The sun filtered through gauzy curtains, casting soft golden light across the modest guest room Mira had returned to when she came back home. It was once her teenage sanctuary, but now it felt like a stranger's room—filled with pieces of a girl who no longer existed.
She sat at the edge of the bed, staring at her buzzing phone. Message after message blinked across the screen.
From old colleagues.
From her ex-boss, who had now found a temporary replacement.
And from Noah.
Can I see you today?
You don't have to talk. Just… let me be there.
Mira's thumb hovered over the screen, but she didn't reply.
Her mind drifted back to the expo—to the ruined project, the embarrassment, the lost job. And then to Noah's apology, his willingness to stand beside her even when it meant nothing good for his reputation.
She wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust what was growing between them. But years of building walls didn't just crumble overnight.
She rose, pacing. Her fingers grazed the edges of the sketch she'd made the night before—the grief dress, she had called it. So much of her heart spilled into that drawing. She didn't know if it was art or simply therapy.
Downstairs, she heard voices. Her mother and someone else.
Curious, Mira padded toward the staircase, pausing halfway down. Her mother was at the door, speaking to someone.
Noah.
Mira's heart jumped.
"I just wanted to drop this off," he said, holding a wrapped box. "I know she's not answering my messages, but I didn't want to leave things hanging."
Her mother took the box with a soft smile. "She's hurting. But she talks about you. More than she realizes."
Noah didn't smile. "I'll wait. As long as she needs."
Mira ducked back into her room, heart thudding, the box now in her hands minutes later. Inside was a sketchbook. Not just any sketchbook—a custom one, with her name embossed in silver on the cover. Inside, the first page had a note:
For the things you still need to say, when words won't do. — Noah
Tears blurred her vision.
---
Later that evening, Mira sat in the quiet park by the lake. The same park where she used to sketch in college, dreaming of the future. The breeze was gentle, the sky bruised with sunset.
Noah appeared without a sound, sitting a few feet away, not asking to close the gap. Just... waiting.
She finally turned.
"Why do you care so much?" she asked, her voice low.
"Because you let me see the real you. And I'm not walking away from that."
"But I ruined everything. You lost things too. I dragged you into the fallout."
Noah shook his head. "I don't see it that way. You gave me something more than any contract or company ever could."
She looked at him—truly looked. And for once, she didn't flinch from the sincerity in his eyes.
"Noah," she said slowly, her voice trembling, "I don't know how to do this… but I want to try."
He leaned closer, his smile warm and steady. "Then let's try."
And under the darkening sky, two hearts—wounded, wary, but wanting—took one tentative step closer.