Vanessa
Zane drives with a level of concentration that feels more theatrical than real. Konnor sits beside him, fiddling with the radio until he finds a song that makes him stop.
"This one," says Konnor, as if it were an important decision.
"Beyond" by Leon Bridges starts playing. The soft melody, the warm voice, the slow rhythm. It's a song about love—but not the kind that shouts, the kind that's discovered in silence.
I'm in the back seat, next to Maeson. I look out the window, letting the scenery slide by like part of a movie I'm not sure I want to star in. The sky is gray, but not sad. It's the kind of gray that seems to hold secrets.
I don't say anything. I have no words. Just thoughts tumbling over each other. Melissa is at the airport. Maeson almost kissed me. And now we're all in this car, as if the universe decided to gather pieces that don't quite fit together.
Suddenly, I feel his hand. Maeson places it over mine—not gripping, not asking permission. It's just there. A small gesture, but full of meaning. He doesn't look at me. He doesn't speak. But in that touch, there's something that tells me he's with me. That he understands. That he doesn't need me to explain everything.
I don't pull my hand away. I don't squeeze it either. I just leave it there. Because sometimes, that's enough.
And that's how we stay for the rest of the ride to the airport—in comfortable silence. In the warm company and mutual understanding that seems to have settled between Maeson and me.
When we arrive, Zane drops us off at the main entrance while he looks for a place to park. I practically run out, with Maeson and Konnor quickly catching up. Which isn't hard, considering they're much taller than me, so within seconds they're by my side.
I search for the gate Melissa sent me in a message, almost desperately. I can't—and don't want to—imagine what the guys are thinking right now. It feels like my anxiety always gets the best of me, leaving me unable to hold it together for even a few seconds. Waiting is truly my worst enemy.
"Hey, everything's going to be fine," Maeson says, with a confidence that almost gives me the calm I need. "Send me a photo of your friend so we can all help look for her."
We're sitting in a row of metal chairs that seem designed to be uncomfortable. The air conditioning is set to "polar penguin mode," and I can't stop staring at the international arrivals door, as if Melissa might appear at any moment holding a sign that says "Save me!"
Maeson stretches like he's been waiting for hours, even though it's only been twenty minutes.
"Did you know that 87% of people waiting in airports develop an obsession with staring at screens that tell them nothing useful?" he says, pointing at the flight monitor with fake solemnity.
Zane, who arrived a few minutes ago, is eating chips like it's his last meal before the apocalypse, and adds:
"And the other 13% are us—the ones who think we can fix other people's anxiety with snacks and useless facts."
"Is that a real study?" I ask, half laughing.
"No," Maeson replies, "but it sounds convincing, doesn't it?"
Konnor leans toward me with a conspiratorial look.
"What if Melissa didn't come alone? What if her boyfriend followed her here? Are you ready for that?"
"Konnor, she's a heartbroken woman. If her boyfriend followed her, he's already a dead man at this point," I reply, unable to hold back a laugh.
Maeson chuckles quietly, then looks at me with that expression that blends humor and tenderness.
"If it helps, I brought my best 'non-judgmental friend who carries luggage' face. And Konnor brought... well, his usual chaos."
"And Zane brought his chips," I add.
"My chips are my emotional defense system," says Zane, hugging the bag like it's a stuffed animal.
We laugh. For a moment, the noise of the airport dissolves into this bubble of improvised humor. My anxiety doesn't disappear, but it settles more comfortably among jokes and knowing glances.
And just as I'm about to thank them for distracting me, the loudspeaker announces the arrival of the flight from LA. My heart races. Maeson gently touches my arm.
"Let's go. Time to welcome the heroine of international drama."
Konnor stands up, stretches his arms like he's about to run a marathon.
"Let the telenovela begin!"
Suddenly, like the whirlwind she is, Melissa appears without any announcement, in the middle of the chaos of people, signs, and shouting. Wearing an Alo Yoga tracksuit that fits her like it was custom-made. And without a doubt, dark circles under her eyes that say she's been crying for at least three days.
I jump into her arms without hesitation, and we melt into a hug that seems to speak of all our love—of how, really, being apart any longer was impossible, and that in the end, painful as it was, Nick's betrayal was what we both needed to be together again.
We stay like that, not thinking about anything around us, until a small giggle from Konnor and a throat-clearing from Maeson bring us back to reality. We turn, and I find myself facing a very peculiar scene.
Maeson seems to be processing the kind of relationship I have with Melissa. Konnor watches us, amused, as if waiting for an invitation to join the hug. And Zane... Zane doesn't look at us. He only looks at her, with a new expression on this guy who seems to have a thousand layers to uncover. He watches her with a tone of humor and unexpected attraction, as if Melissa just opened a door he didn't know he wanted to walk through.
When no one says anything, Konnor decides to break the ice with his usual humor:
"Well, if this were a movie, this would be the moment I interrupt the hug with a ridiculous line and everyone hates me for ruining it. So... anyone want chips?"
Melissa laughs through her tears, still hugging me, and I feel the tension dissolve just a little. Maeson settles beside us and says, with a warm smile:
"I don't know what happened over there, but if you crossed half the planet for this woman, it must be a story worth hearing. And if not, we've got chips and time."
Konnor looks at him, surprised.
"Was that tenderness, Maeson? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he replies, looking at Melissa kindly. "I just think there are moments that don't need analysis. This seems like one of them."
Melissa looks at him, grateful. And I do too. Because sometimes, what you need most is someone who understands without asking for explanations.
Melissa pulls away from me, wipes her face with the sleeve of her jacket, and looks at the guys for the first time. Konnor smiles at her like they've been friends forever. Maeson nods politely. And Zane... Zane doesn't say a word.
He just looks at her. Not with boldness, not with urgency. He looks at her like he's seeing something he didn't expect to find. Like Melissa is a song he didn't know, but already wants to hear again.
She notices, of course. But she doesn't say anything. She just adjusts her bag on her shoulder and says:
"Thanks for coming so quickly, and without knowing me. But hey, I'm here now, and I'm not going to fall apart, don't worry haha. Shall we go? I want to talk to my best friend, eat, and sleep."
Zane reacts like he's waking up from a trance.
"Yeah. My car's outside. It has space for everything... whatever you brought." He says, eyeing her luggage with a hint of concern. Maybe his car wasn't enough.
Konnor steps forward, carrying one of the suitcases.
"Does this weigh more than my self-esteem? Because if it does, I need backup."
Melissa smiles. And I do too—for the first time in hours.
And as we leave the airport, with suitcases, chips, and emotions in tow, I think about how some crossings aren't planned, some songs aren't forgotten, and some beginnings arrive without asking permission.