I sat in my car, staring out the window at the world outside. Autumn had wrapped the city in its golden embrace, leaves swirling in lazy spirals with every gust of wind. Across the street stood the café, its light blue facade framed by planters overflowing with burnt-orange chrysanthemums and crimson ivy. The soft glow of its windows was a beacon of warmth, standing against the crisp chill of the season.

My gaze drifted to the rearview mirror, where my chauffeur's eyes met mine expectantly. I gave a small nod, and without a word, he stepped out, opened my door, with a small bow. The crunch of leaves underfoot punctuated the silence as I crossed the cobbled street. The brisk air carried the mingling scents of roasting chestnuts and brewing coffee, tugging at long-buried memories.

The café door chimed softly as I entered, a sound as familiar as the beat of my own heart. Inside, the warmth of golden light glowed against the pale blue walls. Strings of fairy lights lined the shelves, twinkling against rows of books and delicate trinkets. The hum of conversation blended with the soft strains of music playing overhead, wrapping me in a cocoon of familiarity.

This was where it all began.

This was where I met you for the very first time.

A year after my return to Ravenwood, I found myself here again. It was a ritual I couldn't break, even if I wanted to. Every time I stepped inside, the bittersweet ache gripped my chest. My mind, traitorous as always, brought me back to that day.

It was an ordinary morning in early autumn. The kind of morning that began with the sky shrouded in a soft, grey blanket, the streets still slick from the rain that had fallen the night before. I was behind the counter, busy with my day as usual, when the door chimed, and you walked in.

At first, you were just another face. Another customer. But something made me look up. And I saw you.

You moved through the café like a shadow-quiet, unassuming-but you carried a presence that turned heads without trying. The calm self-assurance in your stride set you apart from the hurried chaos around you. You weren't flashy or loud, but my eyes were drawn to you anyway.

You wore a dark blue coat, the color of the sky before nightfall, and a loosely wrapped grey scarf. Your hair, damp from the rain, clung to your forehead in stray locks, and your eyes... God, your eyes. They were as alluring as the ocean, as deep as an abyss. Falling for you wasn't even a question-it was inevitable.

You approached the counter, and I realized I had stopped breathing.

'One avocado toast and a black coffee, please.'

It was so many years ago, but that memory still burned fresh, sharp as glass. So much had happened since then. We had been through hell together, you and I. And yet, look at where we stood now.

My throat tightened, and my eyes stung. Oh, Garret. How I ached to hold you, to feel your warmth again on these cold, lonely days. Garret Swan Lombardy, I was your blue.

My feet carried me through the familiar path down the aisle and I found myself standing at the counter, my eyes drifting to the young man behind it. His chestnut hair caught the light as he turned, smiling warmly at a customer. His green eyes shone with an easy charm, a youthful confidence.

For a fleeting moment, I imagined myself standing there instead-meeting your gaze, seeing your crooked smile that never failed to disarm me. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't summon the image of your face from here. That hurt more than I expected.

"One avocado toast and a black coffee, please," I murmured, my voice steadier than I felt.

The young man twirled with a bright grin. "Coming right up!"

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat rising like a wave. The air felt thick, suffocating.

The café had moved on. The world had moved on. And me? I was still stuck here, caught between memories of us and the hollow space you left behind.

***

Minutes blurred into hours, hours into days, and with every passing second, I found myself drowning in busyness. The chaos consumed me, but I clung to it-it overwhelmed me, yes, but it was my refuge. Overworking my body and mind felt like the only way to stave off the ache of what I'd lost. Dancing was the only thing I wanted to do, the only thing I could do without breaking down.

You loved to watch me dance. And now, even though you weren't here, every movement, every step was still for you. Even though you couldn't see me, even though it wasn't your music guiding my body, I danced for you. Because that was all I had left. That was all I wanted.

Backstage was a whirlwind of motion and noise. People swirled around me, voices overlapping in a symphony of chaos. One person powdered my face, another adjusted the fit of my costume. My manager's voice droned on in the background, a steady hum of reminders and schedules. The orchestra rehearsed fragments of tonight's performance, notes drifting in and out like half-formed thoughts. Objects were dragged across the floor with metallic screeches, and the chatter of the audience seeped through the walls-a low, expectant murmur.

