Summer's POV
The week after the interview felt like a quiet sunrise after a storm.
The internet—so used to feeding on drama—seemed momentarily disarmed by sincerity.
The clips of their talk show appearance circulated everywhere, but instead of gossip, people wrote things like:
> "They sound real."
"Finally, honesty without scandal."
"Maybe love doesn't need a script."
Summer read a few of the comments before deciding not to read anymore. For once, she didn't want validation to come from strangers.
Instead, she turned her focus back to work. Meetings filled her calendar again: new scripts, charity collaborations, a documentary proposal. The difference this time was how she felt walking into those rooms.
She was no longer trying to fit into the story people told about her. She was telling her own.
During one call, a producer asked politely, "Would Ethan be open to a cameo in the travel film we're planning? The audience loves your chemistry."
Summer smiled. "Maybe," she said. "But only if we can film it somewhere quiet."
After the call, she found herself staring at the sunlight pooling through the window. For the first time in a long while, the future didn't look like a battlefield. It looked like a path she could walk—slowly, confidently.
---
Ethan's POV
He had never been good at sitting still, but lately, stillness had a new kind of purpose.
The interview had done what neither of them expected—it gave him room to breathe again.
For months, every offer he'd received came with fine print: a sponsorship, an image alignment, a "brand couple" pitch. But after the broadcast, people started calling with something different.
A director he admired sent a short message: "You reminded me why authenticity works. Let's talk."
That meant more than any award nomination.
He walked into his agency's office a few days later, expecting chaos. Instead, he found calm professionalism. His manager, who had once pushed him toward safer choices, now looked almost proud.
"You handled that interview well," the man said. "It's good for the image—grounded, responsible."
Ethan chuckled. "I wasn't performing an image. I was just tired of pretending."
The manager shrugged, half-smiling. "Whatever it was, it worked. You and Summer are the most-searched names of the month."
"Then let's use that for something better than clicks," Ethan said.
He didn't mean another campaign. He meant building something that lasted—real work, real stories, not just beautiful distractions.
---
Summer's POV
She met Ethan that evening at a small rooftop café, the kind of place where no one cared who you were as long as you ordered dessert. The city stretched below them in quiet lights.
He arrived ten minutes late, carrying a bouquet that looked accidentally perfect—half wildflowers, half store-bought.
She raised an eyebrow. "Flowers? Trying to fix your punctuality with charm?"
"Is it working?"
"Almost," she said, laughing as she took them.
They sat by the edge, wind soft against their shoulders.
"I got new offers," he said. "Film, hosting, even an independent project."
"That's great," she said, meaning it. "You deserve all of it."
He looked at her. "So do you. What about you?"
"I might direct something soon," she said. "Small. Personal. Something quiet."
He grinned. "Quiet sounds like our brand now."
She nudged him playfully. "Don't make it sound like marketing."
"Fine," he said. "Then let's call it survival."
---
Ethan's POV
For a while, they just sat in silence, watching the night unfold.
The kind of calm that used to feel temporary now felt earned.
He thought about how strange it was that rebuilding didn't require grand plans or dramatic gestures—it just needed small, consistent choices.
To show up. To listen. To be kind, even when tired.
He turned to her. "You know what I realized?"
She looked up. "What?"
"That peace is harder than success."
She smiled faintly. "And you still chose it."
"Because it came with you."
Her laugh was soft but real. "You really have learned how to say things like that on purpose, huh?"
"Practice," he said.
She leaned her chin on her hand. "I like this version of us better."
"Which version?"
"The one that doesn't need a camera to exist."
He smiled. "Me too."
---
Summer's POV
When they left the café, the streets were half asleep.
Ethan walked her to her car, hands in his pockets, expression thoughtful.
"Tomorrow," he said, "they'll post new headlines again."
"They always do," she replied.
He nodded. "Then we'll keep building. Quietly."
She smiled. "Brick by brick?"
He grinned. "Or maybe laugh by laugh."
They stood for a moment under the streetlight. No big speeches, no promises—just the quiet certainty that came from choosing something real.
When she drove away, she glanced in the mirror. He was still standing there, waving once, before disappearing into the glow of the city.
And for the first time, she thought: This is what rebuilding looks like.
Not fame.
Not perfection.
Just two people still choosing each other—after the lights, after the noise, after everything.