It wasn't dramatic.
It wasn't instant.
It was slow—like sunrise after a long night.
Elia met him in her art elective.
He wasn't loud.
He didn't flirt.
He just noticed.
Noticed the way she sketched with her thumb pressed to the paper.
Noticed the way she paused before choosing a color.
Noticed the way she smiled at her own quiet jokes.
His name was Luca.
He asked about her sketches—not to impress her, but to understand her.
He didn't ask about Kael.
He didn't ask why she hesitated when she laughed.
He just let her be.
They started walking together after class.
Sharing playlists.
Trading sketch prompts.
No pressure. No promises. Just presence.
Elia didn't fall fast.
She fell gently.
She didn't shrink herself.
She didn't wait for replies.
She didn't write unsent letters.
She spoke.
She laughed.
She stayed whole.
Luca never made her feel like she was too much.
He made space.
He asked questions.
He listened.
One afternoon, they sat on the rooftop.
Not the old one.
A new one—higher, quieter, hers.
She sketched the skyline.
He watched her, then said, "You draw like you're healing."
She looked at him.
Softly.
"I am."
He didn't ask what broke her.
He just held the silence like it was sacred.
She didn't tell him everything.
Not yet.
But she didn't hide either.
Because this time, love didn't feel like losing herself.
It felt like returning to herself.
She didn't need to be chosen.
She didn't need to be chased.
She didn't need to be fixed.
She just needed to be seen.
And Luca saw her.
Not as a girl who had been ghosted.
Not as a chapter someone closed.
But as a story still unfolding.