Something Like Home

"Love doesn't always knock—it sometimes shows up with warm hands and a quiet voice, asking nothing but to stay."

The Monday after their studio trip, the air on campus carried a new kind of warmth—not just from the sun returning, but from the mood that followed Yuna everywhere. Like something inside her had opened quietly, letting light in through the cracks.

She was behind on a few assignments, but for once, she didn't spiral. She showed up. She focused. She let herself enjoy things.

Professor Hwang announced that the university literary review would release the accepted pieces in two weeks. Until then, they were expected to start planning a class showcase—a live reading night open to the entire department.

And this time, it wasn't optional.

"You're all writers now," he said. "Act like it."

Yuna felt a nervous flutter in her chest—but not dread. Just anticipation.

Mina turned to her, eyes wide. "We're gonna have to read again. I'm gonna faint. Hold my hand."

"You'll be fine," Yuna whispered back.

"I better wear waterproof mascara. Because tears will be shed."

Yuna laughed. "You're ridiculous."

"Correct. And you love me."

Later that day, in the campus library, Yuna was working on her outline for the reading when Eli texted.

Eli: Can you come by the café after your study session? I have something for you.

Yuna: Is it coffee?

Eli: …Maybe.

Yuna: I'm on my way.

When she arrived at Mocha Moon, the place was nearly empty. The late-afternoon lull had settled in, and the warm hum of the espresso machine blended softly with a playlist of acoustic covers.

Eli was waiting at their booth in the back, two drinks already on the table. Her chai latte. His usual black coffee.

And beside them—something wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

"What's this?" she asked, sliding into the seat.

"A gift. Sort of."

Yuna raised an eyebrow and untied the string. She peeled the paper back to reveal a notebook—bound in soft leather, the color of moss, with a silver clasp.

Her breath caught. "It's beautiful."

"It's for your next story," Eli said. "The one you haven't written yet."

She opened the first page.

He had already written something inside.

"Whatever you're afraid to say—write it anyway. I'll still be here."

Her throat tightened.

"You didn't have to—"

"I wanted to," he said. "You gave me your words. I wanted to give you a space to keep them."

She closed the notebook gently and held it to her chest.

"You really are going to make me fall for you."

He reached across the table and took her hand. "Only if you want to."

They didn't say much after that. They didn't need to.

He walked her home just after sunset, when the sky turned lavender and the world went quiet again.

Outside her door, she paused.

"I'm still scared sometimes," she admitted.

"Of what?"

"Of losing this. Of it changing too fast."

"It won't," Eli said. "We're building this slow. On purpose."

Yuna looked up at him, and the ache in her chest softened into something gentle.

"I think," she whispered, "I'm already in it. Whatever this is."

Eli leaned in.

And for the first time, their kiss felt less like a question and more like a promise.

The next morning, her roommate Mina barged into the kitchen with two iced coffees and a face full of chaotic energy.

"I have news," she announced.

"Why are you always dramatic before I've eaten?"

"Because I'm the best part of your morning," Mina said, grinning. "The lit review team emailed me. They're doing an early feature on a few authors. Like a spotlight. And YOU were picked."

Yuna dropped her spoon.

"What?"

"Yep. You and two others. They want to publish your piece early, before the full journal drops."

"I—I didn't even know they did that."

"It's rare. Which means… they loved you."

Yuna sat down slowly, hands shaking.

This was happening.

Her words. Her letter. Her story.

Being read.

By the time she reached her literature class, she was still in a daze. Professor Hwang winked at her as he passed, clearly already informed.

After class, she stayed behind to ask him about the showcase.

"What should I read?" she asked.

"Whatever terrified you the most to write," he said.

Yuna bit her lip. "That's a long list."

"Good," he smiled. "You're doing it right."

That night, she met Eli at his apartment again.

He had music playing—low, mellow, something with strings and soft piano. The kind of background that felt like breathing.

"I brought your notebook," she said. "I wrote the first line."

"Let me guess. Something beautiful and heartbreaking?"

She blushed. "Maybe."

He took it from her hands, opened to the page, and read silently.

His eyes lingered on the words.

"The bravest thing I ever did was stay soft in a world that tried to harden me."

Eli closed the notebook.

Then he looked at her with so much quiet admiration it nearly broke her.

"You're something else, Yuna."

She shook her head. "No. I'm just someone trying."

He moved closer. "Trying is the most honest thing you can do."

They cooked dinner—spaghetti again, with better success this time—and sat on the floor with the window cracked open. The night air smelled like spring dust and wood smoke, and the world felt like it had finally paused long enough to catch its breath.

Eli rested his head against the wall.

"I'm proud of you," he said.

"For what?"

"For everything. For staying. For growing. For choosing to be known."

Yuna leaned her head on his shoulder.

"I'm proud of you too," she whispered. "You're not hiding anymore."

He was quiet for a moment.

Then: "I want to be someone who stays."

"You already are."

Later, as they stood by the door, about to part, Eli looked at her with a strange seriousness.

"Yuna?"

"Yeah?"

"If this gets harder—if we start to hurt or misunderstand each other—will you tell me? Will you fight for it instead of walking away?"

She stared at him.

Then stepped close and took his hand.

"I won't leave. I've spent too long running. I'm staying this time."

He nodded.

And this time, their kiss wasn't a first.

It was a continuation.

Something deeper.

Something like home.