When Distance Has a Name

Back in Chicago, the city didn't welcome Elena with open arms. It greeted her with cold winds, traffic, and the sharp click of high heels on pavement. She'd only been gone a few days, yet everything felt foreign—except the ache in her chest.

Her interview at Larkin & Wells was polished and professional. She wore her best blazer, smiled at the right moments, and gave confident answers. But halfway through, when the recruiter asked, "Where do you see yourself in five years?"—she faltered.

Not in an office. Not drowning in deadlines and design briefs that didn't matter.

She thought of Aidan. Of slow mornings by the lake. Of art that didn't ask for perfection, only honesty.

"I'm still figuring that out," she answered truthfully.

Later, walking back through the rain-slick streets, she called him.

"I think I tanked it."

"No," Aidan said gently. "You told the truth. That's not failure."

He was back home in Havenbrook, finishing his final commission before the residency. They spoke every day, shared updates, late-night laughter, and silences that didn't feel empty.

But still, the distance had a name. It was called uncertainty.

---

Meanwhile, in Havenbrook…

Aidan stood in his studio, painting a new canvas. It was Elena—only it wasn't. It was how he saw her: fearless in fragility, fierce in love, free even when bound by expectations. His brush moved like it knew her better than he did.

He hated that he couldn't touch her. That the phone wasn't enough.

And when he received an email from the Florence residency, confirming his spot, the weight of choice dropped onto his shoulders like a storm.

---

Two Weeks Later

Elena sat on her balcony with a letter in her lap. It was Aidan's.

I know we said we'd figure it out. But love, even ours, needs space to breathe. Florence is a dream I've waited years to chase. But so are you. If we're meant to be, we'll make it—not by holding on too tightly, but by trusting what we are.

She cried—not out of sadness, but from the aching beauty of his honesty.

She wrote back:

Go. Make art. Live your dream. I'll be here—building mine. And if we ever meet in the middle again… it'll be enough.