The air felt warmer. Spring had taken hold at last, coaxing color back into the world. The lake no longer looked like glass—it rippled with movement, with life.
Sophie stood barefoot at the edge of the dock, the hem of her jeans rolled up, the morning sun dusting gold over everything. A pair of ducks floated by, unconcerned by her presence.
Behind her, Jake called out, "I fixed the back gate. Again."
She smiled over her shoulder. "How long until it falls off this time?"
He shrugged, walking toward her with two mugs of coffee. "A week, if I'm lucky."
They stood in easy silence, side by side, watching the world wake up. Sophie took a sip of her coffee and closed her eyes. The quiet wasn't heavy anymore. It didn't sting. It simply was.
Later, she found herself back in her mother's room. It still smelled like the same mix of rosewater and cedar, like time hadn't dared touch it.
On the dresser was a small notebook she hadn't noticed before. Inside were sketches, scraps of ideas, and a list titled "Things to tell Sophie."
Some of the entries were simple:
Your smile is still the best part of my day.
You don't have to do everything alone.
It's okay to start over, even more than once.
Sophie ran her finger over the page.
You don't have to do everything alone.
She whispered it aloud like a promise.
Jake took her out that evening—not far, just to the old lookout point at the edge of town. It overlooked everything: the winding river, the train tracks, the scattered rooftops of home.
"I used to come here when I missed you," he said quietly.
Sophie glanced at him. "Even after all that time?"
"Especially after all that time."
They sat on the hood of his truck, legs dangling. She watched the horizon, thinking about all the places she'd been. Bright cities. Dull rooms. Crowded trains. And none of them felt as full as this moment.
"I don't know what I'm going to do yet," she admitted. "With the house. With my life."
Jake didn't flinch. "You don't have to know. You're allowed to just be."
Sophie exhaled. "I'm tired of chasing things I'm not even sure I want anymore."
Jake turned toward her. "Then stop running. Let things come to you."
She looked at him for a long time, then rested her head against his shoulder.
Maybe love didn't have to be loud.
Maybe it could arrive like this.
Softly.
They drove back slowly, windows down, air cool against their skin. Jake parked the truck and didn't move to leave. Sophie waited, sensing there was more.
"I still have the note," he said. "The one you left in my guitar case."
Her eyes widened. "I thought you would've thrown it away."
"I almost did. Once."
She turned toward him. "Why didn't you?"
Jake smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Because it was the only thing I had left that felt like you."
Sophie blinked back the sudden sting in her eyes. "What did it say?"
He reached into his wallet and unfolded a worn piece of paper. Handwriting faded, but still legible.
"If we're meant to find each other again, we will. I'm sorry for the silence. But know that I loved you in it."
Sophie felt her breath catch.
Jake whispered, "I never stopped hoping you meant that."
She reached for his hand.
"I did."