Ayra's POV
The golden hour light spilled softly through the sheer curtains, casting a warm hue across the freshly polished floors of our new home. The aroma of lemon-sage candles and roasted vegetables danced in the air. Eliot's playlist played low in the background as he set the final touches—pillows fluffed, lights dimmed, table set with coffee, cake, and a dozen sweet and savory treats.
I glanced around, heart full. After weeks of designing, tweaking, painting, and planning… our home was ready. But more than the house, tonight was about us—our love, and the people who helped shape it.
The Arrival of Family
The doorbell rang. First came Selene's parents, her mom carrying a potted cherry blossom bonsai, her dad with a fresh-baked quiche. They enveloped me in warm hugs, praising the cozy charm of the place. "Ayra, it's perfect. Just like something you'd dream up," her mom said with a proud smile.
Then came Antonio's family, Mira and Amara bounding in first with a handmade banner: 'Welcome Home, Ayra & Eliot!' Mr. and Mrs. Reyes followed, bringing a crystal decor piece with "Home is where your heart belongs" engraved.
Antonio gave Eliot a solid clap on the back and said, "You built more than a house—you built a future here."
Selene and Antonio were last, arms full of mocktails and tapas. Selene beamed as she took in the décor. "Ayra… this is stunning. You really created something magical."
And just behind them, stepping in with a radiant smile and misty eyes, was Melinda, my mom. She wore a dress with embroidered roses—my favorite. Her hands were full: a framed photo of me as a little girl drawing clothes and a jar of her signature coffee blend.
"Sweetheart," she whispered, "You've done it. Your dream… it's real."
I ran into her arms. She smelled like roses and books, and I let myself tear up without holding back.
"You're everything I hoped you'd become," she said softly, brushing my hair behind my ear. "And more."
The Celebration Begins
Everett and Elise—Eliot's mom and sister—arrived next, bearing a professional espresso machine. "For all the creative late nights and lazy mornings," Everett winked. Elise took one look at Eliot's little guitar corner and squealed, "I'm crashing here every weekend!"
The backyard glowed with fairy lights. The dinner spread was stunning—Antonio had brought charcuterie boards, Mira and Amara had baked cookies, and Eliot grilled perfectly tender herbed chicken.
When everyone settled in, Selene clinked her glass. "To Ayra and Eliot—may this house hold every beautiful piece of your love."
Tears welled again. Eliot held my hand under the table.
Antonio stood and smirked, "And to Ayra's impeccable taste, and Eliot's patience for her ten mood board changes per room."
Laughter rippled around us.
Quiet Moments and Gifts
Melinda gifted me a handmade quilt, each square stitched with patterns from all the homes we'd lived in. "So you always carry where you came from, wherever you go."
Selene handed me a sketchbook and whispered, "For the designs that'll change the world."
Everett gave Eliot a journal and Elise surprised us with matching mugs that read: Creative Chaos (Ayra) and Gentle Order (Eliot).
Late Night Talks and Sweet Mischief
After dinner, while the adults chatted in the living room, the four of us—me, Eliot, Selene, and Antonio—snuck out to the balcony with coffee.
Selene rested her head on Antonio's shoulder, smiling at the stars. I nudged Eliot and whispered, "It still doesn't feel real."
"It is," he whispered back, wrapping an arm around me. "And I'm never letting go."
Then Selene brought up a past memory, her voice soft. "Do you remember when we thought none of this would happen? When we were heartbroken and scared?"
I nodded.
Eliot hugged me tightly from the side, grounding me.
Antonio leaned over and gave Selene an intense kiss that made her blush furiously—and when we both gawked, she threw a cushion at us.
"Stop staring!" she laughed.
"Too late!" I teased, hiding my face in Eliot's chest.
As the Night Ended
When the guests left, the house didn't feel quiet—it felt full. Full of dreams, of shared joy, of stories yet to unfold.
Eliot pulled me into a final slow dance under the twinkle lights. "This is just the beginning," he said.
"I know," I whispered. "And I can't wait."
The music blurred into a distant murmur as I looked up at Eliot, his gaze soft but electric. I could feel the warmth of his palm resting at the curve of my waist, steadying me as though the world might tilt. The lights around us shimmered like stars had descended to bless this very moment.
And then, he leaned in—so close I could feel his breath, so slow I could count each heartbeat echoing in my chest. When his lips finally met mine, I felt everything still. His kiss was deep, sure, and full of emotion. His tongue brushed softly against mine, coaxing a response that I didn't know I'd held back. My hands clutched at his shirt instinctively, grounding myself in the tenderness of the moment.
I was lost, and yet more found than ever. Eliot wasn't just kissing me. He was silently telling me that he saw me, chose me, and would keep choosing me. And in that moment, nothing else mattered.