Chapter 9
1591 Words
The night before her flight, the world felt suspended — like time itself was holding its breath.
Tori stood in the middle of her room, arms wrapped around herself, staring at the open suitcase on her bed. Everything inside was neatly folded: dresses, journals, her favorite mug wrapped in a scarf so it wouldn’t break. Each item felt heavier than it should have, as though her clothes carried every memory, every decision, every bit of fear that had brought her here.
She ran a hand over the stack of shirts, feeling the cotton under her fingertips. They looked like strangers to her now. Ordinary things, yet suddenly foreign.
Each one felt like a goodbye.
A silent declaration that she was choosing herself. Her path. Her future.
And yet, the air felt thick with the ghost of everything she might be leaving behind.
Down the hall, she could hear Vios moving around — faint footsteps, the clink of a mug, the sound of running water. He hadn’t said much since she confirmed she was going. He’d helped her pack, offering quiet suggestions about what she might need in Bali. He’d fixed the broken zipper on her travel bag without her asking. He’d made her tea and set it on the bedside table, the steam curling like a soft exhale.
But his silence was louder than any protest.
It gnawed at her.
She finally found him in the garage. The single light overhead threw everything in soft gold, turning the room into something sacred, quiet.
Vios was wiping down the hood of his car, slow and methodical, as though he needed to keep his hands busy or risk falling apart. The sharp scent of oil and metal filled the air.
Tori stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him. The line of his shoulders, the way his hair fell into his eyes as he worked. There was something unbearably tender about him like this.
“I leave tomorrow,” she said softly.
He didn’t look up. “I know.”
The rag moved over the car again, long slow strokes, the sound of fabric against metal filling the silence.
“I thought you’d fight harder,” she admitted, her voice small.
That made him pause.
He set the rag down and turned to face her fully. His expression wasn’t angry, wasn’t cold — just quiet. Resigned, but steady.
“I did,” he said simply. “Every day since I met you. I fought to get close to you, to stay close to you. To make you let me in. But I realized something.”
She stepped closer, her heart hammering. “What?”
“That love isn’t about holding on,” he said, his voice low and sure. “It’s about letting someone fly and trusting they’ll come back.”
Her throat tightened painfully.
“What if I don’t?” she asked, the words coming out barely above a whisper.
He reached into his pocket, pulled something out, and walked over to her.
When he placed it in her palm, she felt the cool weight of it first — small, solid, real.
It was a pendant. Silver. Shaped like a crescent moon.
“My mom gave me this before she passed,” he said quietly. His eyes flicked down to the charm, then back to her. “She said it reminded her that even in darkness, there’s light.”
Tori’s chest ached so hard it almost hurt to breathe.
“Why are you giving it to me?” she asked, her voice trembling.
His thumb brushed against her fingers, closing them gently over the pendant.
“Because you’re my light,” he said simply. “And I want you to carry it. Not as a promise — not something that ties you here — but as a reminder. That you’re not alone. Even when you’re far away.”
Tori’s eyes stung. The tears came before she could stop them.
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. His shirt smelled like soap and rain, like home.
“I’m scared,” she whispered, her words muffled against him.
His arms tightened around her. “So am I,” he admitted, his chin resting on the top of her head. “But I believe in you. And I believe in us.”
They stood there for a long time. The hum of the garage faded into silence, the world shrinking until there was nothing but the sound of their breathing, the steady beat of his heart under her cheek.
Later that night, back in her room, Tori found herself lying beside him. The moonlight spilled in through the curtains, painting everything silver-blue.
She traced the lines of his face with her fingertip — his cheekbone, the curve of his jaw, the scar near his eyebrow she’d never asked about but always noticed. She wanted to memorize everything.
Every curve. Every shadow.
“I’ll come back,” she said softly.
His eyes met hers, warm and unwavering.
“I’ll be here,” he replied.
She kissed him then — slow, lingering, like pressing a flower between the pages of a book so she could keep it forever.
And when she finally fell asleep, the pendant was still clutched tight in her hand.
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Perfect! Here's a bittersweet morning-after scene that picks up right where we left off — quiet, tender, and cinematic, with that gut-punch goodbye you can feel in your chest.
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The morning came too soon.
Sunlight spilled through the curtains in thin, pale lines, brushing over Tori’s face. The room felt warmer, softer than it had the night before, but the weight in her chest hadn’t gone anywhere.
She lay still for a moment, listening to Vios’s breathing beside her. Slow. Even.
She almost let herself pretend. Pretend she wasn’t leaving. Pretend today was just another lazy morning, that they’d get up, make coffee, and spend the day bickering about who got the last pancake.
But her suitcase sat by the door like a quiet witness, a reminder of the hours slipping away.
When she finally moved, Vios stirred too. His eyes blinked open, warm brown meeting hers, and for a second, there was a flash of that usual, lazy smile — the one she loved.
Then he remembered.
And the smile faded into something quieter.
“You don’t have to get up yet,” he said softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair off her face.
“I do,” she whispered.
She sat up slowly, every movement feeling heavier than it should. Vios followed her to the edge of the bed, watching as she started gathering the last of her things — chargers, headphones, the cardigan she always wore on flights.
He didn’t try to stop her.
Instead, he helped. Quietly folding the cardigan when she couldn’t make her hands work. Making sure the zipper on her suitcase didn’t catch this time. Checking her passport and slipping it into the side pocket.
When everything was ready, they stood there for a moment, facing each other in the doorway. Neither of them moved.
“I can drive myself,” she said, almost a question.
“I know,” he replied, and then added, “But I want to take you.”
The drive to the airport was almost silent. The radio played softly, some slow acoustic song that only made everything feel heavier.
Tori watched the streets go by — familiar corners, coffee shops, the little bookstore where they’d first run into each other by accident. Each one felt like a little piece of their story, and with every passing block, it felt like she was tearing herself out of it.
When they pulled into the departure lane, her throat was so tight she could barely breathe.
Vios parked, killed the engine, and got out. He opened the trunk for her suitcase, his movements slow, deliberate.
When they stood face to face again, the world around them blurred — travelers rushing by, wheels clicking on pavement, flight announcements echoing faintly through the open doors.
“You’ll be late if you don’t go in,” he said.
“I know.”
Neither of them moved.
Then, suddenly, Tori closed the distance between them and threw her arms around his neck.
The kiss that followed was soft, slow, but it burned all the way through her.
When they finally broke apart, his forehead rested against hers, his hands still cupping her face like he didn’t want to let go.
“Text me when you land,” he murmured.
“I will.”
“And when you can’t sleep. And when you miss me.”
A shaky laugh escaped her. “That’s going to be a lot of texting.”
“Good,” he said, his voice rough. “I want to know every minute you think of me.”
She pulled back just enough to look at him one more time, memorizing the way the morning light hit his face, the way his eyes held hers like they were saying everything he couldn’t.
“I’ll come back,” she said again, her voice steadier this time.
“I’ll be here,” he promised.
She turned, grabbing the handle of her suitcase, and started toward the terminal.
She didn’t look back.
But she felt his gaze on her until she disappeared through the doors.
And for the first time since she got the offer, she didn’t feel torn.
She felt like she was flying.
- Writer
