Epilogue

Two Years Later – Kyoto, Japan

The cherry trees were in bloom again.

This time, they stood in Maruyama Park, Kyoto—beneath lanterns strung across old wooden bridges and the sound of gentle koto music drifting from a nearby tea house.

Lila tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, camera in hand. She'd just finished a week-long poetry workshop with local university students, and now she was waiting—soft-eyed, heart full—for the man who never missed a sunset.

River appeared around the bend, carrying two steaming cups of matcha and his usual half-smile. His hair was longer now, face a bit more sun-kissed, as if the world itself had softened him. He passed her a cup and tilted his head, eyes on the trees.

"Still your favorite season?" he asked.

She nodded. "Still our story."

They sat in silence for a moment, legs dangling off the edge of a stone step, watching pink petals fall like memories.

Lila broke the silence first. "I got an email this morning. The book's going into its third reprint."

River smiled, but not because of the book. "That's what happens when you speak the truth."

"And when you photograph it," she said, nudging his side.

He set down his cup and pulled something from his bag. A thin, leather-bound album—unfinished, unshared. On the cover, embossed in gold, were the words: Volume II: Wherever We Go.

Lila opened it. Inside were photos of foreign streets, handwritten verses on napkins, candid shots of her laughing in doorways, letters he'd written in hotel rooms.

"It's ours," he said. "Not for shelves. Just for us."

Her throat tightened. "It's perfect."

River turned to her then. "You ready to keep writing it?"

Always.

And as the sun dipped behind the pagoda roofs, casting golden shadows across the blooming trees, they kissed. Quiet. Certain. Still choosing each other.

Still writing.

Beneath the cherry lights.