Oakley Ponciano held Grace Barron as if the world might try to take her away. Her arms tightened, drawing Grace closer until their bodies molded into one warm silhouette.
She couldn't stop herself. She loved this woman—loved her so deeply that even the faint trace of Grace's perfume, mingled with winter air, felt like a sanctuary.
When Oakley had first decided to marry, she hadn't been entirely sure. The thought had hovered like a question mark: Was this too sudden? Too reckless?
But now—now she knew. It was the most flawless decision she had ever made.
Perhaps it was fate, written long before either of them learned to read its script. Oakley believed it now: their paths had been carved into the earth long ago, destined to converge.
She shuddered at the thought of missing Grace—of choosing someone else instead. The idea was unbearable, like losing something worth billions and knowing you could never reclaim it.
Grace's voice broke softly through her reverie.
"Come on," she murmured, brushing her fingers over Oakley's hand before giving it a tender pat.
Her touch lingered, fingertips grazing Oakley's skin—warm, deliberate. Then, almost instinctively, Grace threaded their fingers together, locking them tight.
That simple gesture carried weight. It felt solid, grounding—like a vow whispered without words.
Oakley nodded, adjusting the crimson scarf around her neck. Arm in arm, they left the bedroom and descended the stairs together.
Outside, the world had transformed. Hours ago, the streets had been hushed, draped in silence. Now they pulsed with life. Cars lined the avenues in glittering rows, headlights weaving like serpents under the streetlamps. The night shimmered with motion, a river of light flowing through the dark.
Perhaps this was the only night of the year when darkness felt louder than day.
People said the New Year had lost its magic. But Oakley thought otherwise. When the moment came, everyone still flocked to the noise, chasing sparks of joy like moths to flame.
She rolled down the window, letting the cold bite her cheeks as she snapped a photo of the glowing streets. Then she slid the glass shut, settling back into the warmth of the car. Her fingers danced across her phone, ready to share the scene with the world.
The screen bloomed with red dots—messages, blessings, a flood of cheerful words. Oakley realized she hadn't sent her own yet.
She began replying, one by one, until a name caught her eye: Natalie Pierce.
Her message was simple—just three words: Happy New Year.
Plain, unadorned. But Oakley felt the quiet sincerity in it, a warmth that outshone the glitter of generic greetings.
"Same to you!" Oakley typed back, then drifted into her feed.
She scrolled past a cascade of lavish dinners and family portraits—scarlet lanterns, golden platters—until something muted stopped her thumb.
Natalie's post.
A single photo, stark in its simplicity: a pale ceramic cup cradling amber tea, a book resting beside it, and a phone case perched on top. All arranged on a low wooden table, bathed in soft light.
The caption read: Made myself a phone case. A little gift for the New Year.
Oakley stared longer than she meant to. The background was familiar—Natalie's rented apartment.
She hesitated, then tapped open their chat.
You didn't go home for the holiday? Still in your place?
Natalie's reply came with a smile emoji:
You caught me.
Oakley frowned slightly.
You're spending New Year alone?
Most people were tangled in family warmth tonight. That was the rhythm of tradition—the pulse of belonging.
Natalie's answer was quiet, almost weightless:
I'm used to drifting. Doesn't matter where the year turns.
She had been like this for years, Oakley realized. Ever since college, Natalie had rarely gone back. Home had become a word without meaning—a door that led nowhere.
Some said home was where family waited. Others called it a harbor, a place to rest when storms grew fierce. But Natalie had neither. Her parents had splintered into separate lives, building new homes where she was only a shadow.
Her father hadn't called in years. Her mother reached out once—not for love, but for money, sugar-coating the request with hollow praise.
So Natalie stopped expecting. Stopped hoping. The idea of home blurred until it vanished.
She had known warmth once, as a child. Known what it meant to be cherished. But that memory had faded, leaving only the chill of self-reliance.
Outside her window, a firework shot skyward, bursting into a bloom of light. Its glow spilled across her face, gilding her eyes with fleeting brilliance.
But her gaze stayed cool, untouched.
Phone in hand, Natalie rose from her linen-gray sofa and slid open the balcony door. The night air swept in, sharp and clean. She leaned against the railing, watching sparks unravel against the velvet sky.
