"Where are we going?"

The cardigan I'm wearing offers little protection, but I tug it tighter against my body. Emmie walks closer before hooking her arm around mine, helping to shield me with some of her heat.

"My friend said this place has good soju," Pablo answers. He and Darren are walking hand-in-hand a couple of feet in front of us.

We walk for a few more minutes before rounding a corner where the bar comes into view. There's a short line of about five people outside, but Pablo gestures for us to follow him up to the front. After giving the bouncer a name I don't recognize, we're ushered inside and quickly descend upon a table near the back where a man waits by himself, staring down at his phone. He's dressed in a camel-colored coat and all-black ensemble, but the shiny watch on his wrist is most notable.

Darren walks around the table and slaps his hand on his back, jolting the unsuspecting man to attention. His eyes flit back and forth between us and a smile materializes across his lips. A soft, purple-hued shadow rests beneath his eyes.

"Everyone," Darren sweeps his hand out, "this is Julian. These are Pablo's friends visiting from Hawai'i—Alex and Emmie.

Julian lifts his head in greeting as we all take our seats around the table. "What brings you to this gloomy city?"

Emmie is much more eager to engage when meeting new people than I am, so she laughs loudly enough that the entire table feels her infectious joy. "Gloomy? A little harsh. But we needed a change of scenery so—"

Julian accepts the critique. "You're right, this city gets a bad rep for being an eternal rainstorm."

Emmie, for some reason, doesn't mention that she lived here for two years. Aside from our first dinner a couple of nights ago, she hasn't talked much about her time here at all. The way she moves around the city, clinging to me as if we're both at the same starting line of an endless race, it's like she's disconnected herself from this city. I try not to read too much into this.

"So, Alex," Julian leans over while Emmie and Pablo discuss our vices for tonight, "Pablo said you two met over some penpal thing?"

I nod, tucking my hair back over my ear. The gold ring etched with plumeria flowers that I wear all the time catches my eye as my hand brushes back down onto the table. "It's amazing how well two people can bond over the need for therapy."

"Right," he chuckles. "My parents tried to force me into therapy one time."

I don't question the reasons why since I'm assuming I won't be able to understand them, and jumping into the deep end with a stranger over alcohol only works when I'm not trying to do something with myself, so instead I ask, "And it didn't work out because—"

"Throwing your money at someone with a degree doesn't guarantee a success story." Julian knocks back the remaining sips of his beer.

"And how long did you have to endure this absolute pain?"

"Let's just say my parents have a lot of money to throw away." When I don't respond, he adds, "There are worse problems to have, though."

"True." I shrug. "But your problems are still valid."

While Emmie and Pablo are arguing over drinks, eventually slipping away with the bickering fading with them, Darren inches his barstool closer to Julian's.

He slaps Julian on his back and rubs in circles. "Did you tell her about your girl?"

I raise a brow and look at the man—French if his slight accent is any indication—who's taken on a flushed appearance to his cheeks.

When he doesn't elaborate, Darren does it for him. "He's dating a girl from Hawai'i."

"Really? What's her name? Which island?"

"Eden," he answers. "And she's from the Big Island. Some place called Waimea?"

For some reason, it's not the answer I was expecting. Then again, it doesn't surprise me because most people that leave Hawai'i are doing so because they're trying to get away from something, and Waimea isn't what I consider the most exciting town on the map.

"It's kind of country out there." I pause. "What's she like?" I can't judge a book by its cover, but names often give us an impression and a name like Eden isn't one I come across often, if ever.

"Very much not country," he laughs. "She's a kind of elegance that doesn't have to try so hard. It's hard to look anywhere else when she's around."

The faraway look in his eyes makes me feel like I skipped out on something with Zachariah. There wasn't any honeymoon stage, even if the awkward and untimely encounter hadn't happened. We hit things off right away as friends and fell so deep we didn't even realize where we were until we were kicking up to the surface for air.

"Is she coming tonight?" I ask.

He shakes his head, churning out another faraway smile. "She's spending the night with her friend."

"That's too bad. Would've been like meeting an old friend."

Julian smiles at that comment. "She said something similar."

The two others come back—Pablo with two jugs full of flavored soju and Emmie trying to balance five shot glasses of what I can only assume is Patrón. After placing their drinks down on the table, Emmie slides a shot glass in front of each of us and commands we take them right away.

"You're so bossy," I chide.

She nudges the glass closer to my lips. "You know you love it."

It's been a while since I've gone out for the night and had a drink. Working with something food or drink-related usually makes people avoid it on their own time.

"Come on," Emmie begs. "We only have one night left here. Let your hair down and enjoy it before we have to go back home."

Home. The place I've spent the past five days avoiding. The island calling my name for the past five days, begging me to return because I have too much unfinished business waiting. It feels like time has flown by and yet, surprising even myself, I can't wait for it all to end.

...

The faint stars above the Seattle skyline are a breath of fresh air. While city life seems a little too chaotic for me, I understand why Emmie was able to spend as much time here as she did. It's a different kind of beauty than we're used to, a unique brand of majesty that feels like an endless field of wonder.

We find our way onto the rooftop for some stargazing, or as much as possible in the city. Cold air nips at my skin like someone pinching me as Emmie steps toward the barrier. Leaning against the wall, she looks up at the sky, and then back down at the view in front of us.

