Aria hadn't been sure she'd reply.
She'd left Elena's message unread for a few days, hovering over it every so often like it might sting. But eventually, a quiet resolve had formed inside her. Not to reclaim anything. Not to mend what never truly existed. But to see—with her own eyes—that she had outgrown the version of herself who'd once needed Elena's approval.
So, she replied with a simple:"I can meet you. Friday. Around noon?"
Elena had responded in under a minute.
The café was tucked along a narrow street near the arts district, one Aria hadn't visited in years. She dressed casually but thoughtfully—a soft cream blouse over stretch pants, a light trench draped over her shoulders. Her bump was now prominent and unmistakable, and she didn't try to hide it.
Elena was already seated when she arrived, sipping something in a porcelain cup, her hair longer than Aria remembered, her expression a mix of apprehension and practiced calm.
"Aria," she stood as if unsure whether to hug her or not.
Aria offered a polite smile and a nod, taking the seat across. "Hi."
"You look… radiant."
Pregnancy cliché, Aria thought, but smiled anyway. "Thank you."
There was a long pause as they both looked at the menu neither really needed.
"I wasn't sure you'd come," Elena admitted eventually.
"I wasn't sure either."
More silence.
"I've thought about you," Elena said softly, wrapping her hands around her cup. "About what happened back then. I wish I'd done more."
Aria studied her face. She didn't look like she was fishing for forgiveness. Just… heavy with her own regret.
"You didn't do anything," Aria said. "That was the problem."
Elena flinched, but nodded. "You're right. I didn't."
"I needed someone to say it wasn't okay. That what they were doing was wrong."
"I know." Her voice cracked slightly. "I was scared. I didn't want to lose my job, or—" she shook her head. "It doesn't matter now. It wasn't an excuse then either."
Aria let that sit. The honesty mattered more than apologies ever could.
"Anyway," Elena said, lifting her chin, "I heard you're doing well. You're married?"
"Not yet," Aria said with a soft smile. "Soon, maybe. But yes—very much in love."
"And the baby…?"
"Babies," Aria corrected gently. "Three, actually."
Elena's eyes widened. "Triplets? Oh my god."
Aria chuckled. "Yeah. It was a surprise. The best one."
They talked a little longer, mostly about neutral things—the weather, city changes, old coworkers. No promises were made to stay in touch. No need for performative friendship. But when they stood to leave, Elena reached out, hesitating.
"I hope it's okay to say this," she said, "but I'm really happy for you."
Aria nodded. "Thank you. I hope you're well too."
They parted with the kind of goodbye that felt like a page turning.
That evening, Aria returned home to an oddly quiet apartment. The lights were dimmed, and something floral scented the air. She stepped out of her shoes at the door, cautiously moving inward.
"Leon?" she called.
"Out here," his voice answered from the balcony.
She stepped outside and paused.
A small table was set for two, with delicate candles flickering in the breeze, a soft blanket draped over the chairs, and a plate of her favorite lemon pasta already waiting. A string of tiny fairy lights was clipped to the railing, giving the scene a golden glow.
He stood beside the table with an almost sheepish smile. "Hi."
Aria blinked. "Did I forget an anniversary?"
He stepped toward her and kissed her forehead. "No. Just… figured you could use a little peace tonight."
She touched his chest, overwhelmed for a moment. "You did all this?"
"I even cooked."
She gave him a mock-serious look. "Should I be worried?"
He pulled out her chair. "Only mildly."
They sat, and he poured her a glass of sparkling apple juice, his fingers brushing hers. As they ate, Aria told him about the café, the talk with Elena, the strange peace she felt afterward.
Leon listened, not interrupting once. Just watching her with that steady, grounded warmth he always carried.
After dinner, they curled up on the bench swing, her head tucked beneath his chin, their hands laced across her belly.
"I still can't believe we're going to have three," she murmured.
"I can," he said, his lips in her hair. "You were always meant to carry something extraordinary."
She looked up, eyes glistening. "You make me feel like I'm more than I ever was."
"You always were," he whispered. "I just see clearly."
The candles flickered around them as the night deepened, soft and full of everything they'd fought for.
And for the first time in a long time, Aria let herself believe that maybe—even the hardest chapters of her past—had led her exactly where she was meant to be.