to wake up and snap back to reality :) If you feel the same, maybe these two treats can give you the boost you need: a sweet (like you) cupcake and a hot (also like you) coffee. Now, stop reading and take that first sip...

Well? That's a Kopi Kadal coffee - it's brewed from beans that are extracted from iguana droppings and roasted to perfection! Fascinating, right?!

And of course, didn’t forget the sweets. Picked the blueberry one this time. Hope you like it. 

Have a good one, V. <3

A smile tugged at her lips before she realized it.

Her eyes closed as she took a slow bite of the cupcake. Mild tang melted between her teeth, bringing her back to the afternoons on the way home. The patter of rain. The melting cheese and sugar. The cracked tiles. All folded in, like a reel of old film playing back. 

Her holo rang, pulling her back. It was River. 

“Hey,” she picked up. 

“Hey, V.” His voice was tired but warm. “You sleep well?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Sorry, had to go earlier. Joss called from the hospital.” He paused, the noise of people chattering blended in. “Didn’t want to wake you just to say bye.”

“Apology accepted. I should be thanking you, letting me claim the whole bed.”

V took a sip of her coffee, watching the dust drifted through a strip of sunlight by the window. 

“I maintain that I don’t like sweets,” she said. 

“Well, if you mean the cupcake,” he said gently. “Give it to Barry, if you don’t want it. Sure he’d appreciate a little sugar rush in the morning.” 

“I might. But he’s gonna think I have a crush on him.”

“Hmmm. Pretty sure he’s not your type.”

“Huh.” She smiled. “So what’s my type?”

River didn’t answer right away. Monique’s laugh faint in the background.

“Dunno. Someone who’d buy you a cupcake?” He paused. When he spoke again, it was quieter. “Figured you might like it.”

Her thumb traced the edge of the note he’d left her, smoothing it flat. Her eyes went back to the same line, moving over each word slowly.

When I'm with you, I feel like I'm in a dream.

The last bite of the cupcake on her tongue, dulling slowly.

“Nah. Someone who leaves my sheet a sweaty mess,” she said.

River huffed a quiet breath. 

“Who says they can’t be both?”

“Fair. Seriously though, stop with the sugar traps.”

“Okay,” he said. “We’ll see.”

She hung up, the mild tang still lingering between her teeth. 

Under her fingertip, the note caught the sunlight, the blue ink sharpening under the gold. Carefully she folded it in half, then half again, pressing each crease flat with her thumb. She took her time before sliding it into the drawer underneath. 

Inside lay more notes, one stacked atop another, each folded with the same precise edges. 

IV

Two months later

The sirens wailed somewhere in the distance, needling through the rain. Her head throbbed, each pulse a knife grinding through her skull. It ached. Her neck, her torso. Everything. She shifted her hand to reach for the holo, but the movement lagged, struggling to follow her own command. 

In the dark of the deluge, the holo trembled in her hand as she scrolled through the contact list. His name blurred, switching in and out of her focus. 

Was she fading in her own skin already? Or was it the pain turning her inside out? The relic was eating her alive. If she didn’t make it to Mikoshi soon enough, if she didn’t find a way into that digital fortress, in a few hours there wouldn’t be anything left of her to save. 

It would’ve been easy to put a bullet into her skull and let herself rot. To end the mess of a life that had felt like it belonged to no one. This had been borrowed time in the first place anyway. 

But then she thought of him. The small, tender sparks in his brown eye when he looked at her. It made her ache. It pulled her back to him again and again. 

Made her want to fight for another chance. 

“Hey, V.” His voice came through the holo, warming her ear. 

“Hey, I wake you?” V tried to brighten her voice, yet it came out hoarse.  

“Nah, wasn’t asleep.”

“Shipping containers again?”

He let out a tired huff. “Worse.”

“What could be worse ‘n that?”

“Eh, pursuing somebody else’s batched case. The feeling you are that fuck-up. Dunno. Hard to explain. What are you doin’ up?”

“Just uh, wanted to hear your voice, officer.” She meant to be playful, but it sounded wrong. Sounded almost needy. 

“Formerly officer,” he said.

“Not to me.”

“In that case, ma’am, you have reached the right number. Whaddaya say a little nightcap?” 

The sirens in the distance had faded. She pressed the holo closer, trying to catch his breathing in the dark. Its low hum blurred into the rain. Her mouth remembered the velvet softness of his lips, caught in the rasp of his stubble. 

“Can’t," she said, "not today.”

“Everything alright?” His voice shifted lower. 

“Yeah.” She forced out a smile. “Haven’t seen my sweets today, River.”

“Sure you checked the inside pocket?”

Her hand stumbled to the pocket, finding a crumbled paper bag. Inside sat a round shaped thing with a sandy surface. Its edges were lumpy, dark chunks bleeding into the crust. 

“Chocolate cookie?”

“Baked with the kids last weekend. They asked me twice to make sure you get one too.”

“You sure it wasn’t you telling them to leave me a piece?”

“Let’s say our interest was aligned.”

She brought the cookie to her nose. A buttery, milky sweet. The kind that belonged to Tommy’s shop on a rainy afternoon.

“Won’t give up, will you?" She tried with that old smirk of hers, but her voice cracked. "You and your sugar traps.”

“Have I trapped you with me yet?” he murmured. 

She closed her eyes, letting the memory of his heavy fingers close around hers, the touch she'd trusted to stop the trembling. 

You’ve trapped me long ago, before I knew it. 

“Sorry.” V swallowed. “I gotta go.”

“Wait wait,” he said, “whatever it is you can count on me, you know.”

“I know.” 

The cookie was still in her hand. She clasped it a little tighter, hoping to catch a hint of warmth. 

But it was flat and cold. 

“River–” 

He made a soft sound, waiting. 

Last chance. 

I miss you, the words crowded up on her tongue. She knew how they would land between them. How it would crash her, and then crash him too after she was gone.

Her breath caught in her throat, jagged.

“Tell the kids I love the cookie," she said. 

“Yeah.” 

"And uh– hang in there."

She cut the line before he said anything.

His name lingered in blue on the holo, trembling in her hand. It dimmed, and eventually vanished, leaving only her reflection in the dead screen. 

She bit down. 

Sugar and crumbs, pure sweet at first, followed by the heavy, rich scent of browned butter, then the bitter drag of the chocolate. For a second the rain thinned. All she heard was her own heartbeat, the solid, rhythmic thump that grounded her. Held her in place.

When the last of the crumbs were gone, a small piece of paper remained in the paper bag. Blue ink, seven words, every y tilting the way she remembered. 

Hope the cookie sweetens your day, Valerie. 

A quiet warmth stirred in her chest, softening her pulse as it reached her throat.

"I love you too," she whispered. 

It would’ve been the forty-ninth note in that drawer.