Somewhere Soft

"Not every escape is running. Sometimes it's simply choosing peace on purpose."

The morning after the showcase, Yuna woke to a sky so blue it looked painted.

Sunlight spilled across her bedsheets, and for the first time in weeks, her chest didn't feel tight when she inhaled. The tension she'd carried—quiet, constant—had softened into something else.

Relief, maybe.

Or just space.

A text pinged on her phone.

Eli: You up for a short trip today? Just us. No stress. No essays.

Yuna: Where are we going?

Eli: Nowhere important. Just… somewhere soft.

By 11 a.m., they were on the train out of Havenbrook, bundled in jackets and knit scarves, takeaway drinks in hand. The city blurred past the window as the train rocked gently, lulling the world into hush.

Yuna rested her head on Eli's shoulder, eyes closed.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

"I feel like I've been holding my breath for a month. And now I don't know what to do with all this… quiet."

"Keep breathing," he said. "That's enough."

She smiled softly, fingers brushing his hand between them.

They arrived in a small riverside town called Linden Hills—a place Eli had found during one of his long solo drives when he needed quiet more than company.

The streets were lined with pastel-painted buildings, hanging baskets full of spring blooms, and antique shops that looked like they belonged in fairytales. There was a bakery on every corner, and an old record store that played jazz from its doorway.

"I feel like I stepped into a postcard," Yuna whispered.

"Right?" Eli said. "It's been my favorite secret."

"I love it already."

They wandered through a used bookstore first, the kind with creaky wooden floors and crooked shelves.

Eli got lost in the poetry section while Yuna found a tiny armchair tucked in the back, flipping through a faded collection of letters between two 1940s lovers separated by war.

She didn't notice Eli watching her until he knelt beside her chair.

"You have that face," he said.

"What face?"

"The one that looks like your heart is in two places."

She blinked. "What if I don't know where home is anymore?"

Eli sat on the floor beside her. "Maybe home isn't a place. Maybe it's something that shifts. Something that finds you in different forms."

She looked at him. "You feel like home."

His voice was barely a whisper. "So do you."

They ate lunch at a garden café with iron tables and vines crawling up the brick walls. They shared a plate of lemon-chive pasta and split a croissant with apricot jam. The air smelled like basil and sunlight.

Eli watched her over the rim of his coffee cup.

"What?"

"You seem lighter today," he said. "More… open."

"I think I let go of something," she replied. "Or maybe I just stopped running from it."

"You were never running," he said. "You were just moving carefully."

"I want to stop moving out of fear."

"Then don't," he said. "Move toward love instead."

They wandered by the river next, feet crunching against gravel and budding grass. Yuna leaned over the edge of the old wooden railing, watching the water shimmer beneath the sun.

She asked, "Did you ever think we'd end up like this?"

Eli was quiet for a moment. Then: "I didn't think I'd be lucky enough to."

"I'm not easy to love," she murmured.

"You are," he said. "You just weren't taught how to receive it."

Yuna turned to him. "And you? What do you need?"

Eli met her eyes. "Patience. Trust. Someone to believe I'm more than what I lost."

She stepped closer.

"I already do."

They found a small bridge tucked into the far edge of town, overlooking a field of daffodils. The breeze was soft, the kind that felt like it had something kind to say.

They sat side by side, feet dangling over the edge, hands tangled together.

"I want to write about this," Yuna said.

"You will."

"I want to remember how this felt. Right now. The sunlight. Your voice. The peace."

"You will," Eli said again. "But even if you don't, I'll remind you."

She smiled. "You're not always this poetic, you know."

"You bring it out of me."

The train ride home was quiet in the best way.

Yuna curled against him, tired but full.

Before she drifted off, she whispered, "Thank you for showing me soft things."

Eli kissed the top of her head.

"You deserve them."

That night, in her notebook, Yuna wrote:

"He didn't rescue me.He reminded me I was already worth saving."