I got home, and everything felt surreal. The quiet wasn't quiet anymore; it was humming with his voice, breath, and the shape of what we'd become.
I froze when the door clicked shut behind me. The sound echoed differently tonight. It didn't slam like usual. It whispered. The walls weren't just walls anymore; they were witnesses. They remembered things I hadn't said out loud.
I stood there in the narrow hallway like a stranger in my own home. Clothes still draped on my shoulders, bags weighing down one arm, keys in the other. Motionless. A half-drawn breath stuck in my throat.
I thought about his eyes, the way they softened when they looked at me, as if I were made of something sacred. The memory looped again, not like a movie reel, but like a prayer. Each time, I discovered something new: how his thumb traced my jawline, how our silences weren't empty, how our goodbye tasted like a commitment.
As I passed the mirror, a small smile tugged at my lips. I was there: flushed cheeks, shining eyes, tousled hair with remnants of his fingers. I looked wild. I looked like I belonged to someone and, for once, felt secure.
For the first time, I didn't flinch at my reflection.
I whispered his name into the room like a magic incantation.
Dawn...
Was this what it meant to be wanted, not possessed, not captured, but chosen? And more importantly, to choose back?
I was his.
Luna Dawn is Bill's woman.
Not a dream. Not a crush. Not a fling.
Something real, warm, and mine.
My phone buzzed loudly on the counter.
Dawn.
I stared at the name for a heartbeat too long, savoring the nerves, the ache, the flutter. What if this was just a good night, not the beginning of us? What if he didn't feel the shift I did?
But then I remembered how he looked at me steadily, as if he could sketch my face from memory. As if he was storing pieces of me for the nights we wouldn't be together. That kind of gaze didn't lie.
I picked it up.
I said, "Hey." One word, and yet my voice held a thousand unspoken things: a confession, a sigh, a smile he couldn't see but would hear.
His voice came through, deep and steady.
I just wanted to know if you got home and to see how you are.
He didn't say he missed me.
He didn't have to. The care in his voice filled in the gaps.
We talked about nothing and everything. The kind of conversation you have with someone whose silence you trust.
After the call, I stared at the ceiling for a moment, just breathing. I was existing in this new emotional skin that no longer felt too tight.
Then I moved.
I peeled off my clothes, still carrying his scent, and set my bag down. My school documents were scattered across the floor from yesterday's neglected defense briefs. Tonight, they felt lighter, as if stress had lessened.
I stacked files, made notes, cross-referenced names and marked a few things about the school staff. The sharp lines of responsibility didn't feel as isolating anymore.
I called Mary and Ben. We'd promised ourselves a celebration after yesterday's seminar defense, and now was the right time.
Later, we met at the neighborhood fountain, where the breeze always felt cooler and freer. The sky was stretching into dusk, streaked with soft purples and fading gold.
Mary immediately noticed the glow.
"You look…different," squinting at me like I was a puzzle piece that had finally clicked.
Ben raised a brow. "You got that post-kiss vibe."
I smiled and said nothing.
Some things and moments weren't meant to be understood.
They were meant to be experienced.
Later, we met at the city fountain down the neighborhood, where the breeze felt cooler and freer. The sky was transitioning into dusk, streaked with lavender and gold, and the water danced lazily in the fading light.
Before I even said a word, Mary noticed the glow.
"You look…different," she said as she eyed me closely, her voice low, as if she was observing something sacred. "It's in your posture and your eyes. Like your soul finally exhaled."
I tilted my head, amused. Is that your way of saying I look tired or in love?
She smiled, the corners of her lips curling with both knowing and grace. Not tired. Just awakened.
Ben couldn't resist.
He said, sipping his drink, "You look like someone who just got baptized in a very private pool. Cleaned from head to toe in emotional holy water."
We laughed loudly.
Mary shook her head at him, half embarrassed, half entertained. Ben
He shrugged. "What? I'm saying Luna's got that soft-aftershock look. Like someone touched her heart and left the lights on inside."
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't hide the smile.
They were correct.
We sat at the fountain's edge, legs stretched out, watching the ripples glide across the water. The moment felt quiet, not silent, but deep. The kind that didn't need to be filled.
Then Mary spoke again, more softly.
Can you believe we're almost finished?
The question lingered between us. It was not dramatic, just real.
I replied, "I try not to think about it too hard. Every time I do, it feels like I'm standing at the edge of something significant and invisible."
Ben added, "Like a cliff. Except no one told us what's at the bottom. It could be a beach or bricks."
That made us laugh again, but just for a moment.
Mary wrapped her arms around her knees. I keep wondering what we'll be doing this time next year. Who we'll still talk to. What parts of us will endure outside these gates.
None of us answered immediately. Truthfully, we didn't know.
I looked at both Ben, who masked his uncertainty in metaphor, and Mary, whose soul felt everything a beat early. I realized how much they'd become my world. Not just friends or classmates or teammates. People I'd carry forward, even if life scattered us in different directions.
I said slowly, "Whatever's ahead, I just hope it still feels like this. Like we're choosing our lives, not just getting through them."
Ben nodded, unusually quiet. "Yeah. Let's not merely survive."
Mary reached out, fingers brushing mine. "Let's remember this version of ourselves. The ones who still believed in the possible."
And just like that, the fountain behind us trickled on, the sky above us faded into a deeper indigo, and our hearts rested for a moment on something still unfolding.