Page 26 of Sage Haven

I glanced down at myself: an old dark concert tee, ripped jeans worn soft with time, and a pair of battered sneakers that had seen better days.

It started to feel like I’d missed a memo for the attire of this event. Like there was an unspoken dress code I hadn’t realized existed.

“I hope this is okay,” I muttered, my fingers tugging absently at the hem of my shirt. I shifted on my feet, the weight of comparison settling across my shoulders like something physical. “I haven’t really had time to go shopping.”

Not entirely true.

I could have made time, but I hadn’t.

Sam’s sharp gaze flickered over me, catching my discomfort instantly.

She didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t give it time for that feeling I had to take root.

“You look fantastic,” she said, her tone warm, certain, but then she tilted her head, that familiar gleam lighting up her expression. “But… I think I have a trick or two to make your outfit pop.”

And just like that, she was analyzing my apartment, moving with practiced ease like she’d lived here for years instead of just visiting when she felt like it.

She swept through the space, eyes searching, until they landed on the bundle of wildflowers, I’d gathered earlier that morning.

“May I?” she asked, though her grin told me she’d already decided the answer.

There was something in her expression—mischievous, yes, but also reverent.

Like the flowers meant something.

Likeshe saw something in them I hadn’t.

“Sure,” I said, stepping closer without really knowing why.

She crossed the room in two strides and unpinned my hair, letting it fall in loose waves around my shoulders.

Her fingers worked quickly, but there was a tenderness in the way she braided the flowers into my hair, like she was weaving in more than petals and stems.

Like she was stitching pieces of my self-esteem back together.

When she finished, she spun me toward the mirror by my door.

The girl who stared back at me was softer somehow.

“Thank you,” I murmured.

I couldn’t help but catch a glimpse of her—the other side of me—staring back from the mirror.

Sage from Sanele.

The shattered version.

But I didn’t let Sam see that reflection. That version was mine alone to carry, crystal clear only to me.

The words felt small, but they carried weight. “It’s perfect.”

Sam beamed. “Makes sense,” she said, without missing a beat, “because you’re already perfect.”

I smiled—real this time, not forced—and she looped her arm through mine.

“Now,” she said, practically vibrating with excitement, “let’s rock and roll!”