Noah didn't hesitate.
The moment Mira's message lit up his phone, he stopped in the middle of the bustling Rue Cler and smiled—a genuine, aching smile that caught the attention of a passing couple. He didn't care. He stepped out of the street, leaned against a light post, and typed his reply:
Noah:
Messy looks good on you. I've missed you too—more than I should admit.
Mira stared at his reply. Her chest rose and fell with quiet emotion. He had a way of seeing her—really seeing her—without ever trying to change her. That terrified her and comforted her at the same time.
The days passed with messages exchanged across time zones. They didn't pretend everything was perfect. They spoke about the hard parts—her father, his career, the way her dismissal from the firm still stung, even after Claudia's new offer. They didn't rush back into the fire, but they leaned toward the flame again.
Noah sent a voice note one morning:
"I think I've always been chasing something. But with you, Mira... it doesn't feel like a chase. It feels like a return."
Her fingers hovered over her screen for a long time before she replied with her own recording:
"I never thought I could belong to someone, or that someone could belong with me. But I think… maybe… you fit."
It wasn't a confession. Not yet. But it was something real.
Later that week, Mira accepted Claudia's offer—with conditions. She wanted creative control and the flexibility to freelance on the side. Claudia agreed without hesitation. Something about her new posture—her quiet confidence—made people listen.
And then, the unexpected happened.
Mira received a package.
No return address.
Inside was a sketchbook. Leather-bound. Elegant. On the first page, written in Noah's unmistakable handwriting:
"For the spaces between your silence. Fill them however you need."
She pressed the book to her chest.
Two weeks later, Noah returned.
Mira didn't meet him at the airport this time.
He showed up at her doorstep.
Rain soaked his jacket, and she answered in a paint-stained hoodie and mismatched socks. Neither said anything for a heartbeat.
Then Noah whispered, "Hi."
Mira reached for his collar and pulled him in.
They didn't kiss like lovers who were desperate or starved. They kissed like people who'd found something worth coming back to.
And when they finally pulled away, Mira grinned.
"I still might kill you if you mess up my projects."
Noah laughed. "I'll take that risk."
Outside, the rain softened to a drizzle.
Inside, two hearts learned how to hold each other again—less perfectly, more honestly.