Selene's / Atasha's POV;
It was my last night before the flight.
The suitcase sat open on my bed, halfway packed, while my heart felt completely torn. My family buzzed around the house with excitement, yet I felt quiet. Heavy.
As I reached for my sketchbook—the one I never traveled without—I noticed something tucked between the pages.
A folded piece of paper, aged slightly at the edges. I didn't remember placing it there.
I unfolded it slowly.
His handwriting hit me instantly. I could feel his voice in every curve of the ink.
"If you're reading this, you're probably about to leave. And that's okay. I just wanted you to know... even if the distance grows, my heart won't drift with it. I'll still think of you when the rain taps against the windows. I'll still whisper your name under my breath when something reminds me of you—which is almost everything. And if life brings you back someday, I'll still be here, ready to see you again. No pressure. Just hope. —Antonio"
I clutched the letter to my chest, sinking to the edge of the bed, breath caught in my throat. It wasn't a plea. It wasn't guilt. It was just… love. Quiet, patient love.
And suddenly, Milan didn't feel like running away anymore.
It felt like a chapter I had permission to live—without losing the story I came from.
I sat at my desk, the letter still clutched in one hand, my pen trembling in the other.
For a long moment, I just stared at the blank page in front of me. There were a thousand things I wanted to say. A thousand memories. A thousand heartbeats trapped between us. But in the end, I let my heart speak without overthinking it.
Dear Antonio,
I wasn't expecting your words. They found me when I needed them the most. I thought I had closed the chapter of you, buried it under the weight of becoming someone new. But you reminded me that no matter how far we go, there are pieces of the past we carry with quiet gratitude.
I'm leaving tomorrow—but not to forget you. I'm leaving to live fully. To grow into the version of myself you always believed I could be, even when I didn't.
So… thank you. For the letter. For the hope. For loving me in silence, without asking me to stay.
Maybe one day, I'll return with stories to share, a heart still beating for the boy who once reminded me how brave I was.
Until then, take care of yourself, Antonio.
Yours,
Atasha (Selene)
I sealed it, slipped it under his door the next morning, and left without looking back.
At the airport, as the plane lifted into the clouds, I realized I wasn't running anymore.
I was flying.
Antonio's POV;
I found the envelope under my door early that morning.
My chest tightened the moment I recognized her handwriting. I didn't even make it to the kitchen—I opened it right there in the hallway, still barefoot, heartbeat loud in my ears.
Her words hit me like soft rain after a long drought—gentle, healing, real.
She didn't promise to return. She didn't make any dramatic declarations. But she remembered. She still cared. And she was still… her.
I pressed the letter to my lips for a second and whispered, "Safe skies, Atasha."
I didn't try to chase her again. I didn't need to.
For the first time in a long while, I believed that if two hearts were meant to find each other again, distance would only be the pause—not the ending.