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The sunlight crept slowly across the floorboards, warming the apartment in pale gold. Mae stood at the stove, moving quietly, careful with each motion as though any sudden sound might fracture the fragile balance between them. The smell of fried eggs rose, filling the space with a domestic comfort that felt painfully out of place.
The bedroom door opened behind her. Mae’s chest tightened, though she kept her gaze fixed on the pan. Ai stepped out, hair mussed from sleep, moving with that unhurried grace that usually made Mae smile. This morning it only made her ache. Ai didn’t glance her way. She went to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and drank, her throat working in steady gulps. Then she turned, phone in hand, and crossed the kitchen without a word.
Mae plated the food anyway. She slid a dish to Ai’s usual spot, the gesture automatic, habitual, heavy with hope. Ai didn’t sit. She leaned against the counter, eyes fixed on the screen in her hand, thumb scrolling idly. Mae sat at the table. The scrape of fork against plate filled the silence, thin and brittle. Ai never touched the food.
Minutes ticked by. Mae swallowed toast she couldn’t taste, fighting the urge to speak. If she said something, would Ai answer? Would she push her further away? The questions pressed down on her chest, but she stayed quiet. Ai slipped out of the kitchen, disappearing into the bathroom. The sound of the shower replaced her.
Mae let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The plate across from her remained untouched.
The hours that followed stretched thin and slow. Ai drifted through the apartment like a shadow—present, unavoidable, yet distant enough to be untouchable. Mae tried small things to bridge the gap. She set a mug of coffee on the counter, the one Ai always used, waiting for her to notice. Ai glanced once and moved past it. She turned on the television, flipping through channels, but Ai never joined her. The only sounds were the hum of the fridge, the faint vibration of Ai’s phone, the muted creak of floorboards as she crossed the room.
By late afternoon, Mae found herself standing at the balcony door, fingers tapping against the glass. Behind her, Ai sat curled on the couch, expression blank, gaze fixed on her phone though her eyes seemed far away. Mae wanted to go to her. To sit, to reach for her hand, to say something that would snap them both out of this spiral. But Ai’s body radiated distance, every line of her posture a quiet warning: don’t.
Mae stayed by the door until the city lights began to flicker awake outside.
Dinner was no different. Mae cooked out of habit, stirring noodles that hissed in the pot. She placed a bowl on the table and waited. Ai came in, shrugged off her jacket, and walked past without slowing. The bedroom door closed softly.
The bowl cooled untouched. Mae ate two mouthfuls before shoving it away.
The night deepened. Mae stepped onto the balcony again, letting the cool air sting her cheeks. She watched headlights blur across the street below, the sound of laughter carrying faintly from somewhere down the block. When she turned back, Ai was in the kitchen, filling a glass of water. Their eyes met for a brief second through the glass door. Ai’s expression didn’t shift. She turned away.
Mae stayed outside until the cold sank into her bones.
When she finally went to bed, Ai was already lying down, her back to the door. Mae changed quietly, slipped under the covers, and lay on her side, facing her. She hovered, hand half-extended toward Ai’s shoulder, desperate for some sign. Ai’s body was still, her breathing steady, careful in its distance.
Mae pulled her hand back and tucked it under the pillow. The silence between them stretched on, endless, until sleep finally dragged her under.
The light on Sunday was different—softer, muted by a thin veil of clouds. Mae noticed it first when she sat up in bed, the gray glow seeping through the curtains. Ai was already gone. Her side of the bed was empty, the sheets cold.
Mae padded out into the living room, bare feet against cool floorboards. Ai was on the couch, one knee drawn up, phone in hand. Her eyes flicked over the screen, unreadable. Mae lingered by the doorway for a moment, waiting, but Ai didn’t look up.
“Morning,” Mae said quietly.
Ai’s thumb stilled for half a second, then resumed scrolling. No answer.
Mae’s lips pressed together. She turned away, heading for the kitchen. She boiled water, set out mugs, made coffee. The motions were automatic, a ritual that should’ve felt grounding. Today, it felt like dragging herself through wet cement. She placed Ai’s mug on the table again, close enough for the steam to curl toward her.
Nothing. Ai didn’t move.
Mae sat across from the empty chair, wrapping her hands around her own cup. The warmth seeped into her palms but not deep enough to reach the hollow in her chest.
