France, once a symbol of devastation, was now reclaiming its place as a beacon of strength. The world had suffered, but humanity had proved resilient. Streets once littered with blood and despair now bustled with life again. People returned to their jobs, their ambitions, their faith in the future.

Amidst this revival, Clara took a deep breath, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The same dorm room where she had once fought for her life was now pristine, warm, and familiar again. The walls, once stained with remnants of the past, held no trace of the horrors they had seen. It was as if the universe had finally allowed her a fresh start.

She brushed her hair with practiced ease, clipping back a few stray strands before standing up. The door creaked slightly as she pulled it open, but before stepping out, she turned back.

Laura sat on the bed couch, casually slipping on her socks, completely unbothered by the urgency of the morning.

"Prends encore un peu de temps et nous serons certainement en retard, Laura." (Take any longer, and we’ll definitely be late, Laura.)

Laura looked up, her lips curling into a playful smirk. Her best friend since childhood, the one person who had never left her side, burst into laughter.

"Oh allez. Je ne vais pas nous mettre en retard. Le maladroit, c'est toi après tout." (Oh, come on. I’m not the one who’s going to make us late. You’re the clumsy one, after all.)

Clara rolled her eyes with a chuckle, waiting for her. Laura finally buckled up her shoes, sprang to her feet, and without warning, grabbed Clara’s hand. In one swift motion, she stormed out of the room, shutting the door behind them with a loud click.

They dashed down the hallway, their laughter echoing through the dormitory.

"Ne courez pas, les filles !" (Don’t run, girls!)

The headmistress’ amused voice carried down the corridor. Clara glanced back, offering the woman a sheepish smile before hurrying to keep up with Laura.

Laura, ever the energetic one, made a sudden slide across the hallway floor, and Clara barely managed to stop herself from tripping over her. Just as she regained balance, Laura did something even more reckless—she hopped onto the handrail of the staircase and slid down like it was nothing.

Clara gasped.

"Laura !" she called out, watching as her friend effortlessly glided down.

But instead of hesitating, Clara jogged down the stairs, her adrenaline catching up with her excitement. By the time she reached the second flight, she couldn’t resist anymore.

She grabbed onto the next handrail and slid down, a rush of air brushing against her face as she descended. Her hair whipped wildly around her, and by the time her feet landed on the ground floor, she was breathless, slightly disheveled, and laughing.

Laura, standing tall and unaffected, grinned mischievously.

"Je vais sortir le scooter, Clara." (I’ll get the scooter, Clara.)

And just like that, she skipped away toward the underground parking lot, still buzzing with energy.

Clara, however, bent down, hands on her knees, catching her breath. Her lungs burned slightly, her hair was a mess, but there was something so alive about this moment.

A warm hand landed on her back, steadying her. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

"Elle est difficile à gérer pour toi tôt le matin, hein ?" (She’s hard to handle this early in the morning, huh?)

The soft, familiar voice sent a wave of comfort through her.

"Adrian," she sighed, finally straightening up.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, momentarily basking in his presence. He was here. Alive. With her.

Without a word, Adrian adjusted the strap of his bag, bent down, and—before she could react—lifted her into his arms.

"Adrian !" Clara shrieked, her arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders as he carried her bridal style.

Adrian merely chuckled, effortlessly jogging down the remaining stairs, holding her as if she weighed nothing.

By the time they reached the parking lot, he gently set her down right in front of Laura, who had already started the bike’s engine.

Laura smirked, crossing her arms.

"Le prince est venu pour sauver sa princesse." (The prince came to save his princess.)

Clara felt her face heat up, a rosy blush creeping onto her cheeks. She quickly climbed onto the scooter, avoiding Adrian’s gaze, though a small smile played at her lips.

Just then, a familiar voice called out from behind Adrian.

"Nous suivrons Adrian par derrière dans sa voiture. Vous, avancez." (We’ll follow Adrian from behind in the car. You two go ahead.)

Thomas.

