The knock on Rey's door came just after midnight.
He had been staring at the ceiling for hours, the silence of the night louder than any sound. At first, he thought he imagined it. But then it came again — soft, hesitant, like someone unsure if they were making a mistake.
He opened the door slowly.
And there she was.
Aurel.
Wearing a long cardigan over her nightdress, hair messy, face bare. But in that moment, she looked more real than ever — like the woman he used to dream about, not the one he had been avoiding.
> "Can I come in?" she asked, voice almost a whisper.
He stepped aside.
She entered without looking at him, walking past the walls covered in notes, old drafts, and books stacked on the floor.
> "Still messy," she muttered, more to herself than to him.
He closed the door behind her, unsure whether to speak, to sit, or to simply breathe.
> "Why now?" he finally asked.
Aurel turned to face him.
> "Because I couldn't sleep without saying the things I've buried for too long."
Rey nodded, walking slowly toward the desk but not sitting down.
> "Say them."
She folded her arms, holding herself.
> "I loved you," she began, "more than I ever admitted to myself. Even after you left."
Rey's heart pounded.
> "I waited. Every night, I waited. I told myself maybe you were dead — because that would be easier than thinking you just didn't come back."
He opened his mouth to speak, but she raised a hand.
> "Let me finish."
He closed it again.
> "Then I found out I was pregnant. And I hated you. I hated you for not being there. I hated myself for still loving you. And when my parents forced me into that marriage, I told myself it was punishment. For being foolish enough to believe in you."
Tears welled in her eyes.
> "But I never stopped loving you, Rey. That's the worst part."
He stepped forward. One small step.
> "I came back for you," he said quietly. "Not for success, not for revenge. I thought… maybe if I was finally 'enough,' you'd still be there."
She laughed bitterly through her tears.
> "And I was. I was here. But we were both too broken to see each other."
A long silence followed.
She looked around the room again, then back at him.
> "I don't want to go back," she whispered. "We're not the same people we were. But I need to know... Can we be something now? Not lovers, not parents — just two people who remember what it was like to be young… and brave?"
Rey looked at her. In her eyes, he saw every version of their story — the laughter, the silence, the hurt, the waiting, and the unspoken forgiveness.
> "Yes," he said softly. "We can be… whatever you need me to be."
She stepped closer and rested her head against his chest.
No kiss. No promises. Just two people standing in the middle of what could have been… and what still could be, if they're careful.
---
> "Some stories don't end. They just change shape — into something gentler, quieter, but no less real."