New Latitude, New Everything
The Sydney air possessed a distinct character, a refreshing lightness that hinted at the omnipresent embrace of the ocean. It was a clean, almost sparkling scent that filled Tori’s lungs with a vibrancy she hadn’t realized she’d been missing. The lingering fog of jet lag still clung to her, a persistent drowsiness that made her movements feel slightly disconnected, but the promise of the recording studio had pulled her out of bed and into the bustling energy of the building, a half-empty smoothie clutched in one hand.
She navigated the unfamiliar hallways, her eyes scanning the schedule displayed on her phone, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to reconcile the Australian time with her still-addled internal clock. Rounding a corner a little too enthusiastically, her focus entirely consumed by the tiny screen, she collided with something unexpectedly solid.
“Oh—crap, sorry!” she gasped, her voice a rushed apology as her smoothie cup wobbled precariously, threatening to spill its contents across the pristine floor. Her eyes flew upwards, bracing for the annoyed glare of a disgruntled studio employee.
“No worries,” a voice responded, the tone deep and easygoing, laced with a lazy Australian accent that somehow imbued the simple apology with an undeniable coolness. It was a voice that seemed to carry the warmth of sunshine and the relaxed rhythm of the coast.
Tori looked up – truly looked up – and a strange stillness settled over her. She froze, her apology caught in her throat, her mind momentarily blank.
He had the kind of dirty blonde hair that looked perpetually tousled, falling just the right amount across his forehead, a messy charm that somehow felt deliberate, effortlessly cool. His eyes, the color of rich emerald glass, caught the natural light streaming in from a nearby window, their depths holding a playful spark. Thick, expressive eyebrows framed his gaze, and when he smiled – which he was doing now, a genuine, easy smile – a charming dimple appeared on his left cheek, deepening the crinkles around his eyes.
His attire was a study in understated cool: ripped black jeans that spoke of countless gigs and late nights, worn-out leather boots that had likely traversed countless stages, and a faded, vintage band t-shirt she couldn’t quite place, its graphic hinting at a musical history she was yet to uncover. He definitely didn’t fit the stereotypical mold of a buttoned-up studio technician.
“I’m Justin,” he said, extending a hand that was surprisingly calloused, the roughness suggesting a life spent coaxing melodies from guitar strings. “I’m in a band called Night Lizard. We’re working on our new EP upstairs.”
Tori shook his hand slowly, her senses still reeling from the unexpected impact – both physical and something else entirely. His grip was firm but relaxed, his touch leaving a faint warmth on her palm. “Night Lizard? That’s… intense.” The name conjured images of dimly lit venues and raw, untamed energy.
He grinned, the dimple flashing again, a brief, captivating punctuation mark to his words. “Yeah, I fought tooth and nail for Moon Frog, but I got seriously outvoted.”
That made her laugh, a genuine, unforced sound that resonated in the sterile hallway. It was her first real laugh in what felt like an eternity, a small, unexpected release of the tension that had been coiled tight within her. It felt strange, unfamiliar, and surprisingly… good.
“I’m Tori,” she said, her own smile mirroring his warmth. “Just got in from the U.S. Like, literally three days ago.” The words felt a little clumsy, a testament to her still-disoriented state.
“Ah, you’re the new Capitol signee,” he said, nodding knowingly, a hint of admiration in his green eyes. “Everyone’s already talking about you. Heard you’ve got pipes.”
She raised an eyebrow, a little caught off guard by the immediate recognition and the casual compliment. “Already?” Word traveled fast in the music industry, she knew, but this felt remarkably swift.
He shrugged, a nonchalant gesture that somehow conveyed a genuine sincerity. “Word spreads fast when someone with actual talent shows up.” A faint blush warmed Tori’s cheeks. The compliment felt… nice. Uncomplicated. Refreshing in its directness.
“Well,” he said, stepping back slightly with a playful wink that made her heart flutter a little, “if you ever wanna jam with a bunch of nocturnal reptiles, you know where to find us.” He gestured vaguely towards the upper floors with a casual flick of his wrist.
He turned and started walking away, his easygoing gait carrying him down the hallway, but he glanced back once over his shoulder, a charming smirk still playing on his lips.
Tori stood there for a beat longer, her heart doing a strange little dance in her chest. The lingering scent of his slightly worn leather jacket and the echo of his laid-back Australian drawl hung in the air.
She didn’t know what this unexpected encounter was. But a quiet certainty settled within her, a clear and undeniable understanding of what it wasn’t.
It wasn’t Jade. There was no underlying tension, no sharp edges, no unspoken history hanging heavy in the air. It was simply a pleasant, uncomplicated interaction with a charming stranger.
And maybe, just maybe… that was okay. Maybe it was even a little bit good. A tiny seed of something new, planted in the unfamiliar soil of a new continent.
The initial awkwardness of their accidental collision had dissolved with surprising speed, replaced by an easy camaraderie that seemed to bloom effortlessly in the unfamiliar landscape of Sydney. In the span of just a few short days, Justin had woven himself into the fabric of Tori’s new routine, becoming an unexpected constant in her otherwise solitary existence.