The day unfolded in fragments that blurred together. Ai on the couch, shifting only to change positions. Ai at the window, arms crossed, staring out at nothing. Ai brushing past Mae in the hallway without a word, without even the brush of fabric against fabric.
Mae tried. She suggested they go out for groceries, her voice light, careful. Ai shook her head once, eyes fixed on her phone. Mae offered lunch. Ai wasn’t hungry. Mae put a plate down anyway, only to scrape it clean into the trash hours later.
The silence pressed harder as the hours wore on. It wasn’t just the absence of words—it was the absence of everything. No shared glances. No accidental smiles. Not even the friction of irritation. Just… nothing.
By late afternoon, Mae’s patience began to fray. She followed Ai into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as Ai poured herself water. “Are you really not going to talk to me?” she asked, voice low, trembling with the effort to keep calm.
Ai’s gaze flicked up for the briefest moment—sharp, cutting—and then she brushed past, glass in hand. Back to the couch. Back to the silence.
Mae gripped the edge of the counter until her knuckles whitened.
Evening settled in slowly, shadows stretching long across the floor. Mae sat on the balcony again, arms wrapped around herself, watching the city pulse with life below. Behind her, Ai moved through the apartment, each sound muffled but distinct—the closing of the bathroom door, the faint creak of the couch cushions. They existed in the same space, yet the gulf between them felt impossible to cross.
By the time Mae returned inside, Ai was already in bed, lights dimmed. Mae changed without speaking, slid under the covers, and lay stiff on her back. The silence was unbearable. She rolled onto her side, watching Ai’s profile in the faint light. Her lips parted, a whisper on the edge—please—but the word never came.
She stared until her eyes burned. Sleep claimed her in uneven fragments, restless and heavy.
The apartment felt like it had been holding its breath for days. On the third morning, Mae couldn’t ignore the exhaustion anymore. It clung to her skin, heavier than the stale air in the rooms Ai refused to fill with her voice. She had barely eaten, barely slept—each hour had blurred into the next, punctuated only by the weight of silence.
She moved slowly through the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee she knew she wouldn’t finish. The steam curled upward, but even that small sign of warmth felt mocking. Mae let it sit, untouched, while she drifted toward the couch. Her body folded into the cushions as if it were finally giving up, her arm curled beneath her head.
Her phone was on the table, black screen, no new messages. She had checked it so often the motion had become muscle memory, but it never gave her what she wanted. Ai hadn’t spoken to her in two days—not really. A glance here, a dismissive shrug there, but never the kind of look or word that carried weight.
By noon, the fatigue pulled Mae under. She dozed, not deeply, but enough to let her guard down. When she woke, the light in the room had shifted; the sky outside was heavy and gray, clouds swollen with the promise of rain. She pushed herself upright with a dull ache in her shoulders.
The apartment was too still. Again.
Mae padded toward the bedroom—empty. The kitchen—empty. Her chest tightened, and she crossed to the door, flinging it open just enough to lean over the balcony. Ai’s car was still parked neatly in its space.
Her brows furrowed. If Ai hadn’t left… where was she?
Then her phone buzzed. Mae nearly tripped over herself lunging for it.
A message lit up the screen.
hey, forgot to tell you—we’re out at the bar tonight. thought ai might’ve mentioned it.
Mae’s stomach sank. No. Ai hadn’t.
Another bubble appeared before she could even type a reply.
uhh just so you know… she’s had a few drinks. kinda… flirting around. nothing serious, but… figured you should know.
Mae stared at the words until her vision blurred. She blinked hard, her pulse thundering in her ears.
Flirting. With someone else.
Her first instinct was disbelief—Ai wouldn’t. Not really. But her thumb hovered over the keyboard anyway, typing out a shaky response.
what?
The reply came almost instantly, as if her friend had been waiting.
a picture says more than i can. sorry, mae.
The photo came through. Grainy in the low bar light, but clear enough. Ai, seated at the counter, glass in hand, her smile wide and loose with alcohol. And someone beside her, leaning in too close. Their hand brushed Ai’s arm, and Ai wasn’t pulling away.
Mae’s chest went hot. A flash of fury, raw and consuming, snapped through her body. Two days of silence, of cold shoulders and avoidance—and now this?
She grabbed her jacket, her phone, her keys. The door slammed behind her, rattling the frame.
