Emma
The pale light threaded through the branches, soft at first, then bolder, as though the sun couldn't wait to chase away the night. I felt it on my skin before I saw it, a creeping warmth that reminded me of everything I wanted to ignore: the world didn't stop for us.
I shifted in Tommy's arms, reluctant, my cheek pressed to the steady beat of his chest. He held me tighter for a second, as though he could keep me here just by wanting it enough.
"Don't," he whispered, his voice rough from sleep or sadness — I couldn't tell which. "Not yet."
"I have to," I murmured, though the words scraped against my throat. "They'll notice I'm gone."
We both knew the truth: my parents would be up already, bustling through the last of the boxes, preparing for tomorrow's drive north. And if they found me missing or here — with him — it would undo everything we'd tried to keep private.
I sat up slowly, the blanket damp with dew beneath me, the North Star cool against my collarbone. My fingers closed around it instinctively, like holding on to him in another form.
He watched me, silent, his eyes shadowed but intent. For a moment I almost faltered, almost lay back down and let the sun rise on us one more time. But dawn was merciless — it kept coming, no matter what we wanted.
"I don't want to go," I confessed, my voice so small I barely heard it myself.
"Then don't," he said, sudden and fierce, sitting up to face me. "Stay. Just stay here, Emma. With me."
The rawness in his voice made my chest ache. I reached for his hand, threading my fingers through his, grounding us both. "You know I can't. My family —"
His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking. "It's not fair."
"No," I agreed softly. "It isn't."
For a moment, we just sat like that, hands clasped, the early light spilling across our faces. I studied him as though memorising: the curve of his mouth, the dark sweep of his lashes, the stubborn line of his jaw. I tried to etch it all into memory, a portrait I could carry with me long after this place was gone.
"I'll write to you," I said, forcing the words past the tightness in my throat. "Every week, like you said. Like soldiers did."
His eyes softened at that, though his grip on my hand didn't loosen. "And I'll write back. Every letter. I don't care how long it takes, or what my father says. I'll find a way."
I nodded, swallowing hard. "Then it won't be goodbye."
"No," he said, leaning closer, his forehead brushing mine. "Never goodbye."
I closed my eyes, breathing him in, memorising the faint scent of soap and grass clinging to his shirt. His lips brushed mine, slow and aching, a kiss that felt like it carried the weight of every promise we had spoken. I wanted to freeze the world right there, to keep that kiss, that closeness, forever suspended.
But when we parted, the light had strengthened. The forest no longer belonged to the night — it belonged to the day, to the inevitable, to everything pulling me away from him.
I pulled back reluctantly, slipping my hand from his though it felt like tearing something inside me. I stood, brushing dew from my jeans, and looked down at him. He was still on the blanket, looking up at me with eyes that seemed older than his years.
"Emma," he said, my name like a prayer.
I forced a smile, shaky but real. "I'll see you again. Somehow."
He rose then, closing the space between us, and for one last moment he gathered me into his arms. His hold was fierce, desperate, and I clung back just as tightly. It wasn't a goodbye hug. It was a vow, wordless but unbreakable.
When I finally stepped away, I couldn't look back. I knew if I did, I'd run to him again and refuse to ever leave. So I fixed my gaze on the thinning shadows of the trees and walked. Each step felt heavier, like the earth itself resisted letting me go.
The North Star rested against my skin, a cool, steady weight, reminding me of what we'd promised in the dark. I touched it as the light of dawn broke fully over the woods, and though my heart ached, I carried him with me.
I didn't dare cry until the trees opened to the path leading home.
---
Tommy
The woods felt different without her in them. Lighter, maybe, but not in any way that mattered. Just emptier.
I stood rooted where she had left me, my hand still tingling from where hers had been. The air was cool and damp, carrying the faintest trace of her — wildflowers, soap, the warmth of her skin lingering on my shirt.
I wanted to call after her. Wanted to chase her down, drag her back into my arms, keep her here where I knew she belonged. But I didn't. Because loving Emma meant more than wanting — it meant letting her go when she had to.
I lowered myself back onto the blanket, my legs heavy, my chest tight. The imprint of her body was still there, faint in the dew, a hollow where her warmth had been. I pressed my palm against it as though I could hold onto the last of her.
"She'll write," I whispered into the stillness. The trees didn't answer, but I clung to the words anyway.
I tilted my head back, staring up at the sky as it shifted from pale pink to gold. I felt tears stream down my face, but I didn't brush them away.
I watched a new morning take over. A new day. For everyone else, just another morning. For me, it was the first morning without her.
I touched the edge of my shirt where she'd clutched me so desperately, like I was her anchor. And I thought of the necklace around her neck — my North Star — glinting faintly in the dawn as she walked away. She was carrying a piece of me with her now.
Maybe that was what would save me. Knowing that no matter how far she went, no matter how many miles or weeks stretched between us, she had something to remind her of this night, of us.
I lay back against the damp blanket, eyes burning, letting the sunlight creep across my face. The fight with my father, the campaign with Aunt Stephanie — all of it felt far away for now. The only thing that mattered was the ache in my chest where she had been, and the stubborn thread of hope that refused to break.
This wasn't the end.
It couldn't be.
Because when you found your North Star, you didn't let go. You followed it — no matter how long, no matter how far.
And I would.
I swore it to the trees, to the rising sun, to the fading warmth of her touch still clinging to me.
I would find her again.