The next few days passed in a strange, quiet glow.
The contract had not been officially torn apart, nor had they made any dramatic announcement. But something had shifted — unmistakably. Elio no longer waited for the moment she would retreat behind sarcasm, and Aurélie no longer kept count of how many days were left.
They moved around each other differently. Not with the caution of two strangers forced to share a life, but with the softness of two people choosing — day by day — to stay.
On Monday morning, Elio found her humming in the kitchen, barefoot and sleepy-eyed, sipping coffee from his favorite mug. She didn't apologize. He didn't ask her to.
Instead, he took a bite of her toast without asking, and she let him.
There were no spoken declarations. No romantic fireworks. Just quiet decisions. Little details. Things that used to be pretend — now felt undeniably real.
---
At university, Aurélie's friends began to notice.
"Have you noticed she's been smiling more lately?" asked Clémence, leaning toward Camille as they waited for class to start.
"And she doesn't complain about Elio anymore," Camille replied. "Not even once last week."
"Do you think…?"
"I think they're no longer pretending."
When Aurélie entered the room, laughter lighting up her face after a message from Elio, they exchanged a knowing look.
Camille smirked. "She doesn't even know she's glowing."
---
Meanwhile, Elio sat at the university café with Marco, eyes fixed on his phone.
Marco leaned over with a teasing grin. "Is that the fifth time you've checked your messages?"
Elio looked up. "She said she had a presentation today."
Marco laughed. "You're like a man possessed."
"I'm just…" He paused, looking down at his coffee. "I think I'm finally living something real, you know?"
Marco nodded. "Good. Because for a while, I wasn't sure if you knew what the hell you were doing."
Elio chuckled. "Neither was I."
There was a pause. Then Marco said more seriously, "You're happy, right?"
Elio's smile softened. "Yeah. I am."
---
Later that night, they went out for dinner — not because they had to, but because they wanted to. No photographers. No public show. Just a quiet bistro tucked between two old bookshops.
Aurélie wore a soft lavender dress and no makeup. Elio wore his usual dark sweater and camera strap, as if he couldn't bear to be without it.
They talked about everything and nothing — her final design project, his new photo series on hands and touch, the absurdity of their shared toothpaste habits.
At one point, she looked at him across the candlelit table.
"Elio?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you remember the night we signed the contract?"
He blinked. "How could I forget? You nearly threw the pen at my face."
Aurélie smiled. "I hated the idea of you."
He laughed. "You made that very clear."
"But now," she said quietly, "I think the contract saved me."
He tilted his head. "Saved you from what?"
"From staying hidden. From never letting anyone close enough to see me properly."
Elio reached for her hand. "And do you feel seen now?"
She didn't answer immediately. But her fingers closed around his, warm and sure.
"Yes."
---
The days continued like a secret rhythm — study, laugh, walk, dream. There were late-night pastries and silly arguments over who left the lights on. There were quiet moments when Aurélie fell asleep on Elio's shoulder during a film, and louder ones when Elio danced terribly just to make her laugh.
But for all the comfort growing between them, there was one question neither dared to ask:
What now?
Because somewhere deep inside, the ghost of the original agreement still lingered. The six months weren't yet over. The contract still existed, even if they had outgrown it.
Would they keep going? Was this just a beautiful pause before the curtain fell?
---
One evening, as the city glowed orange with the promise of spring, they walked home from a small gallery Elio had been featured in. Aurélie held one of his framed photos — a candid black-and-white shot of a stranger's hand letting go of another.
"It's beautiful," she said.
"I took that long before I met you," Elio replied. "Back when I thought real connections were accidents."
She looked up at him. "And now?"
"Now I think they're choices."
---
Back at their apartment, as she placed the photo gently on the shelf, Elio spoke again.
"Do you think we should talk about it?"
She didn't pretend not to know what he meant.
"The contract?" she asked.
He nodded.
Aurélie sat down slowly, brushing her fingers along the couch seam. "I've thought about it."
"And?"
She looked at him, heart in her throat. "I don't want to end it."
Relief flashed across Elio's face.
"I mean," she added quickly, "I don't want to go back to what we were before it. To being strangers."
He knelt beside her, taking both her hands.
"Aurélie, I was hoping you'd say that."
She smiled. "Were you that nervous?"
"Terrified," he admitted.
"Why?"
"Because for the first time, I wasn't faking anything. And that makes it so much scarier."
She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his.
"Then let's not be scared. Let's write something new. No rules. No deadlines. Just us."
---
They burned the contract that night.
Not in anger, not in some dramatic flourish — but in quiet ceremony.
On the small balcony, under the soft hum of Parisian night, they fed each page to a ceramic bowl, watching the flames curl the edges.
The final line — "resume independent lives" — disappeared in smoke.
And what remained between them was no longer an agreement.
It was a beginning.