The night air outside was damp, cool against her flushed skin. The city was alive in neon and noise, but all Mae could hear was the rush of blood in her ears, pounding harder with each step.
By the time she reached the bar, music was spilling out onto the street, bass heavy enough to make the ground hum. Laughter echoed against the walls. Mae’s hands shook as she shoved the door open.
The warmth of the room hit her first—stale beer, perfume, bodies pressed too close. Her gaze cut across the crowd, sharp, searching.
And then she found her.
Ai.
Perched at the bar, hair falling around her face, cheeks flushed with drink. She was laughing—laughter Mae hadn’t heard in days. And leaning far too close, a stranger Mae didn’t recognize, hand brushing Ai’s arm as though it belonged there.
Mae’s breath caught. The fury broke free, snapping through her like a live wire.
She started forward.
Mae’s boots struck hard against the sticky floor as she closed the distance. The crowd blurred; the noise thinned. All she could see was Ai—Ai with her flushed smile, Ai tilting her head too close to someone else’s voice, Ai looking freer with a stranger than she had with Mae in days.
Her hand shot out before she even thought. Fingers clamped around Ai’s wrist, halting the glass midway to her lips.
Ai’s head turned, startled. Her expression shifted when she saw who it was: surprise, then irritation, then something sharper flickering in her eyes.
“Mae?” she slurred, voice a little too light, a little too amused.
Mae’s jaw tightened. “Get up.”
The stranger glanced between them, uneasy, but Mae didn’t spare them a second look.
Ai blinked, then let out a humorless laugh. “Excuse me?”
“I said get up.” Mae’s voice cut through the haze of chatter, firm, low, carrying an edge no one in the bar could mistake.
Ai tugged her wrist, trying to shake her off, but Mae’s grip only tightened. “Let go,” she hissed, her tone sharp enough to draw a few stares.
“No.” Mae leaned closer, her words brushing hot against Ai’s ear. “You’re done here.”
Something in Ai’s face hardened. Her lips curled into a smirk that didn’t reach her eyes. “You think you can just walk in here and tell me what to do? After ignoring me for two days? Now you care?”
Mae’s temper snapped like glass underfoot. “I cared every second!” Her voice was rough, breaking under the force of it. “And while I was sitting at home waiting for you to look at me—this is what you’re doing?” She jerked her chin toward the stranger, who had wisely taken a step back. “Laughing and letting them put their hands on you?”
Ai scoffed, rolling her eyes. “God, you’re jealous. Over this? It’s nothing, Mae. I was just—”
“Don’t you dare.” Mae’s tone dropped to a growl, dangerous and low. “Don’t you stand here and make me feel like I’m crazy. You know exactly what you were doing.”
The words hung heavy between them, sparking in the humid bar air. Ai’s smirk faltered, replaced by a glare. “And what if I do? What if I wanted to? You can’t control me, Mae.”
Mae stepped closer, so close Ai could feel the tremor in her breath. “I don’t want to control you. I want you to stop acting like I don’t exist.” Her hand slid higher up Ai’s arm, possessive, unyielding. “We’re leaving. Now.”
Ai yanked her arm back with all her strength, standing so quickly the barstool toppled behind her. “No. You don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to drag me out like—like I’m yours to command.” Her words were sharp, but her voice shook, threaded with something unsteady.
Mae’s eyes burned, her jealousy tangling with desperation. “You are mine,” she bit out, the words raw, stripped bare. “And I won’t stand here and watch you throw that away for a stranger’s attention.”
The bar had gone quieter now, eyes trained on the storm unraveling in the corner. But Mae didn’t notice. Her focus was locked solely on Ai—the defiance in her posture, the flush of alcohol in her cheeks, the fire in her glare.
“Don’t say that,” Ai snapped, though her voice faltered, betraying the way her chest rose and fell too fast. “Don’t act like you can just—”
“I can.” Mae’s voice was steady now, steel under fire. “I can because I’m the one who waits. I’m the one who stays. I’m the one who knows you better than anyone else in this damn room. And I’m not letting you drown yourself here just to spite me.”
For a heartbeat, Ai’s mask cracked. Her lips parted, eyes flickering with something dangerously close to breaking. But then she scoffed again, tossing her hair back. “You sound pathetic.”
Mae’s chest heaved. Enough.
