Atasha's POV
Evening slipped in quietly, dressing the sky in soft lilac and rose gold. We didn't speak for a while. There was no need. The silence between us wasn't heavy anymore—it was full. Full of what we'd left unsaid, of the time we thought we lost, and the strange comfort of being near again.
Antonio and I sat beneath the little pavilion near the park's end—our place now, unspoken and yet so certain. The city hummed beyond the trees, but here, it felt like we'd pressed pause on the world.
He nudged me gently. "Remember when we used to talk about dreams?"
I smiled without looking at him. "Yeah. You wanted to start a business empire. I wanted to stitch emotions into fabric and help heal hearts with medicine."
"You didn't just talk about it," he said softly. "You lived it. You're the bravest girl I know, Selene."
My heart skipped. He used my real name—the one I had buried deep under Atasha like armor. And it didn't hurt this time. It felt safe.
I turned to him, tracing his profile in the golden light. "And you… you're no longer just the boy with the smooth lines and stolen glances. You're trying, really trying. I see that."
He turned his palm up between us. An invitation.
I placed my hand in his.
"You don't have to promise me anything tonight," I whispered. "Just... be real with me. No more hiding. No more assumptions. We already crashed once. I don't want to fall again—I want to fly."
He leaned in then, not to kiss, but to rest his forehead against mine. The space between us shrank, not from passion—but peace.
"I'm here, firefly," he murmured. "For every night and every sunrise after."
And I believed him. And I believed he meant every word.
The quiet between us deepened—not awkward, not uncertain, but brimming with emotion we weren't quite ready to say aloud. My fingers were still tangled in Antonio's. He wasn't just holding my hand; he was anchoring me. To this moment. To him.
I could hear the rustle of leaves above us, the occasional chirp of crickets tuning into the night. But all I truly felt was the heat of his closeness, the way his thumb gently moved across the back of my hand like he was memorizing my pulse.
"You used to hum when you were deep in thought," he said suddenly, voice soft like velvet. "Still do?"
I laughed, the sound surprising even myself. "Only when I'm trying not to cry."
His eyes caught mine instantly—sharp, soulful. "Then I hope you don't need to hum anymore."
I swallowed hard. My chest tightened, not with pain, but with how deeply I still felt for him. For this man who once shattered me with silence and now filled me with unspoken warmth.
"You don't know how hard it was," I said, voice barely above a whisper. "Seeing you move on... thinking you chose her... I built walls so high even I got lost inside them."
Antonio reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear, lingering just a second too long. "I didn't move on, Selene. I stalled. I crashed. And you were the only light I looked for in that wreckage."
My breath hitched. I leaned into him, forehead resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. He held me tighter—like he didn't want to let go this time.
"I missed you every single day," I whispered. "Even when I hated myself for it."
His voice cracked. "I never stopped missing you either."
We stayed like that, wrapped in quiet truths and the ache of healing. The world still moved outside the pavilion, but here, we were just two hearts trying to find the same beat again.
His scent—clean, familiar, tinged with something achingly warm—wrapped around me like a lullaby I hadn't realized I missed. I rested my head against his chest, letting my fingers trace the edge of his shirt absentmindedly. His heartbeat thudded steadily beneath my cheek, grounding me in a way that made my throat tighten.
"I used to dream of this," I whispered. "Not knowing if it would ever be real again. Just… you and me. No noise. No pain. Just this."
Antonio didn't speak right away. Instead, he pressed a kiss into the top of my head, slow and reverent. I closed my eyes and let it settle, like the gentle fall of rain on dry earth.
"I used to imagine your voice when I couldn't sleep," he murmured. "Just to feel close to you again. I thought… if I ever held you again, I wouldn't let go."
My heart ached, but not in the way it used to. This ache was different—it was the ache of remembering, of reopening a door I'd tried to lock for so long.
"I tried to hate you," I said softly, my voice catching. "I told myself you didn't care… that it was all in my head. That I had imagined every look, every touch, every stolen second between us."
He lifted my chin gently, forcing my eyes to meet his. "You didn't imagine it. I was just too scared to hold onto something real."
A tear slipped down my cheek, and he wiped it away with his thumb—tender, patient, as though even my pain deserved kindness.
"Do you still want this?" I asked, voice trembling. "Me? Us?"
His eyes didn't waver. "With every breath I take."
Then he kissed me. As if trying to memorize the shape of my soul through that one connection. And I kissed him back. The night curled around us like a secret.