Selene's/Atasha's POV;
The next day, he returned.
I thought it was just a moment—a fleeting appearance at my exhibit, a passing storm of memory. But there he was again, standing near my design board, his fingers tracing the air around the edge of my sketches, never quite touching.
"You've grown," he said without turning. "Not just in style. In presence."
I didn't know whether to take it as a compliment or an intrusion. But something in his tone was different now—gentler, no longer filled with expectation.
"I didn't grow," I replied, organizing swatches on the table. "I rebuilt."
He turned to face me. "Then maybe… let me help hold some of those bricks this time."
I looked at him. Really looked. The boy who once made me cry under a silent moon was now a man standing quietly in front of my chaos, asking nothing but a place to stand.
"I could use someone to help organize the presentation," I said, half-testing him.
He didn't hesitate. "Tell me where to start."
And so, we worked. Quietly. No forced conversations. Just passing notes, choosing fabrics, adjusting lights for the show. It wasn't romantic. It wasn't even warm. But it was real.
At one point, I looked up and found him already looking at me. No flirt, no smirk. Just the softness of someone who might've loved me all along—but never knew how to say it until now.
We didn't say anything else that day.
But sometimes silence doesn't mean absence.
Sometimes, it means hope.
Antonio's POV;
It was late evening when the last of the fashion show prep wrapped. The venue lights dimmed to a soft amber, casting long shadows along the fabric-covered tables. Atasha was gone for a moment, speaking with her team. I sat alone on the edge of the stage, watching the room breathe quietly—so different from the rush it held a few hours ago.
And for the first time in years, I let the weight I carried speak.
I wasn't proud of who I was back then. I was a boy pretending to be a man—juggling my ex's sudden return, trying to hide my feelings for Selene, afraid of choosing and losing. I thought silence was safer than honesty. But I realize now—it wasn't. Silence was betrayal dressed in comfort.
She was the only person who ever made me feel like home. And I hurt her. I broke something that once felt pure.
"I used to imagine apologizing to you," I said quietly to the empty room, not knowing she had returned and stood behind the curtain.
"I thought if I ever got the chance… I'd fall to my knees, beg you to forgive me for not being enough when you gave me everything—your smiles, your attention, your trust. But I was afraid. And cowardice has a price."
I looked down at my hands. "Every success I had felt hollow because I didn't get to share it with the one person who believed in me when I was just another transfer student trying to find his place."
I stood slowly, turning toward the curtain, still not knowing she was there.
"If I could go back—not to erase my mistakes, but to choose her properly this time—I would. Without hesitation. Because I didn't just like her. I loved her. And some part of me never stopped."