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Chapter 7 - Chapter 7 : The Morning After

Morning light slid softly through the curtains, painting the room gold. I could hear the quiet hum of traffic outside, the sound of a world already awake — but I wasn't ready to leave that warmth yet. Nathan was still asleep beside me, one arm across my waist like he didn't want the moment to end either. I stared at his face for a while — his peaceful expression, the little smile that came when he dreamt. I didn't know what the future held for us, but right there, it felt like calm after years of storms.

When he finally opened his eyes, he just looked at me and smiled. "Good morning, Elena," he said in that soft voice that always sounds like a song.

"Good morning," I replied, still half-lost in my thoughts.

He touched my face gently, "You think too much… again."

I laughed quietly. "Can't help it."

We spent the morning talking about everything and nothing — how the night felt, how peaceful it was, how weird it is that comfort can come from someone new when you're still healing from someone old. He didn't rush me, didn't demand words I couldn't give. He just listened.

By noon, Nathan said he wanted to play me something before heading back to his school. He brought out his phone, plugged in the small speaker, and looked at me with that excited artist look in his eyes.

"I've been working on two new songs," he said. "I want you to tell me which one hits harder — honestly."

The first one was soft, slow, full of emotions that reminded me of sunsets and second chances. The second one was faster — it had this fire in it, this confident energy that made my chest feel light. He sat there, watching me the whole time, waiting for my reaction.

When the second one ended, I just smiled and said, "That one… it feels like you."

He grinned like a kid who just got praised by his favorite teacher. "So that's your favorite?"

"Yes," I said, nodding. "That's the one."

He played it again, this time singing along quietly, looking straight at me. And maybe that was the first time I realized how much music connects to emotion — how it can say what words sometimes can't.

Afterward, he stood up, stretched, and sighed. "I wish I could stay longer," he said softly.

I looked at him, trying not to sound sad. "I know… but you have to go back. We both do."

He smiled, walked closer, and pulled me in for a hug. "I'll come back soon," he whispered into my hair. "Don't overthink. Just… be happy, okay?"

I nodded, though inside, I already felt that tiny ache — that fear of distance, of how quickly things can change.

We walked to the bus park together. He held my hand like he didn't want to let go, and when his ride finally arrived, he kissed my forehead and said, "I'll text you when I get there. Take care of yourself, Elena."

And just like that, he was gone — back to his world, his school, his music.

I stood there for a while, watching the bus disappear into the dusty road, wondering what love really means — if it's the peace someone brings, or the fear that they might leave.

That evening, I played his song again. The one I chose.

And for the first time in a long while, I smiled — not because everything was perfect, but because maybe, just maybe, something real was beginning.

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