The morning light in Noah's apartment was soft and golden, filtering through pale curtains like a blessing Mira didn't think she deserved.
She sat at the edge of his bed, knees tucked under her chin, while Noah moved quietly in the kitchen, making coffee. The smell drifted toward her—comforting, familiar.
They hadn't kissed.
Not last night.
Not even a brush of lips. But something had passed between them, something deeper than skin or breath. A quiet understanding. A waiting.
Mira didn't know what to call it.
When Noah returned with two mugs, he handed one to her. She took it gratefully, her fingers grazing his. He didn't pull away.
"Do you regret coming back?" he asked softly.
"No," she said. "I regret not doing it sooner."
He smiled, then leaned against the wall beside her.
They sipped in silence.
But inside, Mira's mind churned. Her job abroad was technically still hers. She could go back—resume her life, her routines, her ambition. But here…here was Noah. Here was the ache that felt like hope.
"I need to tell my mom I'm staying for a while," she murmured.
"She'll be glad."
"She'll ask about you."
He chuckled. "Tell her I'm still that annoying guy you mistook for a client at the airport."
Mira laughed, truly laughed, for the first time in weeks. "You ruined everything that day."
"Maybe not everything," he replied, eyes locked on hers.
The smile faded, replaced by the electricity of closeness. The kind that made your chest tight and your throat dry. Their faces hovered inches apart.
And then he kissed her.
Slow.
Certain.
No rush. No desperation. Just the taste of truth between two people who had been broken and still chose each other.
When they finally pulled apart, Mira whispered, "I'm scared."
"I know," he said. "But I'm here. No matter how long it takes."
And for the first time since she left her job, since her father died, since the storm began… Mira felt the beginnings of peace.
Not because the world was fixed.
But because she didn't have to face it alone anymore.