April stood at the edge of the Ponte Vecchio, her sketchbook tucked under her arm as the sun spilled gold across the Arno. The river shimmered with light, tourists moved in cheerful clusters, and somewhere behind her, a violinist played a soft, haunting melody.
It should have been perfect. It should have filled her chest with joy. But all April could think of was Brandy.
She closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her, and saw his face in her mind—his crooked smile, the way his eyes softened when he looked at her, the warmth of his hand brushing hers. The ache inside her had grown unbearable, sharp enough to blur the colors of Florence.
Her residency had been everything she'd dreamed of: teachers who praised her work, endless inspiration, opportunities to connect with galleries she once only admired from afar. Yet each success tasted hollow. The more she achieved, the emptier she felt, as though every brushstroke was painted in the absence of him.
And then Brandy's words from their last call returned to her: Then come back. Please. Come back to me.
The longing in his voice had broken something inside her. She hadn't been able to sleep since.
The Decision
That evening, April sat in her apartment with the letter Brandy had written her clutched in her hands. She'd read it so many times that the paper was worn, the folds soft and fragile.
She whispered the words aloud, her voice trembling: If I ever lose you, I don't know if I'll find myself again.
A sob caught in her throat.
She looked around the apartment—her sketches on the walls, her paints scattered across the table, the suitcase in the corner half-empty since she arrived. And in that moment, she knew. She couldn't stay here, not anymore.
She pulled the suitcase out, her movements frantic, heart racing as though afraid she might change her mind. Clothes tumbled inside, brushes and pencils stuffed into side pockets. She packed her life in minutes, fueled by the certainty that had eluded her for months.
"I'm coming back to you," she whispered into the night. "Brandy, I'm coming home."
Brandy at Home
Meanwhile, Brandy sat at the riverbank where he and April had spent so many nights. His guitar rested across his lap, though his fingers barely moved. The melodies came out hollow, incomplete, as though missing the harmony only she could provide.
He tilted his head back, staring at the stars. "Where are you right now?" he murmured into the quiet.
It had been days since they last spoke, her schedule swallowing her time. He tried not to let the silence gnaw at him, but the fear crept in: maybe she was slipping away for good. Maybe the distance was stronger than love.
He strummed a chord, the sound carrying into the night. "I can't lose you, April."
The Journey
April's heart raced as the plane touched down hours later, the familiar skyline of home gleaming beneath the sunrise. She hadn't told Brandy she was coming. She wanted to see the look on his face, to feel the shock and joy in real time.
Her legs trembled as she walked through the airport, suitcase dragging behind her. Every announcement on the speakers, every shuffle of people, seemed muffled compared to the pounding of her heart.
At the exit, she paused, her chest tight. What if he's angry? What if he thinks I gave up too easily? What if he doesn't believe in us anymore?
But then she touched the pendant around her neck—the one he'd given her. She closed her fingers around it, whispering, "He's waiting. I know he is."
And with that, she stepped out into the morning air.
The Surprise
Brandy was at his apartment, sprawled on the couch with his guitar when a knock echoed through the room. He frowned. He wasn't expecting anyone.
Setting the guitar aside, he crossed the floor and opened the door—
—and froze.
April stood there, suitcase by her side, her hair tousled from travel, her eyes wide and shimmering with unshed tears.
For a heartbeat, Brandy couldn't breathe. He thought he was dreaming, that his mind had finally conjured her out of sheer longing.
"Surprise," April whispered, her voice breaking.
Brandy's chest collapsed with relief. "April…"
And then he pulled her into his arms.
The suitcase clattered to the floor as she melted against him, both of them trembling. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the scent he'd missed for months, holding her as if afraid she might vanish.
"You're here," he whispered hoarsely. "You're really here."
April's tears dampened his shirt. "I couldn't stay away. Brandy, I tried. I tried to tell myself I was strong enough to live without you, but I'm not. I don't want to be. You're my home. Always."
Brandy cupped her face, searching her eyes. "Are you sure? What about your residency, your dreams—"
"You," she interrupted softly, "are the dream that matters most."
Brandy's lips trembled, and then he kissed her—desperate, hungry, a kiss that tasted of all the months they'd lost and all the years still waiting for them.
A Love Reclaimed
Hours later, they sat curled together on the couch, April leaning against Brandy's chest as his arms wrapped around her. Her suitcase remained untouched by the door.
"Tell me everything," Brandy murmured into her hair.
She laughed softly, wiping at her eyes. "There's so much. Florence was beautiful, Brandy. Every street felt like art. But none of it meant anything without you there. I kept looking for your face in every crowd."
He kissed her temple. "I looked for you in everything too. Every song I wrote, every night sky, every shadow in this apartment. It was all you."
Her fingers tightened on his hand. "Then don't let me go again."
"Never," he promised, his voice fierce. "I don't care what it takes. We'll figure it out. Together."
And for the first time in months, April felt whole again. The weight of distance, the ache of separation, dissolved in the warmth of his embrace. She realized she hadn't abandoned her dream after all—she had simply chosen a new one, one painted in laughter, music, and love.
The Unfinished Song
That night, Brandy picked up his guitar and strummed a familiar tune—the song he had been writing since April left. It had always felt incomplete, the melody wandering, unresolved.
But now, with her beside him, the notes flowed into place. April listened, tears in her eyes as the music filled the room.
"It's our song," Brandy said softly when he finished. "It was always waiting for you to come back."
April smiled, her heart swelling. "Then play it again. And again. Until it never ends."
And as the night wrapped around them, April knew she had made the right choice. Her world wasn't in Florence or any gallery—it was here, in Brandy's arms, in the music they made together.