Lila stood at the window of the café, watching as the rain turned the sidewalks into reflections. The city had changed in the six months River had been gone—or maybe she had. The space he left behind hadn't broken her. It had grown roots, grown her.
She sipped her coffee slowly, the same corner table where they had once argued about which author wrote better metaphors. The chair across from her was empty, but her journal sat open. Words poured out these days, poetry and fragments of dreams, each one a small love letter to the time they'd spent together.
It had been a week since River came back.
A week since he had appeared at her door, suitcase in hand, heart in his eyes. A week since he dropped to one knee and asked her to choose forever.
She had said yes.
Not because it was a fairytale ending. Not because it fixed everything. But because when he looked at her, she saw home. Not the walls or the city or the skyline—but the person who had seen every broken part of her and stayed.
Now, they were figuring it out again. Living in the same apartment, cooking meals together, picking up pieces they'd left scattered. It was different. It was better.
River had changed too. Paris had deepened something in him—he was more present, more thoughtful, like the distance had clarified what mattered.
That evening, she returned to the apartment to find candles flickering along the windowsills and soft jazz humming through the speakers.
River stood in the kitchen, apron on, stirring something that smelled like garlic and butter.
She raised an eyebrow. "Domestic much?"
He grinned. "Only for you."
She dropped her bag and walked to him, slipping her arms around his waist. "You're serious about this whole forever thing, huh?"
He turned in her arms, brushing hair from her cheek. "More than serious. Obsessed."
Dinner was simple—pasta, salad, wine—but it felt like a feast. They ate on the floor, laughing over stories, playing their favorite records.
Afterward, River brought out his camera. "Sit. I want to take your picture."
She posed with exaggerated flair, throwing her arm over her face like an old Hollywood star.
"No," he said, lowering the camera. "Just be you."
So she did. Cross-legged on the floor, hair undone, a half-smile. He snapped the photo. Then another. And another.
Later, they lay on the couch, her head on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her arm.
"You still scared?" he asked.
"Of what?"
"Of us. Of this."
She thought for a long moment. "I'm scared of losing it. But I'm not scared of you. Or loving you."
He nodded. "Same. I didn't think I'd ever get to have this. But with you... it feels like I've come home."
She tilted her head to look at him. "Then let's keep choosing it. Every day. Even on the hard ones."
"Especially on the hard ones."
The lights twinkled above them, soft pink glows through the cherry-blossom-shaped lanterns River had found on some obscure photography trip. He strung them around their bedroom window that night.
Lila smiled as she looked up at them, the glow wrapping the room in warmth.
"Beneath the cherry lights," she whispered.
He kissed her temple. "Always."