Page 30 of June

As I walked toward him, I couldn't help but marvel at how strange and beautiful life is. How we can fall in love, hurt each other, break, and somehow, if we are brave enough, rebuild and survive. There was a time I had completely let go of love, convinced it wasn't meant for me anymore. Trust, intimacy, hope, they all felt like fragile glass I'd shattered beyond repair.

And yet, here I was, walking into the arms of the man who had shown that love is a choice. My heart hammered in my chest so violently I thought I might faint. Every step felt electric, a collision of anticipation and memory, and then he looked up.

His eyes—blue, arresting, impossibly clear—shone behind his glasses. His smile, wide and effortless, reached those eyes and made them dance. The tattoos along his neck and part of his arms peeked from under his shirt, hints of stories and moments I wanted to know again. I felt a shiver run down my spine, equal parts fear and longing, and I could swear I might die from the sheer intensity of it, standing here, so close, about to be in his arms again.

I breathed in slowly, letting this moment sink into me. In that instant, with the stars preparing to streak across the night sky, I understood something profound: I had let go of the past. I had released the shadows that held me down and now I was leaping, into him, into the present, into a future painted in light, love, and possibility.

Aaron's face lit up the moment he heard the word forgiveness. Relief washed over him so strongly that his lips trembled; his eyes glistened as if he might cry. Before he could say anything, I took his hands gently, grounding us both.

"I forgive you, Aaron"

I said softly.

"I know you did a horrible thing. I believe you understand now how badly you treated me... and still, I forgive you."

"I love you, June,"

he burst out, voice shaking.

"I swear—never again."

I looked at him steadily.

"I'm sure you'll never make that mistake again with anyone else."

His eyes widened at my words, startled, but I kept going before he could interrupt.

"Because forgiveness, Aaron, doesn't mean returning. It doesn't mean we pick up where we left off, as if nothing ever happened. Forgiveness means I'm setting myself free. I've carried so much anger that burned through me, sadness that hollowed me out, resentment that poisoned even my happiest memories and I'm done carrying it.

I forgive you, not because what you did was small, it wasn't, but because I refuse to let it define me any longer. I forgive you because I deserve peace.

And I forgive you, too, because what we had wasn't all pain. There were moments when you stood by me, when you held me, when you made me laugh until my ribs ached. There were days when I looked at you and thought I was the luckiest person alive. You loved me once—or at least, you did until the day you didn't, and for that time, for those moments that were real and good, I can be grateful, even now."

He opened his mouth, desperate to stop me, but I lifted my hand slightly, a quiet request for him to let me finish.

"Maybe you did love me,"

I said, softer now, though my chest still ached.

"But love is more than a feeling—it's a choice. A choice you make every day, in the small things and the big ones, and when it mattered most, when everything hung in the balance, you didn't choose me. You remember that moment, don't you? When I asked you, plainly, to choose us... and you turned away."

I let the silence stretch, the memory itself filling the space between us.

"I'm not angry anymore, Aaron. Not the way I once was. Back then, it felt like betrayal had split me wide open. But now, with distance, I see it differently. It was a blessing in disguise—painful, yes, but necessary. Because if you hadn't let me go, I might still be clinging to someone who was only halfway there, still convincing myself I was enough to make you stay."

His face crumpled. He was hurting—I could see it—but my words weren't meant as a blade. They were release, for both of us.

"I did love you,"

I admitted, my voice steadying as I spoke the truth.

"I chose you—again and again, even when it cost me parts of myself I'll never get back. But the truth is, I don't trust you anymore and even more than trust, I don't feel safe placing my heart in your hands. With you, I would always be waiting for the floor to fall away, always bracing for the day you might walk out again. That isn't love, Aaron, that's survival."

I drew in a breath, meeting his tearful eyes.

"And I refuse,"

I said, my tone firm now.

"I refuse to build my life on fear. I refuse to live as someone's second choice. I deserve more than that. I deserve to be someone's star, the one they look to when they're lost. I deserve to be the axis their world turns on, the orbit their love revolves around. Nothing less. Not anymore."

