It was the kind of Sunday that smelled like spring and sounded like second chances.
The air had that new-leaf scent. The campus buzzed with a calm lull—students sprawled across the grass, earbuds in, coffee cups half-full. Talia sat on the library steps, knees drawn up, watching the clouds like they were trying to tell her something.
She used to be afraid of days like this.
The quiet ones. The ones where nothing hurt loud enough to distract her from the thoughts in her head.
But lately, quiet didn't scare her anymore.
Not with Ezra in her life. Not now.
They weren't perfect—not even close. But love, she was learning, wasn't about perfection. It was about showing up. Even when things cracked. Especially then.
And lately, they had both been showing up.
Every day.
Sometimes in tiny ways. Like Ezra making her tea after a long shift. Or Talia scribbling corny encouragement notes into his neuro textbook margins.
Sometimes in big ways.
Like staying through the fear.
Like choosing each other, even when life made it hard.
—
"I'm taking the week off," Ezra said later that night, as they lay tangled on his couch. "Just a few days."
Talia looked up from his chest, where her cheek rested. "From school?"
He nodded. "Talked to my advisor. My dad wants me to help with his chemo transition. Be there."
Talia studied his face. "Are you okay with that?"
He paused. "I think I need it."
She reached for his hand. "Then do it. I've got you."
Ezra turned to her, brow softening. "You always say that."
"Because it's always true."
She didn't say it out loud, but she could see the fear in his eyes: that the weight of this would pull him under, that grief would crack something in him that couldn't be fixed.
So she kissed the worry on his forehead and promised, silently, that she'd hold the pieces if it did.
—
When he left for his family's house, the apartment felt too quiet.
Talia sat on the edge of the bed, Ezra's hoodie around her shoulders, and stared at the framed photo on his dresser—Ezra and his dad at a baseball game, years ago, both smiling like they didn't know pain yet.
She picked up her phone. No new texts. No missed calls.
She almost called him anyway. But didn't.
Instead, she started writing.
Not for class. Not for a grade.
But for him.
A letter she might never send.
Ezra,
You once said the world keeps turning, even when things fall apart. I'm starting to believe you. But I also think maybe we don't have to keep spinning so fast. Maybe it's okay to pause. To be scared. To let things hurt.
I don't know what comes next. But I know I'll be here. When you're ready. When you're not. Even when you forget how to ask.
Because you were brave enough to give me your key. And I'm brave enough to stay.
—T.
She folded the note and tucked it into the pocket of his hoodie.
Just in case.
—
The week crawled.
Talia threw herself into work. Studying. Volunteering extra hours at the clinic.
But her heart wasn't in it.
Every time her phone buzzed, she checked it faster than she'd like to admit. Sometimes it was Ezra. A short message. A photo of hospital coffee. A tired "still here."
Sometimes it was silence.
The kind that echoed.
On Thursday, she got a call from Sophie.
"Hey, babe," her best friend said brightly. "Wanna come out tonight?"
Talia hesitated. "I don't know…"
"Come on. You need a break. I heard there's karaoke. And you know how much drunk med students love to scream-sing sad songs."
Talia laughed. "You're not wrong."
"Don't make me beg."
She sighed. "Fine. One hour."
"Two," Sophie said. "And I'll buy you nachos."
"Deal."
—
The bar was packed. Sweaty. Loud.
Everything Talia used to love.
But now, surrounded by laughter and old habits, she felt like she didn't quite fit.
She smiled through it. Took a tequila shot she didn't want. Let Sophie drag her onto the dance floor when the DJ dropped early 2000s hits.
But part of her kept glancing at the door.
Wishing Ezra would walk through it.
Even though she knew he wouldn't.
When someone from their anatomy class tried to flirt with her, she brushed it off with a half-smile. "Sorry. Taken."
Later, in the corner of the bar, she sat alone for a moment, staring into a half-empty glass.
"You miss him," Sophie said gently, dropping down beside her.
Talia nodded. "Yeah."
"You're allowed to."
"It's just… being away from him feels like losing something. Even though I know he needs this time."
Sophie gave her a small smile. "That's what love feels like. Wanting someone to heal, even if it means you're not the one doing the healing."
Talia looked at her best friend. "How are you so wise?"
"I took an online quiz: 'Are You the Main Character or the Therapist?' Turns out, I'm both."
Talia snorted, head dropping to Sophie's shoulder. "Thanks for this."
"Always."
—
When she got back to Ezra's place that night, it was nearly midnight.
She kicked off her boots, tossed the hoodie on the couch, and sat in the dark for a while.
The silence didn't feel lonely anymore.
Just waiting.
And that, somehow, felt like hope.
—
The next morning, she woke to the sound of keys in the door.
She sat up, heart stammering.
Ezra stepped in quietly, bag slung over his shoulder, eyes rimmed with exhaustion—but there.
"Talia?" he called softly.
She scrambled out of bed and into the living room.
He looked up.
And smiled.
A real one.
A tired, aching, grateful one.
"I couldn't stay away," he said.
She ran into his arms without a word.
—
Later, as they sat on the floor eating leftover pizza and talking in hushed tones, he took her hand and pressed something into it.
She opened her palm.
A small silver ring.
Simple. Smooth.
Engraved inside: One day at a time.
"It was my dad's," he said. "He told me to give it to someone who reminded me that life isn't about the big stuff. Just the next moment. And the next."
Talia blinked fast. "Are you sure?"
Ezra nodded. "You kept me going. You keep me going."
She slipped the ring onto a chain and wore it around her neck.
And when she kissed him that night, it wasn't desperate or wild or sad.
It was steady.
It was falling forward—together.
Always forward.