The Marseille project was everything Lena had dreamed of. Coastal cliffs. Historic stone facades. Winding alleyways that held whispers of centuries. It was a city shaped by wind, water, and time—waiting for someone to reimagine it with care.
She arrived with sketches in hand, ambition in her stride, and uncertainty packed quietly beside her clothes.
The Atelier Lune team greeted her with warm smiles and crisp folders. Their lead architect, Claudine, spoke of vision and legacy. "We want the old to breathe again," she said, her silver hair catching the sunlight. "But not by erasing it—by stitching it gently to the now."
Lena understood that language. She had built her heart around it.
By day, she toured the restoration sites. Cracked stone plazas. Abandoned stairways. Sea-washed courtyards longing to be seen again.
By night, she sketched.
One evening, while walking alone near the port, Lena paused before a quiet garden tucked between two aging buildings. It wasn't part of the project. It wasn't even in use. But something about it pulled her in.
She stepped through the gate.
The garden was wild and uncurated. Vines spilled over broken benches. A rusted swing swayed gently in the breeze. At the center stood an old olive tree, its twisted branches reaching out like open arms.
Lena sat beneath it and opened her sketchbook. But instead of designing new lines, she began writing.
I thought building away from home would make me stronger. But maybe strength isn't always about standing alone. Maybe it's about knowing when to go back.
She closed the book slowly.
She had everything here—opportunity, prestige, admiration.
But it wasn't her soil.
The next morning, Claudine found her waiting early at the project site.
"I came to thank you," Lena said gently. "And to tell you I won't be staying."
Claudine raised an eyebrow but didn't look surprised. "May I ask why?"
Lena hesitated, then replied, "Because I don't want to build for strangers. Not yet. There's something unfinished in New York. In me."
Claudine studied her for a moment. Then she smiled, soft and wise. "Then go finish it."
On the plane ride home, Lena stared out the window as the clouds gave way to city lights below. New York shimmered like a heartbeat in the dark.
As she stepped off the plane, a familiar scent wrapped around her—concrete and promise.
And waiting outside the terminal, not saying a word, stood Alexander.
He looked as if he wasn't sure she'd come back. And when she did, he wasn't sure what to say.
So he just held out a small box.
Lena opened it.
Inside was a model. Their rooftop—again. But this time, it was finished. The figures were no longer separated.
They were sitting side by side.