"Where's your head at?" she asks, peeking back at me.

I wait behind for a moment and consider what I want to ask her. What hidden thoughts I wish to confess. Starry nights and good companions make for the perfect chance to make my feelings known, even if it's more for myself than for her.

"Up in the clouds, like it always is."

She laughs and turns back around. The illusion is that she's taking in this piece of her life that may or may not extend past its two-year shelf-life; the reality is that she's giving me the space to build up whatever courage I need.

"You know what my mom said when she first found out I wanted to come here two years ago?" A breeze blows chestnut strands of hair across her shoulders, and under the subtle glow of the moon, her sunkissed highlights make an appearance. "She said there's an art to letting go, and it's as refined as the art of knowing when to hold on. And sometimes, those two art forms come together to create something special."

"Which do you think this one is?" I ask about my situation.

Emmie is quiet for a moment, letting the dull roar of the city run in the background. "I don't think it's my place to tell you what it is or isn't."

"I know. But I value your opinion."

"I think maybe you're trying to do a little bit of both but for the wrong reasons."

As I look up at the stars, I wonder who else is watching them too. Because no matter where we are in the world, we're all part of the same galaxy wishing up on the same stars and hoping we all find the same kind of love we unabashedly give to them.

My best friend—through and through, no matter how many years pass between words and meetings—has always praised me for my honesty, but she never gives herself the credit I think she deserves. When it comes down to it, she'll tell me everything I've waited to hear.

"What's holding you back now?" she asks. Our eyes connect for a moment before I pull away, but her next words bring me right back to her. "Why do you think you don't deserve these things you want?"

"You know," I tell her. "You're the one that brought it up before."

A flash of hurt crosses her eyes. "I didn't mean it."

I look to the side. "Just because you didn't mean it doesn't mean you weren't right."

"I already told you there's no stake I have in this anymore," Emmie pleads. "Don't feel like you have to pull yourself away from him because of me."

I once told Zachariah the thing that keeps me from diving into the deep end with him is that our existence is tied to my loss of Emmie. But even now that she's back in my life, I still can't let myself accept him because it runs so much deeper.

"How do you allow yourself to fall into a relationship that should have never happened in the first place?" I murmur, the words floating along the calm wind. "How do you watch a man fall apart because he loved too hard and then expect yourself to give someone else the power to do that to you?"

She looks like she's in pain. It's kind of funny considering I'm the one that brought us here in the first place.

"What happened between your parents has nothing to do with you," she says firmly. "Their relationship does not define you, and it hasn't cursed you to the same fate either."

It seems like such an easy concept, not letting what happens between our parents define who we become. Many people with parents who stay in love together end up in terrible relationships, and some who experience the same dysfunction as me let themselves fall in love over and over and over again.

But it always felt like a much easier thing to witness other people do instead of letting it happen to me too. What we often don't accept is that many of us, whether we like it or not, take the greatest inspiration from our parents. We rely on them, become inspired by them, and, unfortunately, often resent them for those things. We let their mistakes become our mistakes. After all, who do we learn from more than the people who brought us into this world?

When I think of falling in love, I don't imagine being whisked away on a spontaneous trip or surprised with a bouquet on another ordinary Wednesday afternoon. The version of love I saw was tainted with tears and blood and showers spent listening to songs that reminded him of her. I spent years looking at my father and thinking how much I didn't want to suffer the same pain. If love left me searching at the bottom of the bottle for someone who was never coming back, I didn't want that.

I was either doomed to become my mother or doomed to become my father. And as much as I loved the idea of her and the reality of him, I was unprepared to accept either of those truths.

Then there's that small part of me, the one that creeps up on lonely nights wishing I was staring up at a sky like the one above us now, that has never been able to accept true happiness for myself. That aching, bitter part of my heart that believes it doesn't deserve good things in life. And I can never explain this feeling to anyone else because I don't fully understand it myself.

"What if I get hurt?" I ask. Or worse, "What if I hurt him?'

Emmie steps forward until she's in front of me. She reaches down and grasps my hands in hers, commanding me to look at her with her words so I hear every single one of them. So I can process exactly what she's saying to me because she's always been my soulmate. We fight, we cry, we tell each other the truths we don't want to hear, but we grow because of each other. If Zachariah is my true north, she's the water that carries me home.

"That's what it means to fall in love," she speaks quietly. "You know at the end of the day that nothing is certain. Maybe things end, maybe things go on forever. But you trust yourself and you trust them and they do the same, knowing that you just might find the greatest love of all time from a simple leap of faith."

Pressing her knuckles under my chin, she forces me to look at her.

"If there's any hesitation because of me, I want you to know that I forgave you a long time ago. Before I even got on that plane, if I'm being honest. Maybe even as soon as I walked out of your apartment that day."

"How?" I cough, the tears nearly spilling over. "You know I would've been a cold-hearted bitch if it was reversed."

Emmie smiles softly at me. "I never faulted you two for falling in love. I just hated that I found out about it the way that I did."

I scoff, "We're not in love."

"I don't know who you think you're fooling but I promise it's not me."

I press my forehead against her shoulder. Emmie immediately reaches her arm around to hold me. "You're way too forgiving."

"That implies you're not deserving of it," she mutters into my hair. "Forgive yourself for any mistakes you've made. Stop letting other people keep you from living your life. Realize you're as deserving of the happiness you wish upon others."