One Year Later.
> *Sometimes love is loud like war. > Sometimes, it’s just two hands brushing in a quiet kitchen, > and the knowledge that nothing has to be survived anymore.* --- ### **Scene 1: The Apartment in Geneva** It was small. High up. Windy windows, light wood floors, one crooked bookshelf that leaned like it had seen better decades. But it was **home**. Haruto stood in the kitchen, half-asleep, shirt wrinkled, tea kettle whistling. He wore glasses now—just sometimes—and Aoi said they made him look too honest. She stepped in barefoot, still pulling her sweater over her tank top, her hair a little messy, her mouth sleep-warm. “Don’t forget your lecture,” she mumbled. “I won’t,” he replied. “Don’t forget your international policy draft.” “I won’t,” she echoed, yawning. “Also
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