It came at 2:03 AM.
Elia's phone buzzed once.
She was half-asleep, wrapped in her blanket, sketchpad still open beside her.
She checked the screen.
Kael.
A message.
After everything.
After silence.
After the rooftop, the birthday, the fight, the girl in his stories.
She opened it slowly.
> "I don't know if you'll read this.
> But I'm sorry.
> For the silence.
> For the fight.
> For not choosing you when I should have."
Her heart didn't race.
It didn't ache.
It just… paused.
He kept typing.
> "You were always there.
> I just didn't know how to hold something that felt that real."
> "I saw you at the event.
> You looked happy.
> I'm glad.
> You deserve that."
She stared at the screen.
The words were soft.
Regretful.
Wrapped in nostalgia.
But they came too late.
She didn't reply.
Not because she was angry.
Not because she wanted him to hurt.
But because she didn't need to anymore.
She opened her sketchpad.
Found the letter she never sent.
Read it one last time.
Then tore it out.
Not out of bitterness.
Out of release.
Because Kael's apology wasn't closure.
It was confirmation.
That she had mattered.
That she had been loved.
That she had been unforgettable.
But she had already begun healing.
Already started glowing.
Already chosen peace.
She closed her phone.
Turned off the light.
And slept peacefully.
Because healing doesn't wait for apologies.
It happens when you stop needing them.