Chapter 34
Julia didn't sleep that night. Not from anxiety or restlessness, but from a quiet, overwhelming calm that blanketed her room like a soft fog. Her book had crossed twelve thousand words. The contract was submitted. There was nothing else to do but breathe… and wait.
And for once, waiting didn't feel heavy.
It felt like standing at the edge of something new—with the wind in your hair and your past finally behind you.
***
At dawn, she made tea. The scent of jasmine drifted through the kitchen, filling it with peace. She opened the window. The sun, peeking through clouds, cast golden streaks across her desk. Her laptop was open, still glowing from the night before.
She sat down and reread her last chapter.
Every word felt like a piece of her soul, laid bare. It didn't feel embarrassing anymore—it felt *brave*.
She didn't write to impress. She wrote to feel. To connect. To heal.
Her cursor blinked on a fresh, empty page.
She smiled.
Time for the next chapter.
***
Callen showed up at her door two hours later with bagels and a grin.
"I had a feeling," he said as she opened the door.
"A feeling about what?"
"That you submitted the contract." He held up the bagels like a victory banner. "I brought celebration carbs."
Julia laughed. "You're ridiculous."
"I know," he said, walking in. "But I'm also proud of you."
She paused, her heart catching on that sentence.
"I don't know if they'll accept it," she admitted.
He shrugged. "Maybe they will. Maybe they won't. But you didn't wait for validation this time. You moved forward. That's what matters."
She stared at him. "How are you always this wise?"
Callen winked. "Lifelong addiction to tea and sad poetry."
They sat on the couch, chewing quietly, the silence between them warm and full.
"Have you noticed," she said, "that I've been smiling more lately?"
Callen gave her a soft look. "Yeah. I have."
And then, gently: "I think you're starting to remember."
***
Later, Julia returned to the library. Not to find a book, but to donate one—her favorite copy of *Little Women*, annotated and loved.
As she placed it on the "free reads" shelf, she noticed the girl again. The one with the notebook and quiet eyes. She sat in the same corner, head bowed, a pencil tapping against her lip.
This time, Julia approached her.
"Hi," she said softly.
The girl looked up, startled.
Julia smiled. "I saw you here a few weeks ago. You looked like someone I used to be."
The girl blinked, unsure.
"I don't want to bother you," Julia added. "I just wanted to say… if you're writing something, don't stop. Even if no one reads it. Even if you think it's not good. Write anyway."
The girl stared at her, a flicker of something in her eyes. Then she nodded slowly.
"Thanks," she said, almost in a whisper.
Julia nodded back, then turned to leave.
But halfway to the door, the girl called out—
"Wait… what was the name of your book?"
Julia smiled.
*"The Girl Who Forgot How to Smile."*
The girl smiled back.
"That sounds like something I need to read."
***
That night, as stars blinked above the city, Julia sat at her window and breathed in the quiet.
Everything had changed.
Not in huge, dramatic ways. But in soft, lasting ones.
She had written her way through grief. Through silence. Through the shadows she had once feared.
She had found her voice again.
And in doing so, she'd found herself.
She didn't know where this path would lead. Whether the story would be contracted, or how many readers would stay.
But she knew this:
She was no longer lost.
She was no longer afraid of the blank page.
She was no longer the girl who forgot how to smile.
She had remembered.
And this time, she wasn't letting go.