Atasha's / Selene POV;
I didn't know what to say.
For so long, I'd held on to this version of him in my head—the one who broke me, the one who left me with silence and confusion. But now… standing in front of me wasn't that boy anymore. This was someone raw, honest, and hurting just as much as I had been.
His words echoed in my chest. "I never stopped thinking about you… I broke the heart of the only person who ever loved me…"
I wanted to stay angry. I needed to stay angry. But anger can't live where truth starts blooming.
I swallowed hard. "I don't know if I can forget how I felt back then," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I was drowning, Antonio. And I had to save myself… because I thought you wouldn't."
He looked down, guilt etched into every line of his face.
"But hearing you now… seeing this side of you… I don't know what to do with it," I added, hugging my arms to my chest. "I didn't expect honesty. I didn't expect this."
I took a shaky breath. "But thank you. For not letting me walk away this time without the truth."
And even though my heart was still cautious, a quiet voice inside whispered—
Maybe… just maybe… this story isn't finished yet.
Just when I thought the air between us might settle, my phone buzzed in my hand.
I glanced down—an email notification. My eyes caught the subject line and my breath hitched.
"Congratulations! Your designs have been selected for the Milan Showcase."
I froze. Milan. The dream I'd poured myself into quietly, when love and loss felt too heavy. And now it was real—an invitation that could change everything. An opportunity abroad. Again.
Antonio noticed my expression. "What is it?"
I swallowed, showing him the screen.
His eyes widened with genuine pride. "Atasha… this is huge."
I smiled faintly, but my heart twisted. "It is. And it means I'm leaving in three weeks."
There it was—the silence again. But not like before. This time, it was the weight of two hearts realizing the universe might still be playing with their timing.
And just like that, the ground beneath us shifted again.
He didn't speak for a moment. His gaze dropped to the ground, then slowly back to mine.
"Three weeks," he repeated quietly, almost like he was testing how the words felt on his tongue.
I gave a small nod, trying to stay calm when my chest felt like it might split in two. "I didn't expect this either. I applied months ago… before I even came back. Before I saw you."
Antonio looked away briefly, his jaw tensing the way it always did when he was thinking too fast and feeling too much. "So… what does this mean for us?"
I hesitated. Us. I wasn't even sure what we were now. Two people with a long, unfinished story—or two paths that finally crossed just in time to part again.
"It means I have to go," I said honestly. "I've worked for this. I gave up so much just to get this far… and I can't turn away from it. Not even for you."
He nodded slowly, eyes still locked on mine, something unreadable swimming in them. "Then I won't stop you. I can't be the reason you lose yourself again."
And hearing him say that—really say it—was almost harder than anything else. Because maybe, just maybe, he was finally the version of him I'd always wished for…
Antonio's POV;
Three weeks.
That's all I had.
It wasn't enough—but I wasn't going to waste a single second of it. She was leaving, and I didn't blame her. Not even for a moment. If anything, I admired her more for it. She was chasing what she built with her own hands—without depending on anyone to hand her happiness.
I watched her walk away that day, her back straight, her resolve strong. And I knew—this wasn't the end of us. It was just a pause. A long, aching pause where I'd have to prove that I was worth remembering.
So I started writing.
Every day, I wrote her a letter. Not to beg her to stay—no. But to remind her of every reason I believed in her. I wrote about our memories, the way she smiled when she talked about her sketches, the time we sat under the stars, silent, yet so understood. I wrote the truths I never found the courage to say when we were younger.
And I kept them. All of them. Waiting. Hoping that when she came back—if she ever did—I could hand them to her and say, "I never let you go, even when I let you leave."