A few months have passed. Winter has arrived, wrapping the world in soft, white layers. The streets Maya once wandered in tank tops and sandals now lie under a delicate blanket of snow. The air is different, quieter, but there's warmth in the way life has settled.
Maya, who once painted in stolen moments, now teaches art full-time, her days spent in the quiet hum of creativity. Her commissions arrive like whispers from across the country, reminders that dreams can stretch beyond what she imagined. Liam, still in his business management program, finds peace in the rhythm of study and the comforting sound of her sketches. They've carved out a life together in a small apartment above the bookstore downtown—a place where books line the shelves like old friends, and the windowsills catch the last bits of sunlight before it fades into evening. It's not grand, not perfect, but it's enough. It's theirs.
They argue, of course. About forgotten laundry and paint stains on the kitchen table. But those moments are softer now, like the small cracks in a well-worn book, the kind that hold the story together more than they tear it apart. They've learned that love isn't about perfection, not about flawless days or neat lives. It's about showing up, day after day, in the spaces between chaos and calm. It's about letting each other breathe, giving room to grow, but always, always choosing to stay.
And then, one quiet morning, as sunlight filters through the curtains, and the smell of pancakes fills the air, Liam asks a question. It's simple, without fireworks or fanfare, just a soft offering between sleepy kisses.
And Maya, with her heart full, answers with a quiet yes. Because when summer ends, the real story begins.