By late afternoon, the rain had dried from the garden path, and the world felt freshly made. Hannah spent the morning sketching, then wandered into the kitchen, half-expecting the quiet to settle back in. But it didn't.
There was a knock at the door — three gentle raps, the same rhythm as yesterday.
When she opened it, Emma stood there again, hair pulled back loosely, a canvas tucked under one arm. "I didn't mean to intrude," she said. "I just wanted to show you something before I lost my nerve."
Hannah smiled. "You don't need permission to come by."
Inside, Emma leaned the canvas against the wall and pulled back the cloth. It wasn't finished, but the image was unmistakable: the coastline at dusk, soft light breaking through gray clouds. The same light that had filled Hannah's classroom the day they first began painting together.
"It's beautiful," Hannah said quietly.
Emma shrugged, a little shy. "I wasn't sure what it was about until I finished sketching it. Then I realized it reminded me of you."
The words hung there, simple and sincere.
Hannah looked again at the painting — the quiet strength in the lines, the steady horizon — and something inside her steadied, too.
"Can I keep it?" she asked before she could stop herself.
Emma smiled. "It's already yours."
They talked as the light changed, moving easily from art to life to stories neither had told before. Hannah brewed tea; Emma sat cross-legged on the rug, absently tracing patterns on the edge of her sketchbook.
There was no urgency between them, no need to define or explain. Just the soft comfort of presence.
When the clock on the mantle chimed six, Emma stood, reluctant but smiling. "I should head back before it gets dark."
Hannah walked her to the door. "Thank you for bringing it," she said.
Emma hesitated, looking down, then met her eyes. "Thank you for being the kind of person I want to share things with."
For a moment, the world narrowed to that one sentence.
Hannah didn't trust herself to speak, so she nodded, and Emma seemed to understand.
Outside, the air was cool and faintly sweet, the last light turning the street gold. Emma started down the path, then turned back once, her smile soft, almost a promise.
Hannah stood in the doorway until she disappeared around the corner, the painting behind her glowing in the evening light.
For the first time in years, she didn't feel like she was waiting for something to happen.
She felt like it already had.