From the next balcony came laughter—a man cradling a little girl in red, her braids bouncing as she clapped at each explosion. Joy spilled from her like sunlight, pure and unrestrained.
A voice called from inside, and the pair disappeared, closing the glass behind them.
Natalie lingered a moment longer, then turned back into her quiet apartment. The walls held their silence, broken only by muffled echoes from next door—television chatter, voices humming like bees.
She curled onto the sofa, toes bare, arms folded on the armrest. Her eyes wandered over the room she had dressed in muted tones, a space that felt more like a waiting room than a home.
On the other end of the chat, Oakley stared at her screen, unsure what to say. Finally, she sent a red envelope.
Make sure you treat yourself tonight.
Natalie accepted—and immediately returned the same amount.
You too. Anyway, my heater's dead. Gotta see if anyone will fix it on New Year's Eve.
Oakley sighed, shaking her head.
Always the same—Natalie's quiet insistence on balance, on owing nothing to anyone.
Oakley let it go, setting her phone aside.
A moment later, another message blinked in: Sabrina Myers.
Happy New Year.
Oakley smiled faintly.
Happy New Year! Say hi to your parents for me.
The reply came quick:
Can't. No family gathering this year. Maybe next time.
Oakley paused.
Where are you now?
Skylark. Writing outlines.
Oakley blinked.
If I'd known you were here… Natalie wouldn't have to spend the holiday alone.
Two beats later, Sabrina's response:
Wait—Natalie's in Skylark too?
Yeah, Oakley typed. Her heater broke. She's freezing.
After that, silence.
Oakley set the phone down, exhaling softly.
Grace noticed.
"What's wrong?"
Oakley shook her head.
"Nothing. Just found out Natalie's alone tonight."
"Then she and Sabrina should spend it together," Grace said gently.
"Mm." Oakley nodded. "I told Sabrina. Hope they do."
Grace smiled faintly, though her eyes held a trace of thought. She suspected what Oakley did—that Sabrina hadn't let go of Natalie yet.
The car rolled on, carrying them toward the riverside square. It wasn't far—ten minutes, maybe less.
When they arrived, the world was ablaze. Crowds thronged the open space, laughter mingling with the crackle of fireworks. Sparks leapt skyward in waves, weaving a net of light across the heavens—a tapestry of color sprawling against the dark.
Phones lifted like flowers, capturing fragments of wonder to press between the pages of memory.
Grace and Oakley slipped to the edge of the square, their arms brushing as they set their own fireworks in place.
"Like this?" Grace asked, glancing at the tutorial glowing on her screen.
"Looks right," Oakley said, though her voice held a laugh.
"Here goes." Grace flicked the lighter, coaxing flame to fuse.
The moment the spark caught, they ran—hand in hand, breathless, hearts thudding in sync.
Then the sky bloomed.
A shriek of color tore upward, bursting into petals of fire. One after another, blossoms unfurled—scarlet, gold, sapphire—spilling brilliance across the night. Shadows fled. The world burned bright.
Oakley's eyes widened, reflecting the blaze. For an instant, she felt like a child again—lost in a fairy tale spun from light.
There was nothing sweeter than this: two souls pressed close, watching beauty flare and fade together.
Her fingers tightened around Grace's. Neither spoke. They didn't need to.
But fireworks are fleeting. Their glory dies as quickly as it blooms. Soon, the last ember fell, leaving only smoke curling like ghosts.
Oakley sighed, her gaze lifting to the hollow sky.
"Such beauty," she whispered. "Gone in a breath."
If only she could hold it—freeze the moment, keep it from slipping away.
Grace turned, her voice low, steady.
"Fireworks are brief," she said. Her fingers brushed Oakley's cheek, tilting her face toward hers. "But…"
Her eyes glimmered like the last spark in the dark.
"We are forever."
The words fell like a vow. Then Grace bent, her lips finding Oakley's in a kiss that tasted of warmth and winter air.
Above them, another firework soared—bursting in a riot of color, painting the night as their mouths lingered, as time stilled.
When they parted, breath mingling, their foreheads touched. Oakley laughed softly, her voice trembling with joy.
"Yes," she whispered. "We are…"
"Eternal."
And in that moment, under a sky ablaze with borrowed stars, it felt true.