In one swift motion, she stepped into Ai’s space, her hand sliding from Ai’s wrist to her waist, holding firm, unshakable. The nearness stole Ai’s breath, her glare faltering even as she shoved against Mae’s shoulder.
“Mae—”
“We’re leaving,” Mae said again, her voice a low command that vibrated between them.
Ai shoved Mae again, harder this time, trying to break free, her voice sharp and accusing. “Stop it! You think you can just—drag me out? Control me?”
Mae’s eyes flared, jaw tight. “I’m not controlling you! I’m saving you from yourself. From this nonsense. You’re drunk, you’re reckless, and you’re acting like you don’t care about us!”
Ai scoffed, stepping back, but her balance faltered slightly from the alcohol. “And what if I don’t care? What if I want to have fun without you hovering over me all the time?”
Mae’s chest tightened, her blood boiling. “You think this is fun? Laughing at someone else’s attention while ignoring me for days? You’ve been cold, Ai. Cold and distant. And now this? You want me to just stand here and watch?”
Ai’s lips quirked into a sharp, bitter smile. “Maybe you should have paid attention sooner.”
That was it. The last thread snapped. Mae’s hand slid firmly around Ai’s waist, gripping tight, and without a word, she hoisted Ai up in her arms. Ai let out a startled yelp, kicking lightly. “Mae! Put me down!”
“I’m not putting you down,” Mae said, voice low, trembling with restrained fury. “You’re coming with me, whether you like it or not.”
The bar erupted around them—whispers, murmurs, a few stunned gasps. Mae didn’t care. The only thing in her world was Ai, struggling, glaring, teeth gritted, trying to twist away. But Mae’s strength was steady, her grip unrelenting.
Outside, the cool night hit like a shock to their senses. The city smelled of wet asphalt and neon, the distant hum of traffic vibrating under their feet. Ai squirmed, finally breaking free of Mae’s immediate grip enough to shove her shoulders.
“Let me go! You can’t do this!” Ai shouted, the words slurred slightly, but sharp, defiant.
Mae stopped, holding Ai at arm’s length for a moment, searching her face, letting the adrenaline burn through her. “I can. And I will.” Her voice was steady, calm under the fire that roared in her chest. “We’re done with this. Right now. You’re coming with me, Ai. No excuses.”
Ai’s glare sharpened, her hands tugging at Mae’s jacket, trying to twist away. “You don’t get to boss me around!”
Mae stepped closer again, closing the distance until their bodies were almost flush. “I’m not bossing you. I’m reminding you. Reminding you that you’re mine. That we’re us. And I’m not letting anyone, not some stranger, not this night, get between that.”
Ai’s lips parted, a sharp, incredulous laugh escaping. “Mine? You sound possessive.”
Mae’s hand brushed Ai’s cheek, tracing a line down her jaw, and the heat between them sparked even sharper. “Possessive? Maybe. But you’ve been mine for years. And I won’t let you pretend otherwise. Not now. Not ever.”
Ai’s head tilted back, eyes narrowing, voice trembling between anger and something else she couldn’t quite name. “You think lifting me up like some prize proves anything? You think forcing me to come with you will make me… what? Thankful?”
Mae closed the last space between them. “I don’t want thanks. I want you.” Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. “All of you. Stop fighting me for one second and just come home with me.”
Ai’s resistance faltered for a heartbeat, then she shoved again, stronger this time. “No! You can’t just take me wherever you want!”
Mae’s hands gripped her shoulders firmly, unrelenting. “Watch me.” Her voice was iron, unshakable. “We’re leaving. And you’re not arguing anymore.”
Ai’s eyes widened, a flash of something vulnerable peeking through the defiance. The tension between them thickened, crackling like electricity. Mae leaned in, forehead nearly touching Ai’s, voice low and dangerous. “You want to fight me, Ai? Fine. But you won’t get out of this tonight.”
Ai’s lips twitched, a mixture of fury and something softer threatening to break through. “You… you’re insane.”
Mae’s eyes softened just a fraction. “Only for you.” And with that, she finally pressed forward, lifting Ai again, steady, unyielding, carrying her down the street as the neon lights blurred around them, hearts pounding, breaths ragged.
The walk home was silent. Not the kind of silence that soothes—the kind that hums with everything unsaid, thick and pulsing like static. Mae’s fingers were still wrapped around Ai’s wrist, but the fight had drained out of both of them. The night air cooled the heat of their anger, leaving behind only exhaustion and the ache of too many bottled-up words.
