What Comes After the Bloom

"Some love stories don't end in heartbreak. They end in distance, in silence, in almost."

Yuna was halfway through folding laundry when her phone rang.

She let it buzz three times before glancing at the screen.

Mom.

The name alone pulled her heart in two directions. She stared at it, still surprised she hadn't deleted the contact after high school. But something about that small, stubborn part of her — the part that still hoped — had left it there.

She answered.

"Hi," she said.

A long pause.

Then her mother's voice, soft, unsure. "I was wondering if we could meet."

Yuna sat down on the edge of her bed, her freshly folded sweater slipping onto the floor.

"Now?"

"I'm in town. Your aunt's birthday. I thought maybe…"

Yuna swallowed. "Okay. Where?"

They met at a tiny diner just off campus — the kind of place with old jukeboxes, vinyl booths, and chipped coffee cups. Yuna arrived early, hands cold despite the spring air. She ordered tea she wouldn't drink and sat by the window.

Her mother walked in ten minutes later, wearing the same perfume Yuna remembered from childhood. A scent that smelled like weekends and distance.

"Hi," her mom said.

Yuna nodded. "Hi."

They sat in silence for a while. The kind that wasn't peaceful — just full.

Then her mom spoke. "I read your piece. From the showcase."

Yuna braced herself.

"I cried," her mom said. "Because I saw what I didn't give you."

Yuna blinked.

"I didn't write it to make you feel guilty."

"I know. That's why it hit harder."

Yuna looked down. "I just needed to say those things. Even if you never read them."

Her mom's voice cracked. "I want to do better."

Yuna didn't reply.

Because how do you respond to someone trying now, after all the versions of you that needed it sooner?

They didn't stay long.

When her mother left, Yuna remained at the table, staring at the empty cup in front of her.

For once, she didn't cry.

She just… existed.

That evening, Eli found her sitting on the stairs outside her dorm, legs pulled to her chest.

He didn't ask. Just sat beside her, resting his chin on her shoulder.

"She showed up," Yuna said.

"I figured."

"It wasn't bad. It wasn't good. It just… was."

Eli nodded.

"And you?"

She turned to him. "What do you mean?"

"You okay with that?"

Yuna thought about it.

"I think I'm learning that closure doesn't always look like forgiveness. Sometimes it's just understanding where someone ends and where you begin."

The next few days passed in a blur of classes, assignments, café hours, and unfinished emails. Final exams crept closer, and so did the quiet pressure of deciding what came next.

Eli was applying to internships.

Yuna had been offered a spot in a summer creative residency in another city.

They hadn't talked about it yet.

But it hovered.

Heavy and invisible.

Mina brought it up first.

"You need to tell him," she said over lunch.

"I don't want to ruin what we have."

"Yuna. You leaving doesn't ruin love. Not telling the person you love? That does."

Yuna set her fork down. "I hate how fast everything is moving."

"Because you've found something worth holding still for."

That night, she finally told him.

They were sitting on the rooftop of Eli's building, sharing a blanket and a box of strawberries. The sky was full of stars — the kind you only noticed when you weren't looking for them.

"I got into a summer residency," she said. "In Portland. Eight weeks."

Eli didn't flinch. He just nodded. "That's amazing."

"I haven't said yes yet."

"Why not?"

"I didn't want to hurt you."

Eli looked at her, and his voice was quiet. "Yuna… don't shrink for me."

"I'm not shrinking. I'm just scared."

He reached for her hand. "So am I. But not of losing you. Of not being the kind of person who lets you grow."

Tears stung her eyes.

"I love you, Eli."

"I love you more."

She buried her face in his chest. "Why does love still feel like a risk?"

"Because it is. But I'd take it every time if it means getting you."

That night, she dreamt of distance. Of train stations and phone calls and missed connections. But she also dreamt of Eli — standing at the edge of her future, not asking her to stay, but waiting with open arms no matter what direction she came from.

The next morning, Yuna emailed the residency program.

Subject: Acceptance

Body:I'm ready to write something true.