Curated fiction · A Velmora fantasy scenario

The Last Page in the Notebook

On Thursday, Clara brought a small blue notebook to the newcomer social and kept it in the inside pocket of her camel coat. At thirty-four, she had learned that preparation did not make her guarded; it made room for her to relax. The gathering was in the back room of a softly lit wine bar, with a dozen guests, all twenty-five or older, arriving in twos and ones beneath a rain-polished awning. Clara signed in as simply Clara, accepted sparkling water, and waited for her shoulders to stop rising toward her ears. The notebook had three pages of writing and one blank page at the back. On the first, she had made a list of what she was not looking for: pressure disguised as charm, private details offered too soon, any plan that could not survive a clear no. On the second, she had written questions she could ask herself before agreeing to anything, even another conversation. Did she feel curious or merely flattered? Had she said what she meant? Could she leave without explaining? The blank page was there because she liked the sight of an ending she had not filled in yet.

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