When they reached the apartment, Mae pushed the door open and stepped aside. Ai hesitated, eyes flicking to Mae’s face—the rigid set of her jaw, the tremor in her breathing. Then, without a word, she walked in.
The door clicked shut behind them.
For a long moment, they just stood there—Mae by the door, Ai near the kitchen, shadows cutting between them. The city glow spilled faintly through the curtains, painting Ai’s face in pale gold.
Mae broke first. Her voice came out low, rough.
“Why did you do that?”
Ai didn’t answer right away. She turned, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. “Why did you drag me out like that?”
“Because you were drunk. Because you were—” Mae stopped herself, chest rising fast. “Because I couldn’t stand there and watch you act like I didn’t matter.”
Ai’s laugh was short, bitter. “You think that’s what this is about? You stopped talking to me days ago, Mae. You shut down first.”
Mae blinked, thrown off balance. “I didn’t shut down. You did. You stopped looking at me, stopped—” She swallowed hard. “I was trying not to push you.”
“Well, congratulations,” Ai snapped, voice cracking. “You didn’t push me. You left me alone.”
The words landed heavy. Mae stepped closer, eyes searching Ai’s face. “That’s not what I wanted. You were cold, Ai. You barely looked at me.”
“Because every time I did,” Ai shot back, “you looked at me like I was already slipping away. Like you were waiting for me to disappoint you.”
Mae’s throat tightened. “I was scared. You shut me out, Ai. I didn’t know how to reach you anymore.”
For the first time, Ai’s voice softened—trembling, but no longer sharp. “So you dragged me out of a bar instead?”
Mae looked down, shame flickering across her face. “I know,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t have done that. I just… I saw you laughing with someone else, and it felt like you were gone. Like I’d already lost you.”
Ai’s breath hitched. “You think I wanted that? You think I wanted to go out and pretend I was fine?” Her voice cracked, eyes glistening. “I was angry, Mae. I was hurt. You were there, but you weren’t there. I wanted to feel something.”
Mae’s chest ached at the sight of her. She took another step closer, her voice breaking. “Then why didn’t you tell me? You could’ve yelled at me, thrown something, anything. But not this. Not the silence.”
Ai looked up at her, and for a moment, the anger faded—replaced by something raw and uncertain. “Because every time I tried to talk to you, you looked so… tired. Like loving me was work.”
Mae froze. “Ai,” she whispered, voice cracking. “It’s not work. It’s just— sometimes it hurts. You hurt me. But I never stopped wanting you.”
The words hung between them.
Ai’s lip trembled. “You scared me tonight,” she said softly. “Not because you were angry, because I didn’t recognize you.”
Mae stepped forward slowly, close enough that their breaths mingled. “I didn’t recognize myself either,” she admitted. “I let the jealousy get to me. I’m sorry.”
Ai blinked rapidly, tears catching the light. “You can’t just storm in like that. You can’t fix things by force.”
“I know,” Mae said. “That’s not what I want anymore.”
For a long, suspended second, they just looked at each other—the kind of gaze that hurts to hold but hurts more to break.
Then Ai whispered, barely audible, “I don’t want to lose you.”
Mae exhaled shakily, the tension in her shoulders melting as she reached out—slowly this time, giving Ai every chance to pull away. Ai didn’t. When Mae’s hand cupped her cheek, Ai leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut.
Mae’s thumb brushed away a tear. “Then stop running from me.”
Ai’s voice cracked. “Only if you stop trying to control everything.”
Mae nodded once. “Deal.”
Silence again, softer this time. Their foreheads touched, breaths mingling—fragile, trembling, but real.
“I’m sorry,” Mae whispered.
“So am I,” Ai breathed.
Mae’s hand slipped to Ai’s jaw, thumb tracing lightly over her skin. Ai’s fingers brushed Mae’s wrist, hesitant at first, then surer, anchoring her there. The distance between them evaporated, the kind that days of silence had built.
When they finally closed the space—just a touch, a brush of lips, quiet and trembling—it wasn’t about dominance or anger. It was apology. It was recognition. It was relief.
Mae drew back slightly, eyes searching Ai’s. “We can fix this,” she said softly. “But only if we stop hurting each other.”
Ai nodded, voice small. “I want to.”
