They sat on the cracked stone bench behind the greenhouse, silence stretching comfortably now, like it belonged to them.
Julian looked… tired. But softer.
"I didn't mean to disappear," he said after a while. "I just didn't know how to let you see the part of me that still breaks."
Penelope looked at him. "You think I don't break too?"
He met her eyes—really met them—and for the first time, Penelope saw the full weight of him. Not just the boy who sketched in margins and kissed like he was memorizing time. But the one who carried shadows too long and never asked anyone to help him hold them.
"I grew up with the kind of silence that hurts," he said quietly. "When my mom left, I didn't cry. I just stopped talking. I thought if I said it out loud, it would make it more real."
Penelope's hand found his. She didn't squeeze. Just held."I don't need perfect," she said. "I just need honest."
Julian looked down at their hands. "You really think I'm worth all this?"
Penelope smiled gently. "I don't think. I know."
He let out a breath, like something inside him had loosened. And for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, Julian leaned in—not for a kiss, but to rest his forehead against hers.
"I want to try," he whispered. "For real. No running."
Penelope whispered back, "Then I'll stop chasing. We'll walk together."
The sky darkened around them, but neither of them moved.
Because for the first time since this story began, there were no questions, no metaphors, no secrets.
Just two people trying.And for now, that was enough.