The next morning, I woke up to sunlight spilling across the room — warm, lazy, golden.
Nathan was already awake, sitting by the window with his notebook open. His headphones rested around his neck, and I could faintly hear the echo of a beat.
He looked peaceful — the kind of peace that only comes after a long night of honesty.
When he noticed me, he smiled. "Good morning, sunshine."
"Morning," I murmured, voice still sleepy. "You're writing again?"
"Yeah," he said softly. "Trying to capture last night before it fades."
I smiled, watching him scribble. There was something sacred about it — how he turned memories into melodies.
After breakfast, he played me two new songs.
One was tender — soft guitar, raw emotion, lyrics that sounded like confessions.
The other was sharp — drums, rhythm, pride, a touch of his old fire.
He looked at me after both. "Which one should I drop next?"
I listened again, eyes closed this time.
Then I pointed to the softer one. "That one," I said. "It feels honest."
He smiled. "Honest, huh? Then I'll call it Unspoken."
I laughed. "That sounds like something I'd name."
"Maybe you're rubbing off on me," he teased.
The day drifted quietly — laughter, music, stolen glances.
Until the peace broke.
His phone buzzed. Once. Twice. Then again.
He ignored it at first, but the fourth time, he sighed and reached for it.
His expression changed.
I watched the shift — the small furrow of his brows, the tension in his jaw.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
He hesitated. Then, reluctantly, he showed me the screen.
It was Marcus.
Marcus: "Heard you've been busy lately. So this is where your time goes?"
Marcus: "You and Elena, huh? Didn't take long."
Marcus: "Be careful, Nathan. Some people only love the part of you that shines."
My stomach tightened.
Nathan sighed. "Ignore him," he muttered, tossing the phone aside. "He just wants a reaction."
But the words lingered — heavy, sharp, meant to bruise.
I could feel them hanging between us.
"Do you think he's right?" I asked quietly.
He looked at me, surprised. "About what?"
"About… me."
He stood, came closer, and cupped my face.
"Elena," he said slowly, "if you only loved me for the shine, you would've left long ago — when the lights went out."
My eyes softened. "Then promise me you won't let him get into your head."
"I won't," he said. But his voice wasn't as sure as his words.
Later that evening, while I was in the shower, he took another call.
When I came out, towel around me, he looked distant — like he'd just been reminded of something painful.
"What is it?"
He hesitated, then said, "Marcus wants to meet. He says it's about the label, but I know it's more than that."
"Do you have to go?"
He nodded. "Yeah. But don't worry, I'll be back before night."
He left a few minutes later — a kiss on my forehead, a soft "be safe," and then silence.
I sat on the bed, heart heavy. I didn't trust Marcus. Not anymore.
Something about the way he resurfaced felt like a shadow trying to dim our light.
Hours passed. The sky turned deep blue. Still no call, no text.
When he finally returned, it was almost midnight.
He looked… different.
Tired. Frustrated. Eyes darker than usual.
"What happened?" I asked.
He took a deep breath. "Marcus said he wants me to sign with him again. He offered money, promotion, a tour — everything I wanted before I met you."
"Before you met me," I repeated quietly.
He noticed my tone and stepped closer. "Elena, I turned him down. But he said something I can't stop thinking about."
"What did he say?"
"That love is the easiest way to distract an artist from his destiny."
Silence filled the room.
I didn't know whether to be angry or sad. Maybe both.
I looked up at him. "And do you believe that?"
He hesitated for a moment too long.
Then he said, "I believe love can be a test."
I smiled faintly, though it hurt. "Then I guess we'll see if we pass."
He reached out, pulled me into his arms, and whispered, "I don't want to lose myself again, but I also don't want to lose you."
I held him tightly. "Then find a way to keep both."
That night, neither of us slept much.
He stared at the ceiling. I stared at the spaces between us.
And somewhere in the quiet, I realized —
love isn't just about how close you are.
It's about how much you're willing to stay, even when something tries to pull you away.