Selene/Atasha's POV:
The day we agreed to meet, I couldn't breathe properly.
I kept telling myself it was just a conversation. Just closure. But my heart—traitorous, stubborn thing—kept whispering, What if it's something more? I wore something simple, yet it took me hours to choose. I wasn't trying to impress him… but I guess a part of me still wanted to be seen. Not just noticed, but seen.
We met at a quiet café tucked away from the city noise. He was already there when I arrived, sitting by the window, fingers nervously tapping against his coffee cup. His eyes lit up when he saw me, and just like that—I forgot how to be angry.
"Hi," I said softly as I sat across from him.
"Hey," he replied, his voice just as careful. "Thank you… for coming."
There was silence. Not uncomfortable, just heavy with things we didn't know how to say.
"I wasn't sure I would," I admitted, tracing the rim of my glass. "But I needed to hear everything. Not from a message. Not from the past. But from you."
He nodded, looking down. "I don't deserve your forgiveness, Selene… or Atasha, or whoever you are now. But I'm glad you're here. I was selfish. I let my confusion hurt you. And I swear, not a day passed where I didn't regret it."
My eyes stung. "You made me feel like I wasn't enough. Like love wasn't enough."
"I know," he whispered. "But it was. It is. I was just too stupid to see it when it mattered."
The silence that followed wasn't heavy anymore. It was soft. Lighter. Like the first breeze after a storm.
"I don't know if I trust you yet," I said, voice shaking a little. "But I'm here because… somewhere in my heart, I still believe in what we could've been."
He reached across the table, his fingers brushing mine. "Then let's try again. Slowly. Honestly. No past, no promises. Just us."
I didn't answer. But I didn't pull my hand away either.
And for the first time in years, I felt a little less broken.
Antonio's POV:
She didn't say yes. But she didn't say no either.
When her fingers didn't pull away from mine, I knew that was her way of letting me in, even just a little. And that little piece of hope was more than I deserved—more than I ever thought I'd get from her again.
The days that followed were quiet, but warm. We didn't jump into old habits or fall back into that easy, flirty rhythm we used to have. This time, it was slower. Softer. More real. We texted a little—nothing heavy, just small things. How was your day. This song reminded me of you. I saw a sketchbook and thought of you. That kind of stuff.
But I could tell she was still guarded, and I didn't blame her. She had every right to protect herself. I had once been the storm that tore her apart. Now I had to become the calm after it.
One afternoon, I invited her to walk with me through the park near our old school—the same place where I used to watch her draw in her notebook, earbuds in, completely lost in her own world. She hesitated, but she came.
"I'm not asking you to forget," I said quietly as we walked, the trees casting moving shadows over us. "I just want you to know that I remember everything. Every moment. Every time I should've chosen you and didn't. I remember it all."
She looked at me then, and I saw something I hadn't seen in years—something small, but there.
Trust, beginning to bloom again.
And for the first time in forever, I believed we might actually make it. Not back to where we were—but somewhere new. Somewhere better.
She sat on the bench where we used to spend lunch breaks, the same one where I'd once stolen her fries just to see her roll her eyes at me. But today, her eyes were soft, thoughtful—not angry, not cold. Just… watching.
"I used to come here after you left," I admitted, sitting beside her. "I don't know why. Maybe I thought some part of you would still be here."
She didn't speak for a moment. Then she said, "A part of me was."
That hit harder than she probably realized. I wanted to reach for her hand again, but I didn't. Not yet. Instead, I gave her the space she deserved—space I never gave her before.
"I'm proud of you," I said. "You built something amazing with your life. You went after your dreams."
She let out a small laugh, one that held more sorrow than humor. "I had to rebuild. I didn't have a choice."
"You did," I said gently. "You could've let it destroy you. But you didn't. You turned your pain into power. That's strength, Selene… or Atasha. Whatever you want me to call you."
She looked at me then, really looked. "Call me Selene," she whispered. "Just this once."
That name on her lips—herself, letting me in that little bit more—it was the first piece of the puzzle falling back into place. Not as it once was, but as something new. And I'd wait as long as it took to see the full picture. Because this time, I knew exactly what I was fighting for.
Her. Always her....