The day was quiet, brushed with a silver morning light that made the city skyline shimmer like glass. Their apartment, warm and still, smelled faintly of vanilla and the lavender tea Aria had steeped earlier. She had the balcony door open, letting in the soft breeze as she curled her legs beneath her on the cushioned bench, a light throw across her lap, her tablet in hand.
Leon had retreated to the study after breakfast, where she'd last seen him hunched over a laptop, glasses sliding down his nose, determined to finish the reports he'd promised would be done by noon. He'd kissed her temple on his way out of the kitchen, whispered something teasing about not burning anything if she decided to cook. She'd rolled her eyes and said she wasn't planning to do anything but drink tea and maybe nap in the sun.
The peace was perfect.
Until the screen blinked.
New Message: Elena Marsden.Subject: You crossed my mind.
Aria blinked.
For a second, she wondered if it was spam. Or some distant coincidence. But no—that name wasn't one you forgot easily.
She opened it with hesitant fingers.
Aria,
I hope this doesn't feel too strange. I walked past the old studio today and thought of you. I still remember how you used to fix the lighting grids before anyone else could even spot the problem. You made everything better back then.
I've been hearing things. Good things. Congratulations, if the rumors are true? Are you… happy?
I'd really love to catch up, even if just for coffee. Let me know if you're open to it.
—Elena
Her breath stilled in her throat.
Elena. From the job that had once meant everything. From the world Aria had been edged out of so quietly, so cruelly, that she'd barely realized it was happening until it was over. Elena—who had smiled politely in meetings, who had sent her a vague "thinking of you" text when Aria left, and never followed up again.
And now she wanted coffee?
Aria didn't move for a while. Her tea went cold in her hand.
Footsteps padded across the apartment, slow and unhurried, and she didn't need to turn to know it was Leon. He always moved like that around her lately—quiet, like his very presence was a comfort rather than a disruption. She felt the warmth of his hand on her shoulder before he sat beside her.
"You disappeared," he murmured. "I thought I heard the kettle again."
She tilted the screen down instinctively.
"I was just… reading something."
He didn't push. He never did. He looked out over the balcony, at the threads of traffic below, the sun cresting a little higher.
She sighed. "Someone from work messaged me."
Leon's gaze slid to hers, calm and attentive. "Yeah?"
"Elena Marsden," Aria said after a moment. "She used to be… well, not a friend. But close. I thought we were. She never stood up for me. When things turned sour."
He didn't interrupt, just let her speak.
"She said she was thinking of me. That she wants to catch up. Coffee." Her fingers toyed with the edge of the throw. "I don't know what I'm supposed to feel about it."
Leon was quiet for a beat. Then: "You don't have to feel anything. Not if you don't want to."
"She didn't defend me. When the whispers started—when I was being pushed out—I remember looking at her during that last meeting, thinking: 'Say something. You know this isn't fair.' But she just looked down."
He reached over, threading his fingers with hers. "Some people only have courage when it costs them nothing."
Aria let out a breath. "It's stupid. I'm in a completely different place now. I shouldn't care."
"It's not stupid," Leon said softly. "Sometimes it's not about wanting them back in your life. It's about knowing if you've healed enough to face the memory of who you were when they last saw you."
She looked down at their hands. "I don't know if I want to reply. I don't want to seem bitter. But I'm also not ready to pretend nothing happened."
"Then don't reply. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Closure doesn't always need a conversation. Sometimes just recognizing that you're not in the same place—that's enough."
Aria leaned into him, resting her cheek against his shoulder. "She said she heard about the pregnancy. I guess the world still talks."
He smiled a little. "Of course they do. You've always left an impression."
She let out a quiet laugh. "You're biased."
"I'm right," he said, and kissed the top of her head.
They stayed like that for a long time, the city humming below, the future tucked safely between their intertwined fingers.
When she finally turned the tablet screen off, Aria whispered, almost to herself, "I'm not that girl anymore."
Leon didn't even hesitate. "No. You're stronger. And softer. And full of fire."
She smiled, her heart catching. "You're terrible at metaphors."
"I'm excellent at metaphors," he said seriously. "I just save them for the people who deserve them."
She laughed again, light and free, and this time when the breeze touched her skin, she let it in—unafraid, unburdened, and completely at peace with who she was becoming.