His voice cracked.

"You're not, Junie. Please... you're not second choice."

But I shook my head.

"I am, Aaron. I always will be. Even if you regret it now, even if you spend the rest of your life trying to make amends, I will always carry that truth, that I was the one you didn't choose and no matter how much I forgive, that stain doesn't fade for me. It's a scar now, a reminder etched into the deepest part of me.

The good thing, though,"

I continued softly.

"is that scars don't just mark pain—they mark survival and I see how much you've grown. I see that you've learned, that you've worked to build a better version of yourself. I don't doubt you'll make someone incredibly happy someday. You'll be steady, wiser, maybe even the partner you once wished you could be for me. I truly believe you'll have a beautiful relationship in the future. But it won't be with me."

His tears spilled freely now, shoulders trembling as he nodded. Slowly. Painfully. It was the kind of nod that carried both acceptance and devastation.

I reached forward, my hands finding his. I held them not in longing but in closure, not to hold on but to finally let go. My touch was a goodbye disguised as comfort.

"I am grateful Aaron for everything, including the heartache, I forgive you and I wish you all the happiness in the world. Goodbye, Aaron,"

I whispered, the words soft but unshakable.

"Take care of yourself. Be happy. Be better. You deserve that and I think we both know we came into each other's lives for a reason, to teach, to break, to shape, to grow. You'll find your reason soon enough."

I paused, the faintest smile tugging at my lips, though my eyes stung with unshed tears, and I whispered to myself.

"I've already found mine. And I'm not letting it slip away."

I was stunned by how life could shift in a single hour—how I could look at my past, finally release it, and then turn to see both my present and my future sitting right before me.

Without a word, Liam took my hand, warm and steady, and guided me to sit beside him. His touch was grounding, a silent promise that we were here, now, together. We didn't need to say anything yet. My hand trembled in his, and he noticed, without hesitation, he enclosed it with both of his hands, holding me as though I might drift away. His eyes shimmered, glassy with tears, and then he began to speak.

"When I watched you dancing out there, it was like watching a constellation being born. Every step you took was a star igniting, every turn a planet finding its orbit. I couldn't breathe, not because I was afraid you'd fall, but because I knew I was seeing the universe rearrange itself around you. You weren't just dancing; you were gravity itself. Pulling everything toward you, pulling me toward you... like you always do."

I froze, caught off guard as always. I hadn't been sure he would come. Almost as if he could read my hesitation, he added softly,

"I came, of course I did. I had to see you. But I stayed in the shadows, because you didn't need pressure or distraction—you only needed the stage, the sky, your own light. I thought maybe if fate was kind, we would meet here with meteors crossing in the night, but if not... I was ready to sit alone and send my wish for your happiness on a shooting star. That would have been enough, because your joy is all that matters to me."

I could hardly breathe. He still wouldn't meet my eyes, just held my hand with a grip that felt both desperate and unshakable. His silence pressed against me like a tide, and then, without looking up, he went on,

"Out there, you weren't just dancing—you were the night sky in motion. Each step was like starlight unfurling, each turn like galaxies spiraling awake, Celestia... When I watched you move, I finally understood why I've always called you my Celestia. You weren't just dancing, you were the axis, the pull, the very center that everything orbits around. Even the stars would lose their way without you. I couldn't breathe because I knew I was standing in the presence of my universe."

He fell silent then, his voice tapering off into the stillness between us. For a moment, only our breathing filled the air, steady and uneven at once. Then, in the hush, he lowered his head and whispered, almost afraid of the sound of his own words,

"Please... tell me this is what I think it is."

He didn't look at me. Couldn't. His fear hung there between us, fragile as glass, shimmering with the weight of everything unsaid. For a moment, I just watched him—his lashes damp, his lips pressed tight, his whole body wound up like a star on the verge of collapse. Then, slowly, I reached up, stood up, took his hands, and lifted his face toward mine.

