The apartment felt smaller than Nana remembered. Or maybe she'd just grown—not in size, but in the space her life now occupied.
She stood in the doorway of the tiny place she'd shared with Mina and Jisu for the past year and a half, taking it all in one last time.
The mismatched furniture. The cramped kitchen where they'd made so many meals. The living room where they'd watched K-dramas until 3 AM. The bedroom where three girls had dreamed about futures they barely dared to believe in.
"NANA!" Mina's wail came from inside.
"Stop standing there looking nostalgic and GET IN HERE so we can CRY PROPERLY!"
Nana laughed and stepped inside to find both her friends already sobbing, mascara running, looking absolutely devastated.
"You're LEAVING us!" Jisu wailed, grabbing Nana into a crushing hug.
"I'm moving to a house twenty minutes away, not another country—"
"ITS THE SAME THING!" Mina joined the hug, sandwiching Nana between them.
"You're leaving! Our trio is BROKEN!"
"We can still see each other all the time—I literally told you to visit whenever—"
"It's not the SAME!" they chorused, squeezing tighter.
Zayne stood in the doorway, watching the three of them cry while hugging, and couldn't help but smile. This—this ridiculous, emotional, beautiful friendship—had helped his wife survive and thrive in the city. He owed them everything.
"Thank you," he said quietly, not sure if they heard him over their sobbing.
But Mina's head popped up, eyes red and streaming. "For what?"
"For being her family when she needed one. For taking care of her. For—" His voice caught. "For making sure she wasn't alone."
Fresh tears from all three girls."Stop being SWEET!" Jisu sobbed. "You're making it WORSE!"
It took another hour to pack Nana's belongings—which wasn't much. Simple clothes (plus the sixteen dresses Zayne had bought her, carefully packed). Her art supplies. A few books. Some photos.
Everything she owned fit in four boxes, a stark reminder of how little she'd come to the city with, how much she'd built from nothing.
"Promise you'll visit?" Nana asked at the door, hugging each friend one more time.
"Every week," Mina insisted. "For tea and drama watching and gossiping about how married life is."
"And you better invite us for dinner constantly," Jisu added. "We've gotten used to your cooking. Going back to takeout will kill us."
"I promise." Nana wiped her eyes. "I love you both. So much."
"We love you too," they said together, hugging her once more before finally, finally letting her go.
The car ride was quiet. Zayne drove with one hand on the wheel, the other holding Nana's, both of them processing the significance of this moment.
"Nervous?" he asked.
"A little," she admitted. "It's—it's real now. We're married. Living together. Starting our actual life."
"We've been living our actual life for months," he pointed out. "This is just—the next chapter."
"A big chapter."
"The best chapter," he corrected, squeezing her hand.
They pulled up to a house—not an apartment, but an actual house—and Nana's breath caught.
It was beautiful. Two stories, modern but warm, with large windows and a wrap-around porch. Not ostentatious, not a mansion, just—perfect. Exactly right.
"Zayne?" she started.
"Before you say it's too much," he interrupted, getting out and opening her door, "let me show you why it's not."
He led her inside, and Nana felt tears gathering immediately.
The entryway opened into a bright living room with comfortable furniture—not expensive designer pieces, but cozy, inviting, the kind of space meant for family gatherings and lazy Sundays.
The kitchen was spacious, with room for multiple people to cook together, clearly designed with her large family in mind.
"Upstairs," Zayne said, guiding her up the stairs.
He showed her his home office first—neat, organized, with medical journals and a desk for the work he'd sometimes bring home.
Then her art studio.
Nana gasped.
The entire room was flooded with natural light from floor-to-ceiling windows. There was a large work table, storage for supplies, an easel already set up. Everything she'd ever mentioned wanting in an art space, all here, all ready for her.
"Zayne—" Tears spilled over. "This is—"
"Not done yet." He led her back downstairs and out to the backyard.
A large yard, carefully landscaped with a garden area. And there, right in the center, was an apple tree—young but healthy, already bearing fruit.
"For climbing," Zayne said. "When you need to think. Or hide from swans. Or just—be you."
Nana turned and buried her face in his chest, crying too hard to speak. It was too much. Too perfect. Too exactly what she'd dreamed of but never dared to ask for.
"I know it's a lot," he said, holding her close. "But I wanted—I wanted our home to be a place where both of us could be completely ourselves. Where you could create art. Where your family could visit and feel comfortable. Where we could—" He paused. "Where we could build the life we want. The family we want. Together."
She looked up at him, this man who'd somehow known exactly what she needed before she knew herself.
"It's perfect," she whispered. "You're perfect. This is—" She laughed through tears. "I don't have words. Just—thank you. Thank you for building this with me. For me. For us."
"Always," he promised, kissing her forehead. "Always us."
The first dinner in their new home was simple.
Nana insisted on cooking—it felt important, this first meal in their kitchen, marking the space as theirs. She made comfort food: steamed chicken with ginger and soy sauce, shrimp and broccoli stir-fry, rice that she made sure was perfect.
