The wind whistled softly through the stone arches of the rooftop observatory, carrying with it the scent of early spring—wet earth, blooming hyacinths, and something sharper, like the memory of a dream that clings long after waking.
Aveline stood at the edge, her hand resting on the cool marble railing. Below, the city twinkled beneath a dark indigo sky, alive with the hum of life and secrets. Behind her, she felt Lucien approach, his presence as familiar now as her own heartbeat.
"You've been quiet," he said, his voice soft, as if afraid to shatter the fragile stillness.
She didn't look at him. "There's something strange about this place. I used to come here… before everything happened. It feels different now."
Lucien leaned beside her, his shoulder brushing against hers. "Because you're different now."
They stood in silence for a while, until Aveline finally turned toward him. The starlight caught the soft lines of his face, casting shadows beneath his jaw, catching in his green eyes. "Lucien," she said carefully, "what if I told you there was something I haven't said—something I've remembered?"
Lucien's gaze didn't waver. "I'd say I've been waiting for you to say it."
Aveline took a breath. "The night you died—the first time—I saw you. Not just… after. I saw you reach for me. You said my name, and I saw something in your eyes. But it wasn't pain. It was regret."
Lucien's fingers curled slightly on the stone ledge. "I knew it was the end. And I wasn't afraid of dying—I was afraid of what would happen to you."
"I've carried that with me for so long," she whispered. "The weight of losing you. The weight of turning back time."
Lucien finally faced her fully. "You think you came back just to save me, but Aveline… I think you came back to find yourself."
Aveline searched his face, her heart thundering in her chest. "Do you still believe in fate?"
Lucien nodded slowly. "I believe that some people are written into the stars. And no matter how time bends or breaks, they'll find each other."
Her breath hitched as he stepped closer, the space between them charged and delicate. "Even if we were torn apart a thousand times?" she asked.
"I'd find you in every life," he said, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "Because I only know how to love you one way. Completely."
Their lips met—slowly at first, as though time itself paused to watch. Then deeper, as the weight of all their unspoken promises melted into that kiss. The world spun on, indifferent to their sorrow, to their joy, to the impossible time-traveling love between two broken souls. But in that rooftop moment, Aveline and Lucien were infinite.
Somewhere far below, a clock tower struck midnight.
And everything changed.