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📖 Chapter 9 — Roads That Lead to Us
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It was Adrian's idea.
They were sitting at Mira's cramped dining table late one night, surrounded by invoices, lease drafts, and the leftover remains of takeout curry. Mira was rubbing her temples, exhausted. Adrian had been reviewing a contract for her, pen tapping absently against the paper.
Then he looked up and said, almost too casually, "How would you feel about getting away for a few days? Just us."
She blinked. "Like… a vacation?"
"More like… an experiment," he said, lips quirking. "A tiny test run. Seeing what it feels like to really live side by side. Without your building calling you every five minutes about clogged drains, or my phone buzzing with corporate nonsense."
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Her heart fluttered.
She realized she hadn't truly left the city—her building, her routine—since she bought it. As if moving even a few hours away might mean everything would crumble in her absence.
But the thought of being somewhere else with Adrian, just them against the world…
It was too tempting.
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So the next weekend, they packed her small car. Mira was embarrassingly giddy—folding sweaters into the back seat, fussing over road snacks, checking for the fifth time that she had the building's emergency contact list in case her tenants needed her.
Adrian just leaned against the car door, arms crossed, watching her with that easy smile that always managed to steady her racing thoughts.
"Relax, Song. You've earned it."
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They drove north, out of the dense city into gentle rolling countryside where bare trees reached like delicate ink drawings into a soft winter sky. Mira kept turning to watch Adrian's hands on the steering wheel, feeling a warm tug in her chest.
This was the same boy who used to sneak out of dorms with her in school, buying cheap fries at midnight. Now here he was—solid, laughing, sharing stories of company boardrooms and mergers, yet still grinning like a teenager when she teased him.
She was so hopelessly in love it almost scared her.
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🌸
They arrived at a small lakeside guesthouse just before dusk. It was rustic but beautiful—pale wooden siding, big windows that overlooked dark water with tiny ripples catching the evening light.
Inside was one cozy room with a wide bed, soft quilts, and a little table set with wildflowers.
Mira stood in the doorway, feeling her heart flutter and settle all at once.
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Their days fell into a gentle rhythm.
Morning walks by the shore with fog rising off the water, their hands laced together in chilly air. Long breakfasts of jam on thick bread, coffee so hot it burned her tongue. Afternoons exploring sleepy village lanes, poking through tiny artisan shops, Mira laughing when Adrian tried on ridiculous wool hats.
At night, they curled up under heavy quilts, whispering about nothing and everything until they both drifted off.
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One evening, they brought dinner back to the guesthouse—cheeses and olives, a bottle of local wine. Adrian spread it out across the bed with all the ceremony of a royal feast.
Mira laughed so hard she nearly cried when he insisted on toasting "to our shared empire of two."
But halfway through, her laughter faded.
Because she realized this simple, silly moment was the happiest she'd ever been.
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Adrian seemed to feel it too. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, thumb lingering on her cheek.
"You know what I want?" he murmured.
"Hm?"
"A hundred more nights just like this. Quiet. Yours. Ours."
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Mira's throat tightened.
She thought about how many futures she'd once imagined—polished parties, strategic engagements, an immaculate house staff to hide behind. None of them had felt like home.
But this? Crumbs in the sheets, her feet tangling with his, candlelight flickering off the wood walls…
This was the life that felt impossibly right.
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They talked for hours that night, voices low and intimate.
About what they'd need in a future house—room for her plants, maybe a messy little corner office for her building ledgers. A kitchen big enough for him to experiment with ridiculous pasta sauces.
And someday, much farther down the road, a vague "us plus one or two more." Adrian's eyes went soft and hopeful at the idea.
It terrified and thrilled Mira in equal measure.
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🌸
Their last morning there, Mira stood by the lake alone while Adrian settled the guesthouse bill.
The wind was sharp on her face, carrying the faint scent of pine. She watched the way sunlight sparked on the water and tried to store the image somewhere deep inside—proof that life could be gentle.
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When Adrian joined her, he slipped his arms around her from behind, chin resting on her shoulder.
"Penny for them?" he asked.
She leaned back into his chest. "Just… realizing I want this. Not just vacations or stolen weekends. I want boring days with you too. Fighting over how to stack dishes. Fixing squeaky doors. Grocery shopping at midnight because we forgot milk."
He tightened his hold.
"That's all I've ever wanted, Mira."
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When she turned in his arms and kissed him, it wasn't like the hungry, half-despairing kisses they'd shared back when everything was uncertain.
It was soft. Unrushed. Certain.
Like a promise that no matter how many storms the world might throw at them, they'd keep choosing this.
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🌸
They drove home slowly, windows cracked despite the chill, music drifting between them. Mira rested her hand on Adrian's knee, watching the countryside give way to city edges.
Her phone buzzed more than once—her building needed her, a tenant wanted to confirm a paint choice, a tiny plumbing leak was reported. But none of it scared her anymore.
She could build a life of love and still be responsible. Still be strong.
And she didn't have to do it alone.
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🌸
Back at her apartment that evening, Mira set down her bags and looked around.
Same peeling spot on the doorframe, same squeaky cabinet hinge.
But everything felt different.
Adrian came up behind her, looping his arms around her waist, nuzzling into her hair.
"You realize," he said, voice warm with amusement, "we're dangerously close to becoming disgustingly domestic."
Mira laughed, twisting in his hold. "You love it."
"Yeah," he breathed, pressing a kiss just below her ear. "Yeah, I really do."
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They spent the evening unpacking and cooking pasta together. Mira burned the garlic, Adrian dropped a glass, and they both ended up laughing so hard they nearly sat down on the kitchen floor.
Later, with her head on his chest and his heartbeat a steady rhythm under her ear, Mira let herself truly believe they could have it all—love, work, small triumphs and small failures, a sunroom someday, maybe even a little chaos from children's toys littering the hall.
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For the first time in her life, she wasn't chasing someone else's idea of a perfect future.
She was building her own.
Brick by imperfect brick.
And every moment with Adrian proved it was exactly enough.