Zayne helped—or tried to. Mostly he just watched her move through the kitchen with practiced efficiency, multitasking like she'd done this a thousand times, completely in her element.
"You're staring," she said without turning around.
"I like watching you cook." He moved closer, wrapping his arms around her from behind. "You look happy. Peaceful."
"I am happy." She leaned back into him. "This is—this is everything I never knew I wanted. A kitchen that's ours. A home that's ours. You."
"Me?" He nuzzled into her hair. "I'm just the guy who can't cook and gets in your way."
"You the guy who made all of this possible." She turned in his arms. "The guy who believed in me. Who built me an art studio. Who planted an apple tree so I could climb it." Her voice softened. "You're everything, Zayne. Everything."
He kissed her, soft and sweet, the kind of kiss that said I love you better than words ever could.
"Food's going to burn," she murmured against his lips.
"Don't care."
"I care. I worked hard on this chicken."
He laughed and released her, watching her return to the stove, and thought: This. This is what happiness looks like.
They ate at their dining table—their first meal as husband and wife in their own home.
The food was delicious, as always. But the real nourishment was the conversation, the laughter, the easy comfort of being completely themselves with each other.
"We should visit Grandpa Li's grave soon," Nana said. "Tell him about the house. About—about everything."
"This weekend," Zayne agreed. "We'll bring flowers. Tell him he was right about everything."
"He'd be so smug about that."
"He absolutely would." Zayne smiled. "But he'd also be happy. Knowing we're happy. That we found each other."
"That we found home," Nana corrected gently.
"Yes. That too."
Later,after dishes were washed and the house was quiet, they lay in their bed—their first night sleeping in their own home, in their own bed, as husband and wife.
Nana traced patterns on Zayne's palm, marveling at how much larger his hand was than hers, how perfectly they fit together anyway.
"I can tell your fortune," Zayne said suddenly, playfully serious. "Give me your hand."
She giggled. "You can not tell fortunes."
"I absolutely can. I'm a highly trained medical professional." He took her hand, studying it with mock concentration. "Hmm. Yes. I see—I see a long life. Happiness. Many arguments about you working too hard and not eating enough."
"That's you, not me."
"Multiple visits from overly dramatic friends. Lots of family dinners. Some children, maybe—"
"Children?" Nana's voice went soft.
He looked up, suddenly serious. "If you want them. Someday. No pressure. Just—if you want them, I want them. With you."
"I want them," she whispered. "Someday. When we're ready. I want—I want to give them everything we didn't have. Two parents who are present. Who choose them every day. Who—"
"Who love them unconditionally," Zayne finished. "Yes. Me too."
They lay in comfortable silence for a moment.
Then Nana shifted closer and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead—that same gesture she'd done before, tender and protective.
Something inside Zayne stirred.
His grandmother used to do that. When he was small and crying over his parents' absence. When he felt unwanted and alone. She'd kiss his forehead and say, "I'm keeping you safe. In this kiss."
And now Nana—his wife, his home, his everything—was doing the same thing.
The tears came unexpectedly, silently, spilling from his eyes before he could stop them.Nana pulled back, alarmed. "What's wrong? Did I—"
"Nothing's wrong." His voice was rough. "Just—that kiss. My grandmother used to—when I was little and sad—she'd—" He couldn't finish.
Understanding dawned in Nana's eyes.
"Oh. Oh, sweetheart."
She wiped his tears gently, then kissed each eye with infinite tenderness—soft, careful kisses that said I see your pain. I honor it. I love you through it.
"You're safe now," she whispered, echoing words his grandmother might have said. "You're home. You're loved. You're never alone again."
Zayne pulled her close, burying his face in her hair, letting himself cry—really cry—for everything he'd lost and everything he'd found.
For the child who'd been left behind and the man who'd finally found where he belonged.
She held him through it all, one hand stroking his hair, the other rubbing gentle circles on his back, letting him break in her arms because she knew—she'd always known—that sometimes the strongest thing you can do is let yourself be vulnerable with someone who loves you.
"I love you," he managed eventually. "So much. Thank you. For this. For everything. For—for being home."
"I love you too," she promised. "And you're my home too. We're each other's home now. Forever."
They fell asleep like that—wrapped around each other, safe and loved and finally, finally at peace.
For the first time in her life, Nana slept without nightmares—no dreams of her father's anger, no memories of walking home alone in the dark, no fears of not being enough.
Just peaceful, deep sleep in the arms of someone who loved her completely.
And Zayne—who'd spent decades believing he wasn't meant for this kind of happiness—slept with a smile on his face, holding his wife, in their home, living a life he'd stopped believing was possible.
Two people who'd started as strangers bound by an old man's dying wish.
Who'd become friends, then partners, then lovers, then spouses.
Who'd built a family from choice rather than chance.
Who'd healed each other's wounds by seeing each other clearly and loving what they found.
Home wasn't a place.
It wasn't a village or a city or a house with an apple tree in the backyard.
Home was this: two hearts beating in sync, two souls choosing each other, two lives becoming one.
Every single day.
For the rest of forever.
Together.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued __