Note: I'll be continuing the story in writer's POV
As the villa shrank in the rearview mirror, swallowed by dust and distance, Justin gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. His jaw was tight, eyes scanning every mirror, every tree that blurred past.
In the passenger seat, Riya sat stiffly, arms crossed, heart pounding. The GPS tracker was gone—ripped out and ditched miles back—but the feeling of being hunted hadn't left her chest.
"We can't go back," Justin muttered. "They'll find us if we stay anywhere familiar."
"I know a place," Riya said softly.
He looked at her, wary. "Where?"
"My mum's. And my stepdad's. They live out in a village no one even knows exists. It's quiet. Remote. Off-grid."
Justin arched a brow. "Your mum remarried?"
"Yeah. Three years ago. They built this eco-farm thing in the middle of nowhere. It's like something out of a survivalist blog."
He nodded slowly. "Might be exactly what we need."
Two hours later, the road turned from asphalt to gravel to nothing but dust and rocks. Wildflowers spilled over the sides of the path, and an old hand-painted sign warned: Close the gate. Chickens think they're free.
Justin gave her a look. "I think your parents might be living in a cult."
"They're not. But if the llama gives you side-eye, just ignore it."
When they pulled up to the cottage—a cozy stone structure surrounded by solar panels, herb gardens, and various farm animals—Riya could already hear the chickens losing their minds.
The front door flew open.
"Riya!"
Her mum burst out, apron flapping, straw hat askew, and wrapped her in a crushing hug. Riya held on tightly.
Then her mum's eyes landed on Justin.
She froze. Her head tilted slightly. Then:
"Justin Wright?"
He straightened awkwardly. "Uh… yeah. Hi."
Her mum's eyes widened in recognition. "I knew it! Lincoln High. You used to come around all the time. That broody musician kid with the leather jacket and half the girls writing your name in their notebooks."
Riya blinked. "Wait, what?"
Justin rubbed the back of his neck. "Guilty, I guess."
Her mum laughed, then sobered. "What's going on?"
Riya hesitated, then looked at Justin. He nodded slightly.
She turned to her mum. "We're in trouble. Someone put a tracker in our safehouse. They're looking for him."
Her mum's expression shifted. "The mafia thing?"
Riya blinked. "You know?"
"I read the papers. And I still talk to Mrs. Patel from down the road. She knows everything."
Justin stepped forward, voice low. "This is on me. Riya had nothing to do with it until I came back into her life. She's in danger because of me."
Her mum crossed her arms, eyeing him. "At least you're aware."
Justin nodded, ashamed.
She sighed. "Alright. Guest room's yours. Panic cellar's under the pantry. No internet, no signal, and the goat ate the last drone that flew over."
Riya's brows lifted. "Seriously?"
Her mum grinned. "We compost everything, including government surveillance."
Justin blinked. "This might actually work."
"Only if you do what the llama says," her mum warned, turning back toward the house.
Riya smirked. "Welcome to the only safehouse with a chicken-led neighborhood watch."
The sun dipped lower, casting long golden streaks across the fields as Riya's mum led them through the cottage and out the back door. The path wound past a tangle of herbs, a sleepy goat chewing on a boot, and a towering greenhouse nestled behind pear trees.
"He's probably in the greenhouse," her mum said. "Watering the tomatoes or arguing with the cucumbers again."
Justin blinked. "Arguing?"
"You'll see," Riya said, smirking.
Inside the greenhouse, a tall man with silver-streaked hair and soil-stained hands was gently tying vines to trellises. He moved with deliberate calm, like the world never rushed him. As they stepped in, he glanced up.
"Sweetheart," he said, smiling at Riya. "Didn't expect you for another month."
"Change of plans," she said, her voice gentler now. "We needed a place to lie low."
His eyes shifted to Justin. Calm, quiet, assessing. "And this is?"
"Justin Wright," Justin said, stepping forward with an extended hand.
The man shook it with a firm grip. "Michael Reed. Riya's stepdad."
There was a pause. Tension just thick enough to notice.
Michael turned back to the plants, trimming a wilted leaf. "So… should I be worried about the black SUV that crawled past the road this morning?"
Justin tensed. "Most likely, yes."
Michael didn't flinch. "Thought so."
"I'm sorry we brought this to your door," Justin said. "We didn't mean to."
"But you did," Michael replied.
Justin lowered his eyes. "I dragged her into this. If you want me gone—"
"No," Michael said, firm. "If Riya's with you, then she made that call. I trust her judgment. Always have."
Justin blinked, surprised. "Even now?"
Michael nodded. "Especially now. But understand—trust isn't given blindly. You say she's in danger because of you. That means you protect her. With everything you've got."
"I already am," Justin said, voice steady.
Michael studied him for a beat, then plucked a ripe tomato from a vine and tossed it at him. "Catch."
Justin caught it instinctively.
"Good hands," Michael said. "You'll need them. Feeding starts at sunrise. You two can help with the compost and collect eggs."
Justin stared at the tomato. "Do I need to know how to milk a goat?"
Michael gave a rare half-smile. "Only if you want coffee with fresh cream."
As they walked back to the house, the tension began to ease. The silence between them wasn't empty—it was mutual ground being built.
Inside, dinner was already laid out. Homemade stew, thick bread, wild honey. The kind of meal that felt earned. The table was mismatched and the room glowed with warm lamplight.
Over the meal, Michael asked quiet questions. Not pressing, just enough to understand the threat. Justin answered what he could. Riya filled in the blanks. Her mum, meanwhile, made jokes, poured endless tea, and acted like hosting a wanted man was the most natural thing in the world.
Later, Justin sat on the back step, looking at the stars. The air was still, the kind of silence that buzzed in your bones after years of chaos.
He didn't hear Michael approach.
"Strange, isn't it?" Michael said, taking a seat beside him. "This kind of quiet."
Justin nodded. "Too quiet, sometimes."
Michael looked up at the sky. "You're carrying a lot."
Justin didn't speak.
Michael continued, "We're not just hiding you. We're giving you a shot. At peace. At something better."
Justin finally said, "I don't deserve it. I don't deserve her."
Michael stood, brushing the dirt off his hands. "Maybe not. But you've got the chance. Don't waste it."
He walked back inside, leaving Justin with the stars, the silence, and something new blooming quietly in his chest—hope.
Riya slipped out the back door a few minutes after Michael disappeared inside. The screen creaked softly, and Justin didn't need to look to know it was her. He felt her presence before she even sat down beside him—close, but not touching.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Just the distant cluck of chickens settling in for the night, the low rustle of trees in the wind, and the quiet breath of two people who'd lived through too much and still weren't sure what came next.
Finally, Riya broke the silence. "You always had a thing for the stars."
Justin let out a breath that almost sounded like a chuckle. "Still do. They don't change. You can screw up everything else, but when you look up… they're always there. Steady."
She looked over at him, studying the side of his face. "You've changed."
He turned just slightly, meeting her gaze. "So have you."
Riya pulled her knees to her chest, arms circling them. "Sometimes I wonder if we'd even recognize the people we used to be."
"I do," Justin said quietly.
She blinked. "Really?"
"I see her in you," he said, voice soft. "The girl who used to hum in the hallways, who'd roll her eyes every time I tried to flirt after practice but still showed up to my games anyway."
Riya smiled faintly. "You were impossible."
"You loved it."
"Maybe," she said with a teasing shrug. "You were the star player with a guitar and a killer smirk. Half the school had a crush on you."
He smirked. "Only half?"
"Don't push it."
They shared a look, one full of memory and something warmer than nostalgia.
"I missed you, Riya," Justin said, more serious now. "Every damn day. Even when I convinced myself I had to walk away."
"Then why did you?" Her voice wasn't angry—just tired. Wounded in a place that still hadn't healed.
Justin looked down at his hands, turning the tomato from earlier over in his palm like it held all the answers. "Because I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought if I stayed, you'd get dragged into everything I was falling into. And I couldn't let that happen."
