Selene's POV
The night had draped itself over the town like a velvet shawl, the stars shyly peeking through the inked sky. The house behind us hummed with leftover warmth and distant laughter, but out here—on the rooftop—it was quiet. Peaceful. Ours.
I sat on the low brick ledge, legs dangling, a soft breeze tugging at my cardigan sleeves. Antonio stood a few steps away, his silhouette outlined in silver moonlight. His tie was loose. His smile, even looser.
"You know," I whispered, "this rooftop has always been my hiding spot."
He looked up, curious. "Since when?"
"Since always. When I was angry. When I was heartbroken. When I just wanted to watch the stars and remember who I was."
Antonio walked toward me, his hands tucked into his pockets. "And tonight?"
"Tonight," I murmured, "I'm not hiding. I'm just… here."
He came closer and stood between my legs, his hands resting gently on my thighs. That touch—so simple, so grounding—made my heart still. For once, there was no rush. No doubt.
"I watched you tonight," he said softly. "You were glowing."
"That's the rice talking."
"No," he chuckled. "That's you. With your family. With Ayra. With me. You're… whole again."
I looked up at him, my eyes stinging a little. "You did that. You gave me pieces I forgot I even missed."
He leaned in, brushing his forehead against mine. "I only reminded you of what was already there."
I didn't answer. I just reached up and gently cupped his jaw, my thumb brushing the soft stubble. His eyes closed at my touch, like he needed it more than breath.
"I love you, Antonio," I whispered, the words tumbling out like they were always meant to be said tonight.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes glassy, shining.
"I've been waiting to hear that," he said, "since the day I found you on that street with those dogs and realized I'd chase them all away if it meant seeing that fire in your eyes again."
We kissed, slow and warm. A kiss that didn't ask for promises, just offered them without words.
Above us, the stars stayed quiet. But I swear—they sparkled just for us.
Next day,
I wasn't usually the nervous type—but standing in front of Antonio's front door with butterflies turning wild in my stomach, I felt like I was walking into a story I hadn't read the ending of yet.
This was his world. His roots, his memories, his family. And I was about to meet all of it.
Antonio glanced over, as if he could hear my thoughts. "You're gonna be fine," he whispered, his fingers tightening around mine. "They're going to love you."
The door opened before I could say anything.
And there she was—his mom. Warm eyes, tired but kind. She pulled me into a hug that felt like sunlight.
"Selene," she said softly, pulling back just enough to look at me. "It's good to finally see you again… properly."
I blinked, caught off guard. "We've met before?"
Her smile deepened. "You came into the clinic once, remember? Scraped knees and all, talking about stargazing and color palettes."
"I told Antonio about you long before he met you," she said, with a look that passed warmly between us. "I called you my little firefly. You were shining even through the pain."
Antonio smiled sitting beside me. " yes I told her about you mommy?"
I turned to him and then her mom. " I really appreciate you and always wanted to meet you."
His mom smiled and hugged me again as a warm welcome.
Inside, the house buzzed with a comfortable kind of chaos. His dad greeted me with a quiet kindness and a handshake that felt honest. Mira wrapped me in a gentle hug, her perfume floral and grounding. Amara gave me a small smile and a nod before returning to her Guitar, the silence between her and Mira stretching thin like an old scar.
Later, as Antonio and I sat on the back patio, watching the evening settle into the garden, he whispered, "They used to be closer than I ever understood. Something happened last year… I just haven't figured it out yet."
His voice held something more than concern—maybe helplessness. Maybe hope.
I leaned my head on his shoulder, listening to the wind rustle through the trees, and whispered back, "We will."
Because sometimes families didn't break all at once. They cracked in silence. And maybe, just maybe, love could stitch them whole again.