The city had gone quiet again.
Kael sat on the floor of his studio, surrounded by blank canvases and scattered graphite. He stared at the wall—not at anything in particular—just through it. A soft hum played from the old speaker in the corner. Jazz. He didn't know the name of the song.
His fingers were smudged with charcoal. One of them trembled slightly.
There was a knock at the door.
Three soft taps.
He didn't move.
Another knock. A little firmer this time.
He finally stood, dusted his hands on a rag, and opened it.
Nova.
She stepped in slowly, eyes scanning the room like she was entering a memory she didn't expect to find still standing.
"I wasn't sure if you were going to answer," she said, setting her bag down gently by the door.
"I wasn't sure I would either," Kael replied.
He moved to the table, poured two glasses of water, and handed her one. She took it silently, fingers brushing his. His hand flinched.
Nova noticed—but didn't say anything.
They sat across from each other on the floor.
"So," Kael started, eyes lowered, "how much of this feels like déjà vu?"
Nova gave a short breath of a laugh. "Only all of it."
They sipped in silence for a moment. Then Nova leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees.
"She's doing better," she said softly. "Still guarded. Still scared sometimes. But… she's drawing again."
"That's good," Kael said, almost automatically.
"But she doesn't talk about you unless I ask," Nova added. "And even then… it's like she's walking on glass."
Kael rubbed the side of his face.
"She's not the only one."
Across town, Rin sat outside a café, stirring her tea in slow circles. Tasha sat across from her with a croissant in one hand, scrolling her phone with the other.
"You gonna talk to him today?" Tasha asked without looking up.
"I don't know," Rin said.
"Wanna slap him today?"
"Also don't know."
Tasha smirked, finally setting her phone down.
"You love him."
"I know."
"And you're scared if you tell him that now, it'll sound like a plea instead of a fact."
Rin looked away, biting her lip.
"I'm scared that love isn't enough this time."
Tasha reached across the table and stole a sip of her tea. "Then maybe don't make it a question. Make it a line in the sand."
At the hospital, Amara sat on the rooftop garden bench with her sketchbook balanced on her lap. She wasn't drawing this time. Just sitting.
Liana approached slowly, coat wrapped tight against the wind.
"Therapist said you skipped check-in again," she said casually.
"I didn't skip. I left before they started," Amara replied.
"Any particular reason?"
"I didn't want to talk about it in front of strangers."
Liana sat beside her. "Then talk to me."
Amara didn't speak for a long moment. Then she closed the sketchbook and held it tight.
"I think he still loves me," she whispered. "But I don't think he knows how to love who I am now."
Back in the studio, Nova traced the rim of her glass with one finger.
"You ever think about how different everything could've been… if she never disappeared?"
"All the time," Kael said. "But then I think about you. And Rin. And the version of me that survived. And I don't know if that version would've existed without the loss."
Nova nodded slowly.
Kael looked at her.
"I know I looked at you sometimes… like I wanted to reach for something."
"You did," she said, not angry—just honest. "And I let you. Even when I knew I was holding something that didn't belong to me."
Silence.
Then Kael said: "I'm sorry."
"I'm not," Nova replied, standing. "It made me feel like I existed again.
But I'm not going to be a ghost in someone else's house anymore."
Later that evening, Amara sat cross-legged on her bed. She was on the phone—her voice low.
"I'm not asking for anything," she said into the receiver. "I just… I needed you to hear me say this. I'm trying. I don't know what that means yet, but I'm trying."
A pause.
Then: "Thank you for listening. That's all I needed."
She hung up.
Set the phone down.
And cried quietly—not broken, but real.
Kael lay on his back in bed. Rin wasn't home yet. The apartment felt heavy.
He reached over to the nightstand, pulled open the drawer, and took out a folded sketch—Amara's face, drawn from memory, years ago.
He set it beside a newer one. Rin's.
He stared at them both.
Two different smiles.
Two different lives.
One heart.
Cracked in two.