I felt unfocused, untethered. God, I had been like this for so long.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed the makeup artist and designer aside, mumbling an apology as I made my way to the stage. The air felt heavier here, behind the thick velvet curtain that separated me from the sea of people waiting on the other side. I stood in the center, adjusting my posture, my breathing. The familiar sensation of pre-performance jitters tingled at the edges of my mind, but I forced it down.

The music started-a soft, haunting melody that seemed to rise from the depths of my chest. I nodded once at my manager, signaling my readiness. The curtain rose, and the stage lights washed over me, blinding for a moment before fading into the backdrop of the crowd's silent anticipation.

I moved. Slowly at first, each step a whisper of memory, each spin a reflection of the past. The music swelled, and I let it carry me, let it transform me.

Every leap, every turn, every graceful extension of my arms felt like reliving us-our laughter, our arguments, our stolen moments. I could almost feel your presence in the way my body responded, like you were still guiding me, your invisible hands tracing every movement.

I didn't dance for applause or for recognition. I danced to feel alive. To remember. To hold onto you in the only way I still could.

I wished you were here, Garrett. I wished you were here.

And as the final note rang out, echoing into the silence that followed, I felt the weight of everything settle back into my chest. The crowd erupted in applause, but their cheers were distant. That's when a pair of familiar eyes met mine.

She smiled.

***

I hadn't expected Eloise to be here tonight.

Sitting before the brightly lit mirror, I was half lost in the familiar routine of wiping away the remnants of stage makeup. The damp cloth dragged over my skin, erasing someone else, leaving only me. The dressing room hummed with post-performance chaos-costumes rustling, muffled voices just beyond the door, the faint clinking of hangers as someone rearranged wardrobe racks.

I saw her in the mirror silently sitting behind me, patiently waiting for me to finish. Her hands fidget with the hem of the pink blouse she wore.

"I didn't know you were coming," I said, meeting her gaze through the mirror.

Her hands moved, signing fluidly, "Needed some inspiration to finish my painting."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I turned my head slightly to face her. "The one you drew of me?"

"Yes," she signed.

"And? Did you find what you were looking for?"

Her answer came with a small smile, the kind that always seemed to unsteady something inside me. "Yeap."

"Good to hear," I murmured, leaning back in the chair.

The knock at the door pulled my attention for a fleeting moment, but no one came in. I turned back, shrugging off the interruption as I focused on untangling the wires from my mic pack. "How'd you get here though?"

Her hands moved again. "With my manager. He's waiting outside."

"You could've told me," I teased, setting the wires down. "Would've made sure you got better seats."

She shook her head, smiling as she gestured, "Didn't want to disturb you."

"Come on, Lou," I said with a soft chuckle, unhooking the last piece of jewelry from my costume. "You can never disturb me."

Her smile lingered, and for a moment, the dressing room felt quieter.

"So, were you gonna head home with him, or...?" I let the question hang, more casual than I felt.

Her hesitation was slight but noticeable before she signed back, "Do you have other plans?"

"Nothing apart from grabbing dinner maybe," I said, glancing at her. "Wanna come?"

She paused again, longer this time, and I felt something twist-uncertainty, maybe. Then her hands moved, deliberate and clear. "Okay."

Relief unfurled in my chest, though I played it cool. Standing, I grabbed my jacket and pulled it on. "Wait here," I said, heading toward the door. "I'll go let him know."

Her hand caught mine before I reached the handle, her grip unexpected but firm enough to stop me. I turned back, brow furrowing slightly as I looked at her.

Her hands moved before she could hesitate. "You're coming on Friday, right?"

The question didn't surprise me, but the weight behind it did. The subtle urgency in her gaze-the kind she probably didn't even realize she had-made my chest tighten in a way I couldn't explain.

