In the weeks that followed the burning of the contract, everything changed.
Not in explosive, cinematic ways — but in the quiet shifts that only they noticed. Morning coffee tasted warmer. The silence between them was no longer tense but tender. When Elio kissed her goodbye at the door, it wasn't out of obligation — it was out of want.
They weren't pretending anymore.
And that, surprisingly, was harder than they thought.
Because now, there was no safety net. No timeline to blame if things went wrong. No imaginary expiration date to shield their hearts.
Now, it was all real.
---
Aurélie noticed the difference first in the way Elio looked at her.
He used to observe her like a puzzle — calculating, uncertain, a little distant. But lately, there was something vulnerable in his gaze. As if he was letting her see the pieces of him he once guarded.
One afternoon, while working on her final fashion portfolio, she found herself distracted by the sound of his typing in the next room. She walked in, expecting to find him working on photo edits.
But he was staring at a blank document.
"Elio?" she asked softly.
He turned, startled. "Oh. Sorry. Lost in thought."
She tilted her head. "Writer's block?"
"No," he said. "Life block."
She laughed gently. "That bad?"
Elio leaned back in his chair. "I've been thinking... I don't really know what I want to do after graduation."
She sat beside him. "I thought you wanted to keep doing freelance photography?"
"I do," he said. "But I want more than that. I want to build something. Create something that lasts."
She nodded, her fingers brushing against his. "Maybe you already are."
---
But with the emotional depth came emotional risk.
They started to fight — really fight — for the first time. Not about chores or toothbrush caps, but about fears.
One evening, Aurélie returned home late after staying out with Clémence and Camille. Elio sat on the couch, trying not to look annoyed.
"You didn't text me," he said as she walked in.
"I forgot. I was with the girls," she replied casually.
"I know," he said. "But you could've said something."
"Why are you acting like my father?"
"I'm not," he said. "I just worry about you."
She raised an eyebrow. "Since when do we have to report every move to each other?"
"It's not reporting," he said sharply. "It's respect."
That word — respect — landed like a slap. Aurélie flinched slightly.
Silence followed.
Then she said quietly, "I'm still learning how to be someone's person. You have to give me time."
He softened immediately. "I know. I'm sorry. I just… care too much, I think."
She walked to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.
"That's not a bad thing, Elio."
---
Outside their private bubble, the world began to notice their shift.
Their families, their friends, even their professors picked up on the subtle ways their dynamic had changed.
One afternoon, Aurélie's mother called her.
"I saw a photo on Marco's Instagram," she said, voice warm. "You and Elio. He was looking at you like he'd found his sun."
Aurélie smiled. "We're figuring things out."
There was a pause on the other end. Then her mother said, "Just promise me something."
"What?"
"That if this becomes real — truly real — you won't forget who you are."
Aurélie closed her eyes. "I promise."
---
At the same time, Elio had a conversation with his father he didn't expect.
They met at a quiet riverside café, where the elder Moreau stirred his espresso with a patience Elio had always admired.
"So," his father said. "How's the girl?"
"She's not just a girl anymore," Elio said. "She's… everything."
His father looked at him carefully. "Then don't let everything slip away just because it's harder now."
Elio blinked. "You think it's going to get harder?"
"Everything worth loving comes with struggle," his father said. "It's easy to act like you're in love. It's harder to stay when things aren't convenient."
Elio nodded slowly, letting the words settle.
---
Back at the apartment, Aurélie was cleaning the studio corner when she found something tucked between Elio's sketchbooks.
It was a photograph. One she hadn't seen before.
In it, she was asleep on the couch — her hair messy, her hand curled into her cheek. The sunlight had wrapped around her like a whisper. She looked peaceful. Fragile. Real.
On the back of the photo, in Elio's handwriting, were five words:
"She is not a contract."
Her heart thudded.
It was one thing to burn paper. It was another thing entirely to be captured by someone's eyes, forever.
---
Later that night, she placed the photo on the fridge door with a small magnet.
Elio noticed it while pouring water.
"You found it."
She nodded. "You took that when?"
"A few months ago. Before anything made sense."
She walked toward him, arms crossed but eyes warm. "You loved me already, didn't you?"
He hesitated — then smiled. "I think I was terrified I did."
She grinned. "You're still terrified, aren't you?"
"Completely."
"Good," she whispered, leaning in. "Me too."
---
But love was not enough to silence the doubts.
As summer approached, internship offers began to arrive.
Aurélie was offered a spot at a prestigious atelier in Milan — her dream city, her dream mentor.
Elio was invited to travel with a documentary crew to Morocco for two months.
Neither told the other right away.
The fear wasn't the opportunity. It was what it might mean.
What if distance pulled them apart? What if saying yes meant saying goodbye — even temporarily?
---
One evening, as they lay on the rug after a dinner of cheap pasta and stolen wine, Aurélie spoke first.
"Elio."
"Hmm?"
"I got something."
He turned to her. "Something like what?"
"A placement. In Milan."
His eyes widened slightly, but he nodded. "That's amazing."
She searched his face. "You're not… upset?"
"No," he said softly. "Are you going?"
She hesitated. "I want to. But I don't want to leave us behind."
He sat up, brushing her hair behind her ear.
"I want you to go," he said. "But I want us to find a way to stay real, even from afar."
She whispered, "What if it's too hard?"
"Then we fight for it."
Her voice cracked. "Promise?"
Elio pressed his forehead to hers.
"Promise."