Grace gives a polite nod, her expression composed.
"Thank you for the tuition. If it wasn't for you, I probably wouldn't have been at the school."
Julian's eyes soften, though his posture remains still. He nods slowly.
"No need to be thankful. It's my pleasure."
"If I can pay you back later…" she begins, but his voice interrupts, gentle yet firm.
"No. It's a scholarship. Think of it that way."
Something subtle shifts in her expression—a trace of surprise, maybe, or a quiet acceptance. Her eyes linger on him for a moment longer before she nods.
"Okay…" she murmurs, the word trailing like a sigh.
Grace's hand rests on the doorknob. The metal clicks faintly as she turns it, pulling the door open.
Julian's chest tightens—an instinct tells him to stop her, to say something, anything—but the words won't come. He just stands there, his gaze fixed on her as if holding her with his eyes might keep her from leaving.
She glances back once, offering a final, small nod before stepping into the hallway. The light from outside spills in for a brief second, then the door swings shut, severing the moment.
The air feels different now. Her scent lingers—cool, sweet—woven faintly into the room as if the walls themselves caught it. Julian stays still, absorbing it, unwilling to let it fade.
Should I have told her? The thought claws at him. Told her the truth about her past… and that we're in love?
A sharp twinge grips his heart. His head drops, and a long sigh escapes him, heavy with something unspoken.
No… I can't. I can't let Grace face all that happened to her. I can't let her remember because of me—remember the pain, the death she endured.
He moves slowly to the window, the soles of his shoes brushing against the floor in quiet protest. Outside, the campus lies draped in white, snowflakes drifting lazily through the air. From the high floor, he sees her emerge from the faculty building. She walks slowly, her steps measured, each one leaving a faint trail in the untouched snow.
Julian's eyes follow every movement. His hands lift almost unconsciously, pressing against the cold glass as if he could close the distance through sheer will.
Grace walks toward the bus stop, her boots pressing soft marks into the snow. The air is sharp and clean, the kind that turns breath into pale clouds. Her thoughts, however, are far from the winter morning—they're still in Julian Lenter's office.
She replays the moment, the stillness between them, the way his gaze lingered just a beat too long.
He seemed… a little sad, she muses. Is he always that serious? Or… was it something else? Was he sad because of something? Well, I wish I can have a chance to properly thank him later…
The wind brushes past her scarf, tugging a loose strand of hair across her cheek. Grace lifts her head, her eyes catching sight of the bus cresting the hill in the distance, headlights glowing faintly through the drifting snow.
Her steps quicken without thinking, crunching faster against the pavement. The bus rumbles closer, a slow, steady approach, and for a moment she pushes the professor's expression from her mind—yet the image refuses to fade completely, lingering like a shadow at the edge of her thoughts.
Several days slip by unnoticed, and now, on a late Friday evening, Julian steps into the airport, suitcase rolling behind him. The terminal hums with the low murmur of travelers, announcements echoing faintly over the PA system.
The check-in line is short. He hands over his passport, accepts the printed ticket, and moves toward security. The inspections pass quickly—scans, stamps, and a brief nod from an officer—and soon he's at the gate.
He finds an empty bench near the front, sits, and takes out his phone. One email catches his eye: the hotel confirmation and the driver's details for his arrival in Mellany. The itinerary is neatly outlined—pickup at the airport, transport to the hotel. Thanks to the school's Monday and Tuesday holidays, he has four uninterrupted days ahead, Saturday through Tuesday, for his time there.
Through the wide glass windows, the night air rests over the runway. Airplanes wait in silence, bathed in the pale glow of floodlights. Julian's gaze lingers there for a moment, but his thoughts drift. Since the day Grace came to see him, he hasn't crossed paths with her. He never called—but each time he passed the campus, his eyes unconsciously searched for her.
A boarding call breaks his thoughts. Passengers begin filing into the jet bridge. When the line thins, he rises and joins the queue for first class. Normally, he wouldn't indulge, but Harrison Fashion Group had sent the ticket as a VIP courtesy.
A cool wave of air greets him as he steps aboard, along with the warm smiles of the flight attendants. He returns a polite nod and makes his way down the aisle to a window seat. The bag slides into the overhead compartment with a soft thud, and he settles into the cushioned seat.
Inside, the cabin is dim, only the soft ceiling lights casting a muted glow. Outside, the wing glints faintly under the tarmac lights, waiting to lift them into the night.
Julian fastens his seat belt with a soft click, his gaze drifting around the cabin as more passengers file in. Coats rustle, bags slide into compartments, and the low hum of boarding fills the air.
He slips his AirPods into place, scrolling briefly before pressing play. The opening chords of an old '80s pop song spill into his ears—one he used to play endlessly. The melody carries a weight, a pull, and in an instant, he's no longer in the dim cabin.
The music carries him back to Mellany—years ago, when he wandered its streets alone as a young fashion designer. He sees himself in worn blue jeans and a crisp white shirt, arms full of fabrics, weaving between crowded sidewalks and open-air markets. The laughter of apprentices rings faintly in the air as he shows them how to cut, to stitch, to feel the flow of cloth between their fingers.
Night falls in that memory. He's standing on the balcony of his rooftop apartment, the city breathing below him—streetlamps casting gold halos on the pavement, voices echoing faintly from cafés still open. He tilts his head upward, gazing at the night sky. It's the same sky he once shared with Hannah. Even in her absence, her presence felt so near, threaded into the stars, as if she might be just beyond the reach of sight.
The plane vibrates faintly as the doors close, but Julian barely notices. The music and the memories fold over him like a blanket. His eyes grow heavy, and he drifts into a tired sleep, the ache of the past still warm in his chest.
Eight hours later, Julian's eyes flutter open to darkness. The cabin lights are dimmed to nothing but faint strips along the aisle, the steady hum of the engines filling the quiet. He blinks, orienting himself. A few hours ago, he'd stirred briefly for the in-flight meal, but beyond that, he'd surrendered to a deep, unbroken sleep.
He shifts slightly, loosening the stiffness in his shoulders, and reaches for the window shade. It glides upward with a soft slide. Outside, the world is ink-black, punctuated only by a scattering of distant lights far below—tiny constellations on the earth's surface.
He doesn't need to glance at the flight map on the screen to know. Mellany is close. He can feel it in the way the engines have softened, in the subtle descent of the plane, and in something deeper—like an instinct carved into him over lifetimes.
Mellany.
The place where he had spent more than a hundred years.
The place where people came and went, their lives passing like brief lanterns in the night—while he remained, unchanged.
The place where he waited. For her.
Stepping out of the airport, Julian is met by a cool breath of night air. It brushes against his face, carrying the faint salt of the nearby sea and the crispness of winter. Above, the sky is wide and dark, scattered with more stars than he has seen in years—bright, unfiltered, as if Mellany itself is closer to the heavens.
A man in a dark coat approaches, giving a small nod.
"Sir, please come this way."
Julian follows, his suitcase rolling softly over the pavement. He slides into the back seat while the driver stows the luggage in the trunk, then settles behind the wheel.
"Thank you," Julian says, his voice low but warm.
"You're welcome. I'll head right over to the Trinity Hotel. Would that be fine with you, sir?"
Trinity Hotel.
The name stirs a quiet note in his mind.
"Yes. Thank you," he replies, leaning back into the seat.
The car glides into motion, and the city unfolds around him. Streetlamps spill amber light over stone roads. Antique buildings stand beside new glass-fronted shops, their reflections caught in rain-darkened pavement. He catches glimpses of the past and present mingling—the same bakery that's stood for over a hundred years, still with its carved wooden sign, and across from it, a sleek café glowing with modern light.