Simon didn't sleep much after that night.
Not because of fear.
Not because of guilt.
But because, for the first time, the future no longer felt like a blur.
It felt like a question.
One that needed an answer.
And fast.
His mother's words echoed in his mind.
> "Then be careful. Because the world doesn't like that."
He'd expected resistance.
He didn't expect permission.
It wasn't full approval. Not even acceptance.
But in that one sentence, she gave him something better—freedom.
She wouldn't stop him.
And in Simon's world, that was as close to a blessing as he was going to get.
Across the city, Elena was already moving.
Every morning she faced the same glares. The same whispers. The same hallway that stretched like a long judgmental stare.
But she didn't flinch anymore.
Because every time someone tried to knock her down, she remembered Simon's voice on the phone:
> "You're not wrong, Elena. You're just braver than they are."
On Saturday, they met halfway between their homes, in a neighborhood neither of them had memories in.
Neutral ground.
They walked three blocks before either spoke.
Then Simon said it.
"I want out."
Elena blinked. "Out of what?"
"School. The city. This version of life where everything feels like punishment."
She stopped walking.
"You want to run away?"
He nodded. "Maybe not forever. But long enough to remember what it feels like to breathe."
Elena was quiet for a moment.
Then she said, "I've had a bag packed since Tuesday."
Simon looked at her.
She smiled.
"Just in case."
They sat on a park bench, her knee brushing his.
They talked details—money, time, where they'd stay. She had some cash saved. He had a few hundred from birthday cards and odd jobs.
Not much.
But enough for a couple of bus tickets, a few nights at a cheap motel, maybe a small beach town.
> "No one would know us there," she whispered.
"We could just be Simon and Elena. Not Donovan and Reyes."
Just lovers. Not labels.
He brushed his fingers down her arm.
"Are we really doing this?" she asked.
Simon leaned in. "I'd rather regret running with you than live dying without you."
They chose Sunday night.
They each left home at different times. No dramatic goodbyes. No notes. Just silence—and motion.
Simon wore a dark hoodie and carried a backpack with nothing but clothes, his journal, and a photo of Elena laughing at Coney Island.
She met him at the corner of 86th and Lexington.
Hair braided. Jeans. Denim jacket. Her bag slung over one shoulder.
She didn't say anything.
Just grabbed his hand.
And they ran.
They boarded a bus at 10:45 PM. Headed north.
No destination written on their faces. No clues for the world to follow.
Simon watched the city blur outside the window.
Skyscrapers. Streetlights. The bones of the life he was leaving behind.
Elena rested her head on his shoulder.
"Are you scared?" she whispered.
He was.
Of the unknown. Of consequences. Of the weight of this choice.
But all he said was:
"No. Because I'm with you."
They arrived in a small lakeside town by morning.
It smelled like pine and quiet. Like something untouched.
They found a cheap motel off the highway. Paid cash. No IDs. Two nights—maybe three.
It wasn't glamorous.
The room had a flickering lamp and sheets that smelled faintly of bleach.
But they didn't care.
Because for the first time in weeks—maybe months—they were alone.
No watchers.
No whispers.
No rules.
Just them.
Later that night, they lay on the bed, side by side, listening to the buzz of distant cars and the occasional owl.
"Do you think we're going to hell for this?" Elena asked softly.
Simon turned to her.
"We already lived through it," he said. "Everything now… is just recovery."
She rolled onto her side, brushing a thumb over his jaw.
"I love you," she said.
Not as a question.
Not as a dare.
As fact.
Simon kissed her—slow, deep, and grounding.
"I love you too."
They made love that night—not just with hunger, but with something sacred.
No shame. No fear.
Just a thousand silent promises in the way their hands moved and the way their bodies refused to let go.
And when it was over, they didn't say anything.
Because some love doesn't need words.
Some love speaks in breath and heartbeat and the way she smiled while falling asleep on his chest.
But even stolen moments run out.
By morning, Simon's phone buzzed.
A message from his mother.
> Where are you? Please. Just tell me you're safe.
And then another.
> There's a warrant out for you, Simon. School called the cops. They think you're missing. Elena too.
His heart raced.
He showed Elena the screen.
Her eyes widened. "They called the police?"
Simon nodded. "They're looking for us."
She sat up slowly, sheets falling around her waist.
> "Then we have two choices.
Go back and let them tear us apart again.
Or keep running and let them try."