Val sank into the soft cushions of her couch, journal open on her lap, pen poised but hesitant. The quiet hum of the apartment surrounded her — the muffled steps in the hallway, the occasional bark of a dog, the faint whir of traffic far below. It was the sound of stillness — something she'd never truly known before.
She thought about the past few years. The parties, the champagne, the hangovers. The girl she used to be — loud, reckless, always needing to be seen — felt like someone she'd once known but could no longer understand. She had craved attention like oxygen, laughed too loudly, stayed out too late, chasing the rush of being noticed.
Now she sat in an old sweater, hair tied back, no makeup, legs tucked beneath her. The faint scent of her favourite candles hung in the air. She felt... peaceful. It was strange. The simplicity of her evenings now — baking, talking, just being — appealed to her in a way she'd never expected.
She thought of Elliot.
Of how far he'd come.
How he'd gone from flinching at every sound to laughing — quietly, but freely — at the small disasters of her kitchen experiments. How he'd started to let her into his space. Not all at once, but enough that she could feel the walls shifting.
She had been patient with him, but what surprised her most was how patient he'd been with her. He'd listened when she talked — really listened — even when she rambled. And though he didn't always know what to say, his attention had been steady, grounding.
She smiled to herself and shook her head. She never would have imagined this version of her life. Never would have believed she could find contentment in quiet moments instead of chaos.
She put pen to paper.
I don't recognise myself some days. The girl I was — loud, reckless, always chasing attention — seems like a stranger now. And yet… I'm happier. I like evenings like this. Baking, laughing quietly, watching Elliot find his rhythm. I didn't know calm could feel so good. I didn't think I could enjoy something without it being dramatic or spectacular. But I do. And I like it.
A soft ping broke her flow. She glanced at her phone. A message from Joe — another date invitation, another glass of wine waiting in a dimly lit bar.
Her thumb hovered over the screen, but her mind was already elsewhere — on Elliot's soft, shy smile when he'd tasted her cupcakes, on the way he'd looked almost proud of himself.
She set the phone down. Unread. Unanswered.
Then she wrote one last line.
I don't need the noise. I'm learning that I don't need chaos to feel alive. Maybe that's why I can be here for Elliot — because I'm not running anymore.
She closed the journal and let her eyes wander across the quiet apartment. It wasn't the life she'd planned, but maybe it was the one she'd needed all along.
The next morning, Noah let himself into Elliot's apartment, soft light spilling through the blinds. He set his coffee down on the kitchen counter and looked around. The place was neat as ever, but Elliot's laptop was still closed — unusual.
A few seconds later, Elliot appeared, his hair damp but his usual precision intact. Noah noticed something… lighter about him.
"Morning," Noah said, watching him closely. "You look… different."
Elliot frowned, puzzled. "Different?"
"Yeah. Not, like, weird different. Just… good different. Like you actually slept."
"I did," Elliot said, and there was a quiet finality to the words. "I actually did."
Noah smiled. "That's good."
Elliot didn't reply immediately. He opened his laptop, adjusted the mouse, then glanced up. "I went outside again yesterday. With Val."
Noah raised his brows. "Oh yeah? Big step. Where'd you go?"
"It was quiet," Elliot said, thoughtful. "Not like before. I… didn't mind it."
Noah leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Didn't mind it? Wow. That's huge."
Elliot's lips twitched — a faint, rare ghost of a smile.
"We went to the park," he said. "I liked it. It's… alive, but quiet. Trees don't rush. They just exist. It was... pleasant."
Noah studied him for a moment, then nodded. "You know, I think you're doing better than you give yourself credit for."
Elliot didn't answer, but something in his eyes softened.
Noah didn't push. He sensed the edge of discomfort and stepped back from it instinctively. "Alright," he said lightly. "I'll come back later, and we can talk work then. You've got Dr. Harper at ten, right?"
Elliot nodded. "Yes."
"Good," Noah said, lifting his coffee. "And hey — tell him you went to the park. He'll probably cry tears of professional joy."
That earned him a laugh — quiet, brief, but real.
Noah blinked, almost startled by the sound. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard it. Not since before the accident.
Dr. Harper arrived promptly at ten. Elliot sat across from him, hands clasped in his lap, his notebook resting neatly on the coffee table between them.
"You seem calmer today," Dr. Harper began, studying him quietly.
"I am," Elliot admitted. "I went to the park with Val."
Dr. Harper's smile widened just slightly. "Ah. I see. How was that?"
"Strange," he said after a pause. "But good. It wasn't like being in the city. There was space. Things had patterns. I could… process them."
"That's wonderful," Dr. Harper said warmly. "You're allowing yourself to be in the world again — on your own terms."
Elliot looked down at his hands. "It's still hard. The noise. The people. Even the thought of something unexpected… it's too much sometimes."
"That's understandable," Dr. Harper said gently. "You spent a long time protecting yourself. When we experience trauma, especially loss, our minds build walls to keep us safe. But after a while, those same walls can start to trap us."
Elliot was quiet for a long time. "I don't want to be trapped anymore."
Dr. Harper's expression softened. "Then we'll keep working toward that. Step by step, like you've been doing. You've made remarkable progress, Elliot. You've learned to let someone get close. You've gone outside. You're reconnecting with life."
Elliot nodded slowly, though hesitation lingered in his eyes — fear, perhaps, or uncertainty.
Dr. Harper leaned forward slightly. "Can I ask you something?"
"Yes."
"When you think about your future — not tomorrow, not next week, but years from now — what do you see?"
Elliot blinked, caught off guard. "I haven't thought about it."
"That's okay," Dr. Harper said. "But I'd like you to start."
He hesitated. "I… used to imagine things. Before my parents died. A house, maybe. Somewhere quiet. I thought about writing. Not for anyone else — just… for me."
Dr. Harper nodded. "And now?"
"I don't know," Elliot said honestly. "After they died, everything stopped making sense. I stopped… wanting things."
"That makes perfect sense," Dr. Harper said. "Grief freezes us in time. But part of healing is daring to imagine again — to let yourself believe in a future that isn't just survival."
Elliot looked toward the light filtering through the blinds. "That's hard."
"I know," Dr. Harper said softly. "But look at what you've already done. You've befriended someone. You've gone outside — more than once. You're living again, piece by piece. That's not nothing. That's life, Elliot."
He said nothing, but the tension in his hands eased.
"Start small," Dr. Harper continued. "Write about it. Draw it. Build it the way your mind works best — logically, methodically. What kind of life would make you feel at peace? What would healing look like, in your terms?"
Elliot nodded slowly. "I can do that."
Dr. Harper smiled. "Good. Because healing isn't about forgetting the past. It's about learning to live with it."
The words lingered in the quiet of the apartment, soft but steady. Elliot didn't look up right away, but something in his chest loosened — the faint, unfamiliar shape of hope.
Later that day, he sat at his desk, journal open. His pen hovered over the page for a long time before he finally began to write.
Dr. Harper asked what I want for my future. I didn't know how to answer. But I think I want what I felt in the park — that quiet. That order. That calm. Maybe that's what peace feels like. Maybe I can build a life around that.
He paused, then added another line.
Val said nature makes her feel alive. Maybe that's what she's been trying to show me — that the world isn't only danger. It can be soft and peaceful too.
He closed the journal gently and set it aside. Across the hall, a faint light glowed beneath Val's door — steady, warm.
And for the first time in years, Elliot didn't dread what tomorrow might bring.