By the time Ava closed her laptop, the apartment had gone quiet in that particular way it did after midnightsoft, humming, like the world had finally exhaled.
Her screen went black, reflecting a faint outline of her face and the messy bun that had surrendered hours ago. The glow from the living room lamp was warm and low, turning the edges of everythingbooks, blankets, half-finished teainto something softer than it had felt all day.
She sat there for a moment, fingers resting on the lid of the laptop, listening to the silence.
It wasnt really silence, though.
Underneath the hum of the fridge and the distant traffic, there was that other sound she’d been trying not to hear lately. The quiet, insistent thrum of her own restlessness.
She snapped the laptop shut.
It felt final, like closing a door on emails and deadlines and the version of herself who always said, “Sure, I can take that on.”
The version who never said, “What about me?”
She slid the laptop to the side and let herself fall back onto the couch. The cushions sighed around her. Her body did, too.
Her phone buzzed once on the coffee table. A notification from a group chat. A meme. She didnt reach for it.
Instead, her eyes drifted to the hallway. To the bedroom. To the soft spill of light from the lamp shed left on earlier, a little pool of gold waiting for her.
And to the thing she knew was sitting on her bed.
The little bag.
Shed put it there on purpose before she started working again, like a promise to herself. Or a dare.
A small, satin bag in a color that looked almost innocent in daylight soft blush, almost champagne. But under lamplight, it went deeper. Warmer. Like something that knew more than it was saying.
She’d ordered it late one night, after a week of scrolling past the same kind of content she always pretended wasnt meant for her. Videos about pleasure. Posts about taking up space in your own life. A blog that had used the phrase “your body’s quiet yes” and made something in her chest ache.
The website had felt different. Not loud. Not cheap. No neon promises. Just warm words and soft images and the kind of language that made her feel like she was being invited, not sold to.
She remembered hovering over the “Place Order” button, heart beating a little too fast for someone sitting alone in sweatpants.
And then she’d clicked.
Now the bag was here. And so was she. And the only thing between them was a hallway and a hundred tiny excuses.
She pushed herself up slowly, feeling the pull in her shoulders, the heaviness in her legs. The day had been long. The week had been longer. She could, she told herself, just go to bed. Just sleep. Just be tired and responsible and sensible.
Her feet hit the floor anyway.
The walk to the bedroom felt like moving through a different world. The light was lower here, the air warmer. The bed was unmade in the way that suggested softness, not chaos. A book lay open on the nightstand, spine relaxed. Beside it sat a small bottle of vanilla sandalwood massage oil shed added to her order at the last minute, the label promising warm skin and slow hands if she ever gave herself the time.
And there, in the center of the bed, was the bag.
It was smaller than her hand, drawstrings pulled tight, the satin catching the light in slow, liquid curves. It looked like a secret.
Her secret.
Ava stood at the edge of the bed and just looked at it for a moment, feeling the push and pull inside her.
You dont need this, one voice said. Youre fine. Youve always been fine.
Another voice quieter, but steadier said, You deserve to be more than fine.
She reached out and picked up the bag.
The satin was cool against her fingers, then warmed quickly to her touch. The drawstrings were smooth, sliding easily as she loosened them. Her heart was beating too fast again, but this time she didn’t look away from it. She let herself feel it.
This was ridiculous, she thought. It was just an object. Just a thing. People bought these all the time. People talked about them openly, laughed about them over brunch, posted about them in comments sections.
But for her, this wasn’t about the object.
It was about the part of her that had been waiting. Patiently. Quietly. For her to stop treating her own desire like an afterthought.
She eased the bag open.
Inside, nestled in a fold of tissue paper, was a shape she’d memorized from the product page but that still felt startling in person. A small, metallic blue bullet vibrator, smooth and sleek, the kind of toy that didn’t try to shock her with size or gimmicks. Just quiet power, ten settings tucked into a body that fit easily in her palm. Not a joke. Not a novelty. Something that had been created with care for the body that would hold it.
Her fingertips slid over the metallic blue surface, cool at first, then warming under her touch. It felt heavier than it looked, solid in a way that made her think of all the nights she’d gone without anything made just for her.
A breath she hadn’t realized she was holding slipped out of her.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under her, the bag still in her hands. The room felt smaller now, in a good waylike the rest of the world had stepped back and closed the door behind it.
She thought about all the nights she’d gone to bed tired and unsatisfied, telling herself it didn’t matter. That she was too busy, too stressed, too something.
She thought about the way her shoulders tensed when someone else’s needs came up. How quickly she said yes to them. How slowly she said yes to herself.
Her thumb traced the edge of the toy again, slower this time.
Maybe this wasnt just about pleasure.
Maybe it was about practice.
Practice saying: I want. I deserve. I get to have.
Ava set the bag down gently on the bed and reached over to the nightstand. She picked up the bottle of vanilla sandalwood massage oil and turned it in her hand, watching the way the light caught the liquid inside. She unscrewed the cap for a second, just long enough to catch the soft, warm scentvanilla and sandalwood, like a hug she didnt have to earn.
She smiled, small and private, and set it back down.
Then she reached for the lamp.
The room fell into a softer darkness, lit only by the faint glow from the hallway and the city outside her window. The shapes around her blurred into suggestionthe curve of the chair, the line of the dresser, the gentle rise of the duvet.
She lay back, the sheets cool against her skin, the little bag within arms reach.
For a moment, she just listenedto her breath, to her heartbeat, to the quiet hum of the night.
She thought about the version of herself who always pushed her own needs to the bottom of the list. The one who said, “Maybe later” so often that later never came.
Tonight didnt have to be dramatic. It didn’t have to be a movie scene. It just had to be hers.
Her hand moved, almost of its own accord, finding the satin bag again, the familiar coolness of the metallic blue bullet inside.
Tonight, she decided, she wouldnt scroll past her own desire.
Tonight, she decided, she wouldn’t scroll past her own desire.
Tonight, she would follow it.
