New Terms of Love

They didn't jump back into love. They didn't try to pretend nothing had happened. Elena and Aidan sat on opposite ends of her couch like they were strangers again, but this time, there was no hostility—only history.

He watched her pour them tea, hands still as she passed him a cup.

"Thank you," he said, voice roughened by travel and nerves.

"For coming back?" she asked.

"No," he said. "For not closing the door."

They talked for hours—about the accident, the mess of their first months, the silence that followed, and the lessons the distance had taught them. Aidan didn't apologize with words alone. He came back with actions: honesty, patience, humility.

"I went to Florence to find peace," he said. "But I realized peace doesn't mean anything if it doesn't include you."

Elena didn't respond right away. She took a sip of tea, letting the warmth fill her chest.

"You broke me, Aidan. But I also broke myself… chasing things I thought I needed. I kept making you the villain, when really, I was afraid of being seen."

Aidan leaned forward, fingers brushing against hers gently. "Then let's see each other this time. Fully. No lies. No pride."

She looked into his eyes, finding no promises of perfection—only a man who had changed. And she had, too.

"I'm not rushing this," she said. "I won't let myself fall blindly again."

"You don't have to," he said, squeezing her hand. "Let's walk. Not run."

And they did.

That night, he slept on her couch. She brought him a blanket, and he pulled it up with a smile.

Elena stood in her bedroom doorway for a long time, watching him, heart pounding.

She whispered, "Welcome home," and closed the door.