Atasha's POV
The morning sun poured through the sheer curtains, painting gold across the sheets tangled around us. I stirred lazily, blinking into the soft light, only to find Antonio already awake—propped up on one elbow, watching me like I was something rare.
"Morning, sleepyhead," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from my face.
I smiled, stretching beneath the sheets. "I could get used to waking up like this."
He leaned down and kissed my forehead, his lips lingering like he didn't want to let the moment go. Neither did I.
We didn't speak much, and we didn't need to. There was a quiet understanding in the way he brought me coffee to the bed, in how I folded my legs into his lap as we talked about silly dreams and what the clouds outside looked like.
Eventually, reality tapped on the door.
By noon, we were packed. Luna had already left earlier, leaving us a sweet note folded into a napkin that read: "You two glow brighter than the skyline. Don't lose it this time."
Antonio tossed our bags into the back of his BMW M5, and we hit the road. The drive back was filled with music, soft humming, and shared glances. The highway rolled ahead, but it felt like we were floating. My head rested on his shoulder most of the way, while his free hand found mine again and again—like a habit he didn't want to break.
As we neared our town, the skyline grew familiar, but something inside me felt different. Lighter. Warmer. He looked over at me when we crossed the town sign and said softly, "Feels like we're coming back… new."
I nodded. "We are."
And just like that, with our fingers entwined and the town stretching out before us, I realized we hadn't just returned to the place we lived—we were coming home to each other.
Antonio's POV
The town hadn't changed much—same cobbled lanes, familiar cafés, kids biking past like time never touched them. But stepping back into it with Atasha beside me made it feel like a new world. We weren't the same two people who once walked these streets with distance in our hearts.
We stopped at the corner café, the one with the ivy-wrapped fence and the chalkboard that still misspelled "cappuccino." Atasha laughed at it, her voice more radiant than the sunlight flickering through the awning. Inside, the old barista, Mrs. Delva, raised her eyebrows when she saw us.
"Well, look what the wind blew in. Together this time?" she said with a grin.
I nodded, slipping my hand into Atasha's. "Yeah. Together."
We sat at our usual table by the window. People passed by—some waved, others double-took. There was a comfort in being noticed, but not watched. It felt… grounding.
Later that afternoon, while dropping Atasha off at her place, she paused before stepping out of the car.
"There's something about this town. Everything's the same, but it feels different now."
"Because we're different," I said, and tucked a loose curl behind her ear.
She smiled and leaned in, brushing her lips against mine. It was soft, sure, like a seal to an unspoken promise.
But just as she stepped out, my phone buzzed. I glanced at it—and froze.
Message from an unknown number:
"Heard you were back. We need to talk. It's about the past—and what comes next."
Atasha was already walking toward her front porch, unaware.
And just like that, peace rippled with tension. The past… wasn't done yet.