Selene's POV
The morning air smelled like cinnamon and summer light. I stood by the window, the curtains gently swaying, still holding the warmth of last night's dreams and yesterday's triumphs.
My phone buzzed on the table.
Antonio: "I'm five minutes away. Coffee ready?"
I smiled. He never needed caffeine to feel alive—he said I was enough.
By the time he pulled into the driveway, I was already at the door. He stepped out, hair slightly tousled, wearing that leather jacket that made my heart trip in my chest.
"Morning, Firefly," he said, drawing me into a long, grounding hug. "Sleep okay?"
"With the memory of you cheering for me on that runway? Perfect."
He kissed my forehead gently, and then whispered, "Get dressed. I have a surprise."
We drove through winding roads, past golden trees and sleepy cafés, until we reached a quiet field. In the center, a picnic was laid out—pillows, pastries, our favorite playlist playing faintly from a speaker.
Antonio held my hand tightly. "I just wanted a day with you. No rush. No noise. Just us."
And so we spent the morning talking about silly dreams, baking fails, wedding dances that hadn't even happened yet, and naming future dogs. Somewhere between a croissant and a shared playlist, I realized—this calm, this comfort, this love—was everything I had ever wanted and never dared to ask for.
When the sun was high above us, he turned to me, eyes glowing, and said softly, "You still don't know how strong you are, do you?"
I smiled. "Maybe not. But with you… I'm learning."
We settled on the soft blanket, the gentle breeze wrapping around us like a secret hug. Antonio pulled out a small box from his jacket pocket, but didn't open it yet. Instead, he just looked at me—the way his eyes held a thousand unspoken promises.
"I've been thinking," he said softly, "about all the storms we've weathered. About us."
I squeezed his hand, heart fluttering.
"And I want every moment from now to be ours to write. No more secrets, no more shadows."
I leaned into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart.
"Me too," I whispered. "I want to be brave for us."
We talked about everything—our hopes, our fears, the future. He shared dreams of building a home filled with laughter and music, and I confessed how much I wanted to design not just dresses, but a life that felt whole.
Hours slipped away as we traced stories in the sky, hands entwined, laughter spilling over quiet moments.
Then, finally, he opened the box—inside, a delicate silver bracelet, engraved with a tiny firefly.
"For my light," he said.
Tears welled up as I clasped it on my wrist.
In that perfect, golden afternoon, I knew we were beginning something beautiful—together.
——————Next day ——————
The days blurred into a rhythm—soft mornings, busy days, quiet evenings with long phone calls and drowsy goodnights. Paris was blooming again, and so were we.
It was Sunday. The sun filtered in through the gauzy curtains of my room, casting warm lines across my bed. I stretched lazily, a smile creeping onto my face as I saw Antonio's good morning text:
> Rise and shine, Firefly. Coffee's on me today. Wear that soft blue sweater I love. I'm outside.
My heart raced. I threw on the sweater, tugged my hair into a soft ponytail, and rushed down the stairs.
There he was—leaning against his car, coffee in one hand, a sunflower in the other.
"For the girl who always makes the sun jealous," he said, grinning as he handed me the flower.
We drove aimlessly, windows down, music low. There was no agenda, no urgency. Just us—our laughter blending with the wind.
We visited a quiet lakeside café, strolled through a flea market, bought antique books we'd never read, and shared a crepe too sweet for its own good.
Later, we sat near the river, watching the boats pass in lazy zigzags.
Antonio leaned closer, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "Do you ever wonder how we made it here?"
I looked into his eyes, those deep, steady galaxies that had held me through chaos. "Every day."
He kissed my forehead. "Then let's keep choosing each other. Every day."
We stayed there until the sky wore its stars. Until the world quieted and we were the only sound that mattered.
And in the hush of that Paris night, beneath a sky that had seen every kind of love, we promised ours would never fade.
Antonio's POV
It had been a week since our last grand outing, and today was one of those rare moments when nothing demanded us. No meetings, no emergencies. Just the cool spring breeze of Paris and a stolen day between all the rest.
I found Selene in her studio—paint-smudged, barefoot, wearing one of my old button-down shirts over her tank top. Her focus was intense, hands guiding fabric on a mannequin like she was weaving stories into every seam.
"Miss me?" I leaned against the doorway.
She looked up, her eyes lighting like candles. "Always."
I walked in slowly, wrapping my arms around her waist from behind. Her body relaxed into mine instantly, like she belonged there. Like we belonged to this softness.
We didn't need to speak for a while. The sunlight poured in. Music played low. Her heartbeat was steady under my palm.
Later, we walked down to a small park by the river with Mira and Amara, who had begged for ice cream. Selene held both their hands while they skipped ahead, their laughter dancing on the wind.
I caught Ayra watching us from a bench nearby, sketchbook in lap. She smiled—one of those soft, knowing smiles that meant she was happy we were happy.
After the girls wore themselves out and Ayra took them home, Selene and I found a quiet bench under the weeping willows. The leaves rustled around us like whispers.
She leaned her head on my shoulder. "It's peaceful. Like the storm finally passed."
I kissed her temple. "And we're still standing."
She looked at me then, her hazel eyes shimmering. "Not just standing. We're growing."
I smiled. Because she was right.
We weren't just surviving anymore.
We were thriving.
Together.