Claire didn't tell Lucas right away. She hadn't meant to keep it from him—but how do you explain that something new is starting when something else has already ended?
It came out the week after their quiet moment on his couch, when their hands had finally lingered, when something unspoken had started to solidify between them.
They were sitting on the fire escape outside his apartment. It was late. The city below buzzed in a muted hum—soft, half-asleep. Lucas handed her a cup of lukewarm coffee, the way he always did when they needed to talk but didn't know how to begin.
"I got into the program," Claire said.
Lucas blinked. "What program?"
She exhaled slowly. "The grad program in Copenhagen. It's only two years, but… I'm going."
The silence that followed wasn't angry. It wasn't even surprised. Just… still.
Lucas nodded once, slowly. "You applied before we met."
"Yeah. I didn't think I'd get in." She hesitated. "And I didn't expect to meet you."
He gave a soft chuckle, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Timing sucks."
Claire stared into her coffee. "I meant what I said before—I want to try. But now... I think trying looks different than either of us thought."
Lucas leaned his elbows on his knees. "Are you saying we hit pause?"
"I'm saying I don't want to ask you to wait. I don't want to make promises I can't keep—not when I don't know who I'll be in those two years."
Lucas didn't look at her, but he nodded again.
"Okay. So, no promises. But can we still talk?"
She finally looked at him. "You want that?"
"I want you in my life," he said simply. "Even if you're half a world away."
That night, they didn't hold hands. They didn't kiss goodbye. But when Claire left, she turned to look back, and Lucas was still there on the fire escape—watching, waiting, wishing that Claire comes back to him and doesn't find someone more interesting over there.
Distance didn't kill what they had. It just… changed it.
Copenhagen was beautiful, full of sharp wind, quiet mornings, and a new rhythm Claire slowly settled into. She filled her days with lectures, long walks, and learning to pronounce Danish words she'd never imagined needing.
But every night, no matter how tired she was, she'd check her messages.
Lucas never missed a day.
Sometimes it was a meme. Sometimes a voice note about something absurd Max had said. Sometimes just a:
"Thinking about you. Hope you're warm."
She sent back photos of pastries and foggy harbors, stories from class, occasional bursts of loneliness she didn't bother hiding.
They weren't dating. Not officially. But there was something steady in the way they still reached for each other. Even separated by oceans, they knew the rhythm of one another's lives.
One night in early spring, Claire video-called him unexpectedly. She was curled up under a blanket, eyes red from a really hard week.
"I bombed a presentation," she said. "Like... crashed and burned in three different languages."
Lucas smiled through the screen. "That bad, huh?"
"Worse."
"You'll survive. You always do."
She stared at him for a long moment. "I miss you."
"I miss you too," he said. "Every day."
There was a silence between them, but it was a comfortable one.
"Do you think," she said softly, "that this still means something?"
Lucas didn't hesitate. "I think it means exactly what we let it."