Their paths seemed to intersect with a serendipitous regularity. There were the casual encounters between recording sessions, the shared moments over ridiculously overpriced but undeniably refreshing smoothies from the studio cafe, and the late-night rooftop hangouts with his bandmates, the city lights twinkling around them like scattered diamonds as they shared stories and laughter. But it was during those spontaneous jam sessions, when Justin’s worn acoustic guitar and Tori’s voice intertwined, weaving melodies that felt both familiar and brand new, that their connection truly seemed to solidify. It wasn’t a calculated effort, no grand design at play. It just… happened, a natural gravitation of two kindred spirits finding unexpected resonance in a foreign land.
They found themselves sprawled on the worn carpet of a small, cluttered writing room in the studio that afternoon, the remnants of their creative brainstorming session scattered around them like fallen leaves. Empty chip bags lay crumpled beside scribbled lyric scraps on crumpled paper, and a dusty keyboard, an instrument Justin barely knew how to coax a coherent tune from but insisted on experimenting with anyway, occupied a corner of the room.
Tori’s laughter echoed through the small space, a genuine, uninhibited sound that rumbled from deep within her chest – the kind of full-bodied laugh she realized, with a pang of something akin to sadness, she hadn’t heard from herself in a long time. It was a sound that chased away the lingering shadows of the past few weeks, if only for a fleeting moment.
Justin, his attention seemingly caught by the sheer joy radiating from her, watched her for a beat too long, his gaze lingering with a warmth that went beyond simple platonic camaraderie.
She noticed the intensity of his gaze, the subtle shift in his expression. A playful curiosity flickered in her eyes.
“What?” she asked, nudging his outstretched leg with the toe of her worn sneakers, a gentle invitation to break the comfortable silence.
He hesitated for a fleeting moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. Then, with a casualness that felt deliberately understated, he posed the question that had been subtly simmering beneath the surface of their easygoing interactions. “So… are you seeing anyone?”
The simple inquiry hung in the air between them, soft and yet undeniably dangerous, carrying the weight of unspoken possibilities and potential vulnerabilities.
Tori paused, her smile faltering almost imperceptibly, the lightness in her eyes dimming just slightly. “No. Not anymore.” The two words held a universe of unspoken history, a quiet acknowledgment of a chapter closed.
She could have elaborated, could have delved into the complexities of her relationship with Jade, the raw edges of the heartbreak she hadn’t yet fully processed, the lingering uncertainty about her own readiness to open herself up again. But the earnest, almost vulnerable look in Justin’s green eyes stopped her, a silent plea for simplicity in a moment that felt surprisingly significant.
“Why not?” he asked, his voice dropping a register, the Australian lilt suddenly imbued with a deeper intimacy.
She looked at him then – really looked at him, taking in the details she had only subconsciously registered before. The sleeves of his faded band hoodie pushed up to his elbows, revealing the strong forearms of a musician, his fingers idly tapping a rhythmic pattern against his knee, as if a constant beat pulsed beneath his skin. His eyes, usually a bright, playful green, seemed to deepen in the dim light of the writing room, taking on the intensity of banked emerald fire.
Tori swallowed, a nervous flutter in her chest. “Because…” she began, the word catching slightly in her throat. “Because… I think I forgot how.” The admission hung in the air, a raw and vulnerable offering.
And then he didn’t say anything. He didn’t offer platitudes or empty reassurances. He simply moved closer, bridging the small physical distance that had separated them.
And before she could fully process the impulse, before the familiar tendrils of doubt could begin to weave their way into her thoughts, he leaned in and kissed her. There was no dramatic buildup, no pregnant pause filled with unspoken anticipation. It was soft, sudden, and undeniably real, a gentle pressure of lips against hers that felt surprisingly natural.
Tori froze for a fraction of a second, caught off guard by the unexpected intimacy, by the surprising warmth of his touch. It wasn’t the explosive rush of fireworks or the electrifying jolt of lightning she had experienced before. Instead, it felt like a light switch being flipped in a long-darkened room, a gentle illumination of a space within her that had been shrouded in shadows for far too long.
When he finally pulled back, his gaze searching hers, he didn’t utter a single word.
Neither did she.
She simply looked at him, her eyes wide and a little dazed, her breath caught in her throat, and felt the tiniest, most terrifyingly hopeful part of herself whisper: Maybe… maybe this could actually be something.
But in the very back of her mind, a fleeting shadow stirred. A ghost of a memory. Dark, intense eyes, sharp, cutting words, the lingering taste of a kiss that felt both desperate and fleeting, a girl who kissed like she was afraid to stay.
Tori blinked the fleeting image away, consciously pushing it back into the recesses of her mind.
Right now wasn’t about Jade. Right now was about the soft warmth lingering on her lips, the gentle gaze of the boy sitting just inches away, and the fragile, budding possibility of something new.