New York had felt like a lifetime — a blur of hotel lobbies, pitch meetings, skyline dinners, and the thrum of possibilities she used to dream of. But now, returning home, her heart beat with a different rhythm. Quieter. Searching.
She hadn't told anyone she was coming back a day early. Least of all Ethan.
Her bag thudded softly onto her hallway floor. She dropped her keys in the bowl and stood still for a long moment, as if waiting for her apartment to recognize her again. But it didn't feel like home. Not entirely.
That night, she lay in bed awake, eyes tracing the ceiling's familiar cracks, fingers brushing the empty space beside her.
Finally, she grabbed her phone.
Ava: I'm back.
The typing dots appeared right away.
Ethan: Where are you?
Ava: Home. Not sure for how long.
A pause.
Ethan: Come over. Or I can come to you.
She stared at the screen. She hadn't even taken her shoes off yet.
Ava: Give me 10 minutes.
Ethan opened the door before she could knock. He looked like he hadn't slept much either — hoodie loose, hair slightly wild, eyes rimmed with something tender and tired.
They stood in the doorway for a heartbeat.
Then another.
No words.
He just pulled her into his arms.
And she let herself fall.
Later, they sat on the floor of his living room, backs against the couch, knees barely touching. The space between them was careful. Deliberate.
"I hated being away," she said quietly.
"You didn't sound like it."
"I was trying not to feel it," she corrected. "I thought if I could just power through the work, ignore the ache, it would stop. But it didn't. It got worse."
Ethan nodded. "I kept thinking about that night in the park. About how you didn't say goodbye."
"I didn't know how."
"You could've just said, 'I'm scared.'"
Ava looked at him. "I am. Still."
"Of what?"
"That I'll lose myself in everything I've worked for. That I'll forget how to be more than my job. That… loving you will make me weak."
Ethan's expression softened, but there was steel in his voice. "Loving me doesn't make you weak, Ava. It means you let someone see you. The real you. Not the campaign. Not the pitch. Just… you."
"I don't know if I can have both."
"Maybe you don't have to choose."
She blinked. "What?"
"I've been thinking," he said. "About what I want. About what we want. Maybe this isn't about compromise. Maybe it's about building something that makes room for all of it."
"You mean… come with me?"
He smiled faintly. "I mean we stop trying to fit our lives into neat boxes and start designing something new. Together."
Ava let the words sink in. Slowly, gently, hope unfurled in her chest like morning light creeping through heavy curtains.
"You still love me?" she whispered.
Ethan leaned in, brushed his forehead against hers.
"Never stopped."
They didn't kiss that night.
They didn't sleep together.
They just stayed — side by side, eyes open to each other, finally free of the tension that had lived in silence.