Mae smiled—faint, tired, but real. “Then let’s start with this. No more silence.”
Ai’s fingers tightened on Mae’s hand. “Okay.”
They stood there a while longer, the hum of the city beyond the window fading into nothing, the only sound their breathing—unsteady, but finally in sync again.
The rain came before morning. It tapped against the windows in a slow rhythm, soft and steady, as if the world itself was trying to calm them. Mae stirred first, eyes opening to the gray light filtering through the curtains. Ai was still beside her—not turned away this time, but facing her, their hands tangled loosely between them.
For a moment, Mae just watched her. The faint crease between Ai’s brows, the rise and fall of her chest. She looked so small, so breakable in sleep. The guilt tugged at Mae’s chest, sharp and lingering.
Ai stirred after a while, blinking into the dim light. Her gaze met Mae’s—and for the first time in days, there wasn’t distance. Just quiet understanding.
“Hey,” Mae murmured.
“Hey,” Ai whispered back, voice husky with sleep.
The silence that followed wasn’t heavy anymore. It was fragile, but it breathed.
Mae reached up, brushing a strand of hair from Ai’s face. “I’m still sorry.”
Ai caught her hand, pressing it lightly to her cheek. “I know. Me too.”
Mae’s throat tightened. “We can’t keep doing that,” she said softly. “The silence, the jealousy, the running.”
Ai nodded, eyes glistening. “I know.” A pause. “I don’t want us to be like that anymore.”
Mae smiled faintly, small and sad. “Then we won’t.”
Ai hesitated. “What if we mess up again?”
“Then we talk,” Mae said simply. “Even if it hurts. Especially if it hurts.”
Ai’s lips curved into a shaky smile. “You’re really bad at staying mad.”
Mae chuckled quietly, leaning forward until their foreheads touched. “Only with you.”
Outside, the rain fell harder, streaking the glass in silver. Inside, everything was still—the kind of stillness that feels like a new start.
They stayed like that for a long time, wordless, just breathing together.
It wasn’t a perfect ending. There would still be fights, silences, old wounds waiting to resurface. But for the first time in weeks, they weren’t standing on opposite sides of it.
When Ai finally whispered, “I love you,” it wasn’t dramatic or desperate. It was quiet—an offering, a promise.
Mae’s breath caught, the words sinking into her chest like sunlight through fog. For a heartbeat, she couldn’t speak. There had been too many nights spent wondering if those words would ever sound the same again—too many silences that stretched so far she feared they’d never find their way back.
But here they were. Soft. Real.
Mae reached out, her fingers tracing the curve of Ai’s jaw. “You don’t have to say it just to fix things,” she murmured.
Ai’s eyes lifted, glimmering with exhaustion and something fragile beneath it. “I’m not,” she said. “I’m saying it because I still mean it. Even after everything.”
Mae’s chest ached. The rain outside softened to a steady hush, the sound filling the spaces between them. She leaned in until their foreheads touched, a breath away from breaking.
“I don’t know how to do this perfectly,” Mae whispered. “I keep getting it wrong. You make me angry, and jealous, and scared. But you also make me stay.”
Ai’s hand came up to rest against Mae’s collarbone, fingers brushing her pulse. “Then stay,” she said softly. “We’ll figure it out.”
Mae closed her eyes, her voice trembling. “You hurt me.”
“I know,” Ai whispered. “You hurt me too.”
The confession wasn’t an ending—it was a beginning disguised as surrender. They stayed like that, breathing each other in, the air thick with quiet forgiveness that didn’t need to be named.
Mae finally pulled back enough to see Ai’s face in the dim morning light. The city outside was still gray, rain glinting on the glass like tiny stars. Ai’s hair was a mess. Her eyes were swollen. And still, she was the most familiar thing Mae had ever known.
Mae smiled faintly, the kind that hurt a little. “You know,” she said, voice barely above a whisper, “I think I’d still choose you. Every version of you. Every mistake.”
Ai’s lips parted, a shaky breath leaving her. “Even after all this?”
Mae nodded, her thumb brushing across Ai’s cheek. “You,” she said softly. “even then.”
Outside, the rain began to ease, the world holding still in the quiet that followed. And for the first time in a long time, Mae felt something like peace settle between them—not because everything was fixed, but because they had chosen to try again.
Not perfect. Not unbroken. But together.