It had been a year.
One year of Ava's head on his shoulder during movie nights, always falling asleep before the halfway mark.
One year of her stealing fries off his plate without asking, and him letting her, even when he was starving.
One year of shared books, late-night phone calls, hands held under the table in class, and kisses stolen in shadowed corners of campus.
Alex had never believed in peace before her.
But now? Now he'd kill for it. For her.
He stood outside her house, shifting the weight of the small box in his pocket — velvet, simple, not that kind of ring, but something he hoped she'd wear anyway.
A silver band with a moonstone. Soft, delicate. Like her.
She opened the door before he could knock, like she'd known he was coming.
"Hey," she said, beaming.
"Happy anniversary, baby."
He didn't say it often. Baby. It felt too soft for the boy he used to be.
But she grinned at it now like it was the first time she'd ever heard it.
"You remembered," she said, teasing.
He rolled his eyes. "You made me a countdown calendar."
She laughed and stepped aside to let him in. The scent of vanilla candles and warm tea wrapped around him the second he crossed the threshold. Her place always smelled like comfort.
Ava led him to the living room, where a small cake sat on the coffee table — chocolate with white icing and crooked little hearts drawn in pink.
He sat beside her on the couch, and for a moment, they just stared at each other.
A year ago, he'd barely known how to hold her without flinching at his own hands.
Now, he didn't know how to exist without them around her.
"I got you something," he said.
She blinked. "What?"
He pulled out the ring box and flipped it open.
Her breath caught.
"I know it's not like… a thing-thing," he muttered. "I just— I saw it and thought of you. The moonstone— you're always talking about how it's linked to intuition and dreams and whatever."
She reached for it, eyes wide and glassy.
"It's beautiful," she whispered. "Can you— put it on for me?"
He slid it onto her finger, hand trembling slightly.
It fit perfectly.
"Alex," she said softly, looking up at him, "I love you."
He froze.
It was the first time she'd said it.
Not hinted. Not danced around it. Just said it.
His chest burned like fire and thunder and relief all at once.
"I love you too," he whispered.
And just like that, the world stilled.
She leaned in, brushing her lips against his — soft, sweet, familiar. Like home.
He kissed her back with everything he didn't have words for.
They stayed like that for a long while, tangled together on the couch, wrapped in each other and the soft sounds of rain outside.
And for the first time in his entire life, Alex felt like maybe he wasn't broken.
Maybe, with her, he could be someone worth loving.