"But you didn't let me choose," she said. "You decided for both of us."
"I didn't think you'd want the chaos."
"You didn't ask."
A heavy silence fell.
Then, quietly, Riya said, "You know what scares me?"
He looked at her, waiting.
"That I still want you. After everything. After all the silence. The danger. The leaving."
Justin's throat tightened.
"I don't know what that says about me," she added. "Maybe I'm still the girl who fell for the basketball player with the bad pick-up lines and the guitar he barely knew how to play."
He laughed under his breath. "I played pretty well."
"You knew four chords and one John Mayer song."
"Which worked every time."
She gave him a look, but her smile betrayed her.
"You're not naive," he said softly. "You're brave. You see me—really see me—and you still stayed. That's not something I'll ever deserve."
"I flinched," she said, "but I didn't run."
He reached out, brushed a strand of hair from her face. "I don't want to hurt you again. If that means leaving—"
"No," she said firmly. "That's not your call anymore. If you want to be in my life, then you fight for it. For me. For us. I'm done letting people walk away to protect me without ever asking if I need protecting."
Justin's breath hitched. His chest rose and fell like he was holding something heavy there—until finally, he let it go.
"I'm here," he said. "And I'm not running again."
Riya stared at him for a long beat. Then slowly, she leaned her head on his shoulder. He didn't move, just let his head rest against hers, their bodies finally still, their silence no longer strained.
Above them, the stars stretched across the sky—steady, patient, eternal. Like they'd been waiting for this moment, too.
They sat there until the night deepened, the stars overhead sharpening against the ink-black sky. The wind grew cooler, brushing past them with whispers of dew and dirt and lavender from the garden. Riya's head stayed on Justin's shoulder, her breathing slow, calm. His arm eventually curled around her, holding her in a way that felt less like possession and more like promise.
But the stillness couldn't last forever.
A faint creak from the house—maybe a floorboard shifting or the kettle settling—broke the spell. Riya shifted first, lifting her head, blinking like she was waking from a dream.
"We should go inside," she said, voice low.
Justin nodded. "Yeah."
They stood slowly, a little reluctant, brushing off grass and dust. As they stepped inside, the warmth of the cottage wrapped around them—lamplight flickering, the scent of chamomile tea lingering in the air. The house had gone quiet, Riya's mum and Michael already turned in for the night.
Riya led the way down the hall to the small guest room. The space was simple: a soft quilt folded on the bed, a small window cracked open to let in the breeze, and a candle flickering on the dresser.
"You can take the bed," she said, already turning toward the door.
"Wait." His voice stopped her. She turned.
He looked hesitant, thumb brushing against his palm. "Will you stay? Just for a bit. You don't have to… I just… I don't want to be alone right now."
She hesitated, then stepped back inside, closing the door gently behind her. She didn't ask questions, didn't press. She just walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. He joined her, and for a moment, they just listened to the crickets outside the window.
Justin turned to her, eyes shadowed and soft. "Being near you… it quiets things. The noise in my head. The fear."
Riya looked at him, really looked. "You're not the only one scared."
"I know," he whispered. "But I'm done hiding from it. From you."
He leaned in, slow and unsure, giving her every chance to pull away. But she didn't. Their lips met in a kiss that was soft at first—tentative, fragile. Then it deepened, like something inside them recognized the ache they'd been carrying for years and finally, finally let it out.
There was nothing rushed or desperate about it. Just warmth, familiarity, the kind of connection that doesn't burn but glows. When they pulled apart, Riya pressed her forehead to his.
"We still don't have answers," she whispered.
"No," he said. "But we have this. Tonight."
She nodded, brushing a hand down his chest, where his heartbeat thudded steady beneath her palm.
They lay down together, fully clothed, bodies curled into each other beneath the quilt. Justin's arm found her waist. Riya's head tucked beneath his chin. And in that small room, surrounded by old wood, soft lamplight, and the safety of things unspoken, they fell asleep in each other's arms.
For the first time in years, neither of them dreamed of running.