He approached with his usual relaxed demeanor, exchanging a knowing glance with Laura before nodding toward Clara. Laura gave him an approving grin before revving the engine.

"Allons-y !" (Let’s go!)

With a swift motion, the scooter took off.

Clara turned her head slightly, her fingers gripping the back handle as she glanced one last time at Adrian and Thomas.

Her best friend, her boyfriend, and her closest companions—they were all still here.

For the first time in a long while, she felt whole.

The pain had been unbearable. The wounds from the battles they had fought—both against the virus and against fate—had left scars, some visible, some buried deep within. The vaccination had saved their lives, but the recovery had been agonizing. Still, despite the pain, despite the horrors they had endured, they had survived.

And now, they were living. Truly living.

Clara exhaled as she adjusted the fabric on the mannequin in front of her. The studio lights cast a soft glow over the intricate design she and Laura had been working on.

From fighting for survival to designing haute couture—who would have thought?

She and Laura now worked as designing directors at one of the most renowned fashion houses in France. It was a career neither of them had imagined in the past, but life had a strange way of piecing itself back together.

Laura, standing a few feet away, scrutinized a dress laid out on the table, running her fingers over the embellishments.

"Hmm, je pense que la découpe doit être légèrement ajustée." (Hmm, I think the cut needs to be slightly adjusted.)

Clara nodded in agreement, stepping back to get a better view. Just then, the doors to the studio swung open, and a familiar voice filled the space.

"Vous êtes prêtes ? Le tournage commence dans dix minutes." (Are you ready? The shoot starts in ten minutes.)

Clara turned to see Adrian, dressed in a sleek, fitted suit, his hair styled to perfection. Even now, after all these years, her heart still skipped a beat at the sight of him.

"Dix minutes ? Déjà ?!" Laura groaned, rubbing her forehead. (Ten minutes? Already?!)

Adrian smirked, stepping forward.

"Je vous ai prévenues hier. Vous êtes juste trop concentrées sur votre travail." (I warned you yesterday. You two just get too focused on your work.)

Clara rolled her eyes playfully.

"Et toi, monsieur le mannequin, tu es déjà prêt ?" (And you, Mr. Model, you’re already ready?)

Adrian grinned.

"Toujours." (Always.)

Before she could tease him further, Thomas entered the room, adjusting his headset, looking every bit the efficient assistant to the director of shooting.

"On a besoin de vous là-bas. Maintenant." (We need you there. Now.)

Laura sighed, throwing her hands up in defeat.

"Fine, fine! On y va!"

The four of them headed toward the studio, the air buzzing with energy as the crew made last-minute adjustments for the shoot. It was still surreal—this life. They had once fought for every second of their existence, and now they were here, chasing their dreams.

But their journey wasn’t just about themselves.

Clara often thought about the people she had met in those dark days. Julien and Florian, the two brothers who had been by her side during the worst of it, were now directors of the very company she worked for. It made sense—after all, their father owned the fashion house. But more than that, the brothers had proven themselves. They were hard-working, driven, and determined to make their mark.

And then there were the children.

Manon, Quentin, and Elisa.

She had saved them when the world was collapsing. She had held them close, protected them, fought for them when no one else could.

And now?

Now, they were thriving.

Junior high students, excelling in their studies, growing into a future that once seemed impossible.

Clara often saw them after work, checking in, making sure they were doing well. She still felt responsible for them, even though they no longer needed her to fight for them.

As the photoshoot began, Clara stood beside Laura, watching Adrian pose under the flashing lights.

Laura nudged her playfully.

"Tu réalises qu’on a survécu à une apocalypse et qu’on est maintenant ici à designer des robes ?" (Do you realize we survived an apocalypse and are now here designing dresses?)

Clara chuckled, shaking her head.

"Ouais. C’est un peu fou, non ?" (Yeah. It’s kind of crazy, isn’t it?)

Laura smirked.

"Un peu. Mais j’aime ça." (A little. But I love it.)

Clara smiled.

Yes, life had been cruel once. But now, it was kind. And she would hold onto that kindness for as long as she could.