The furrow eased as I smiled, soft and reassuring. "Yes," I said, my voice lighter than I felt. "Cleared up my schedule. Just for you."

I added a wink, almost without thinking, and her smile lit up the space between us.

The room felt warmer somehow, the air lighter.

***

Lou had always carried herself with a kind of quiet dignity, a resilience that seemed unshakable. But I knew what lay beneath it. I knew her story, how the weight of her past bore down on her every step-or every turn of the wheels, rather.

She didn't choose this life with me. She was forced to take my hand, pushed into a bond neither of us had asked for.

I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have trapped her in a world she didn't belong to.

But I didn't.

Even now, after all this time, the guilt gnaws at me. It's a slow, steady ache, a reminder of the selfishness I can't let go of. Because no matter how many times I've told myself to stop-to not only think for myself-I still could not.

For two years, I've been sleeping on a mattress on the floor. Two years of pretending this arrangement works, that it's enough. And not once-not once-has she ever complained.

Lou believes her silence makes her calm, unassuming, invisible even. She thinks she fades into the background like the air around us, unnoticed, unimportant.

But for me, her silence is anything but calm. It's a storm held at bay, a mystery I can't unravel. And as much as it unsettles me, it also grounds me. Because where she sees herself as nobody-no voice, no presence, a wheelchair-bound shadow-I see something else entirely.

She thinks she's invisible like air. But what she doesn't realize is that air is what keeps us alive.

Her smile-it's like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. It warms something inside me I didn't know could still feel warm. In the absence of you, it's what keeps me alive.

And maybe that's why I'm so afraid. Because even if I pity her, even if I know I should set her free... I can't let go of the only thing that's kept me breathing.

She thought her silence made her invisible, that it rendered her calm and unnoticeable. But to me, her silence was full of depth, full of strength. She believed she was as insignificant as the air around us, but she didn't realize that air was what kept us alive.

Her smile was what kept me alive. Even in the absence of you, she was the one thing that kept me breathing.

And maybe that was the problem. Even if I pitied her, even if I knew I should let her go, I couldn't. Because I needed her, and she'd chosen me. For now, that was enough.

***

I stood at the entrance of the gallery, scanning the crowd. The murmur of voices mixed with the faint clinking of glasses and the occasional shuffle of heels on pristine tiles. The soft glow of overhead lights cast a warm haze over the room, but none of it held my attention.

I found her almost immediately. Lou.

She sat near the far wall, her wheelchair tucked just out of the flow of visitors. The muted hum of the gallery washed over her, but she seemed oblivious to it. Her gaze was locked on the painting before her.

I let my eyes linger on her for a moment longer than I should've. Her hair was pulled back neatly, and she wore a simple dress that hugged her frame delicately, effortlessly. She looked calm, but I knew better. I could read her in ways most people couldn't-how her fingers tapped lightly against the armrest of her wheelchair, betraying the thoughts she was too proud to voice.

When I stepped into the room, the shift in energy was immediate. Heads turned, whispers rippled through the crowd, and curious eyes followed me as I moved. It didn't bother me anymore; it hadn't in years. People stared-it was what they did.

I met their glances with the same calm I always did, offering polite nods and faint smiles when necessary. But my focus didn't waver.

Lou noticed me before I reached her. Her eyes lifted, locking onto mine, and her lips curved into the smallest of smiles.

I made my way toward her, weaving through clusters of admirers and art enthusiasts who all seemed to part just enough to let me through. When I finally stopped in front of her, I smiled down at her and said, "Hey."

Her hands moved gracefully, signing, "You came."

"Am I late?"

"Not at all."

I reached for the handles of her wheelchair, my touch light but familiar. "Good," I said as I began to wheel her forward. "Getting out of those meetings is like escaping quicksand. But here I am."

"Thank you, Ahen," she signed, her smile small but genuine.

"What good am I if I can't manage that much for you, Lou?" I teased, glancing down at her. Then, with a smirk, I added, "And, of course, a good businessman always attends the events he's been invited to."

She huffed a silent laugh, shaking her head as we maneuvered through the gallery.