"Yes,"

I whispered, steady and sure, even though my own heart was a storm.

"This is it. You're my choice, Liam. My constant. The one I'd chart my whole sky around—again, and again, and again."

Something broke inside him then, a laugh caught in a sob, and he pulled me against him with a desperation that felt holy, like if he let go even for a breath the entire cosmos would collapse into dust.

"And she's... using astronomy images, My God!"

he choked out, the smallest ghost of humor in his trembling voice.

"Well,"

I murmured back, pressing my forehead to his.

"I had to learn some."

That was all it took. His hands rose to my face, rough and reverent, and his mouth found mine. The kiss was everything he was—tender and fierce, fragile and overwhelming, a perfect contradiction that made my whole body quake. He was the moon and the tide both, pulling me in, holding me still, undoing me in ways that felt infinite.

When he finally drew back, just enough for us to breathe, his voice dropped low, urgent, a secret meant only for me.

"You know... a kiss under the stars, during a meteor shower—that's a vow. Please... tell me you're all in."

My pulse thundered, steady as the heartbeat of the universe itself. I searched his eyes, saw feelings of hope and fear swirling there, and smiled through the ache in my chest.

"I am, Liam. I'm all in."

This time his kiss was slower, lingering—a seal pressed gently into the fabric of time itself. When he pulled away, just barely, his words came hushed, reverent, as though he were speaking not only to me but to the sky above us.

"So,"

I whispered, searching his eyes.

"How is she?"

A shadow crossed his face. He gave a sad smile, one that carried both love and grief.

"The usual,"

he said softly.

"Some days she doesn't know me at all, like I'm a stranger in her world. And then... other moments, we steal something back from the disease. She looks at me, really looks at me, and she knows. Those seconds are everything. I live for them."

My chest tightened. I reached for his hand, pressing it firmly, silently telling him I was here. That I understood more than words could carry.

He squeezed back, then tilted his chin toward the horizon, eyes glistening.

"Look,"

he whispered, voice breaking into awe.

"It's starting..."

The words fluttered through me like wings.

Outside, the universe stretched vast and unknowable, waiting in its cold eternity.

But here, inside the fragile orbit we had created, we had found our own gravity.

Our own constellation. Our own vow, blazing brighter than any falling star.

We stepped out into the night, the air cool and trembling with anticipation.

The sky above us was a vast canvas of velvet black, dotted with scattered diamonds, and then, like the heavens exhaling, the first streak tore across the horizon.

A single thread of light.

A promise.

Soon, the sky was alive.

One after another, meteors flared and burned, brief and glorious, as if the universe itself had decided to rain fire just for us.

Each one carved a fleeting path across the dark, igniting the silence with wonder.

My breath caught; my hand found his. Together, we stood suspended, two small figures beneath a storm of falling stars, our hearts beating to the same rhythm as the cosmos.

I looked at him, my moonboy, my constant, and knew this was my choice.

Not fate, not accident.

Him.

Just like I have always been his choice.

"I vow,"

I whispered into the night, into the fire and light above us.

"for love, for respect, for the choice we make every single day. For a future where we keep choosing each other."

He turned to me, eyes glowing with tears that mirrored the brilliance overhead.

Without a word, he pulled me close, and there, beneath the streaking heavens, we began to sway.

No music but the rush of the night air, no floor but the earth beneath our feet. Just a dance stitched into the fabric of time itself.

"And I vow,"

he breathed, voice trembling but steady.

"to be your gravity, the pull that never lets you drift too far.

To be your North Star, constant and unwavering, guiding us back no matter how dark the night.

I vow to orbit only you, to guard your heart like the rarest constellation, and to love you with a devotion as endless as the universe itself."

Stars fell, our laughter tangled with breath, and in that moment I knew: no matter how infinite the sky or fleeting the meteors, we had written our vow into the constellations.

Ours was a love that would burn, not once, but again and again, as long as we kept choosing the dance.