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It’s been almost two months since that night in the bar, the night everything cracked open, and we chose to stay, to try, to believe in each other even when it was hard.

Since then, life hasn’t magically fixed itself, but it feels different. Softer. More real.

Kai and I have settled into a quiet kind of happiness.

We walk to campus together most mornings, his hand curled around mine like a lifeline I never want to let go of.

We’ve found new favourite coffee spots and late-night diners, where the neon lights hum quietly around us, far from the chaos of the dorms and lecture halls.

Kai still wrestles with the ghosts from his past, sometimes retreating into silence or sketching in his notebooks. But I’ve learned to read the signs, to sit with him without pushing, to remind him gently that he doesn’t have to carry everything alone anymore.

One evening last week, we sat by the riverbank, the water shimmering gold under the setting sun. Kai pulled me close, his forehead resting against mine, and whispered, “Thank you for staying.”

I smiled and squeezed his hand. “I meant it.”

We stayed there until the stars blinked awake in the sky, talking about the future, uncertain, messy, but ours.

There are still bad days, sure. But there are more good ones. Days when laughter spills easy between us, when we share stupid jokes over takeout, when I catch him watching me with that soft look in his eyes, as if I’m the only thing steady in his world.

We’re learning what it means to trust again, to forgive, and to let someone in without fear.

And somehow, that feels like enough.

More than enough.

Because this is our new beginning.

The End