Eliora stood by the tall glass windows overlooking the city, her emerald gown loosened slightly at the shoulders, her heels discarded nearby. The cool glass pressed gently against her palm as she exhaled, her heart still racing from everything she had seen, felt, survived.
Alexander watched her quietly.
Without the crowd, without the expectations, he looked different—less guarded. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, tie gone, dark hair slightly undone. He carried the exhaustion of responsibility, but also something softer now… contentment.
"You were brave tonight," he said, breaking the silence.
Eliora turned slowly. "I didn't feel brave."
"That's usually when people are."
He stepped closer—not invading her space, just closing the distance enough that she felt him. Safe. Steady. Present.
"I didn't know rooms like that existed," she admitted. "Or worlds like yours."
"They don't matter," he replied. "Not the way you think."
She searched his face. "Then why did it feel like everyone was watching me?"
"Because they were," he said honestly. "And because you belong beside me—even if you don't see it yet."
The words settled into her chest, heavy and warm.
She looked away, overwhelmed. "I brought Emilia… I didn't want to be alone."
His expression softened. "I know. And you don't have to explain yourself to me."
That mattered more than he realized.
They moved to the sitting area, sharing a quiet drink, speaking about small things—music, childhood memories, places they loved but never visited. Nothing urgent. Nothing forced.
Time slowed.
When it was late—too late—Alexander called the driver himself.
"I won't keep you," he said gently, though the way he looked at her betrayed how much he wanted to.
At the door, she hesitated.
"Tonight felt… unreal," she said.
He lifted her hand, pressing a slow kiss to her knuckles. "Then let's make what comes next real."
She smiled—soft, genuine.
That night, when Eliora lay in bed, sleep came slowly.
She dreamed of silver light.
A thread, thin but unbreakable, wrapped gently around her wrist—tugging, guiding, never pulling too hard. On the other end, unseen but felt, was warmth. Protection. Recognition.
Miles away, Alexander dreamed too.
Of standing at an ocean he had never seen, calling a name he somehow knew by heart.
When morning came, neither of them understood it yet—but something had already changed.The ball had not been an ending.It had been an awakening.
The road home always felt longer than the map promised.
Five hours stretched endlessly ahead of Eliora as the bus hummed beneath her, carrying her away from the city she worked in and back toward the place that still held her roots. Outside the window, towns blurred into fields, fields into sky. Inside her chest, something glowed—soft, unfamiliar, alive.
She hadn't felt this lightness in years.
When she arrived, her mother was already waiting at the door, wrapped in a faded cardigan that smelled like home. Mia stood beside her, bouncing on her heels, too excited to stay still.
"Eliora!" Mia squealed, throwing her arms around her waist.
Their mother smiled as she pulled them both close. "You look… different," she said gently, studying Eliora's face. "Brighter. Like life is being kind to you again."
Eliora laughed softly, brushing it off as she dropped her bag. "Work is just less stressful, that's all."
Her mother didn't argue—but her eyes lingered, knowing and patient.
The next morning, Eliora took them both out.
The beach wasn't far, and the ocean greeted them with quiet waves and salt-kissed air. The sun hung low and warm, wrapping everything in gold. They walked barefoot along the shore, their laughter carried away by the wind.
Mia talked endlessly.
She told Eliora about her classmates, about who sat next to whom, who failed a test, who had a crush on their teacher. She reenacted arguments and friendships with dramatic flair, sending both Eliora and their mother into fits of laughter.
"You missed a lot," Mia said seriously.
"I know," Eliora replied, squeezing her hand. "But I'm here now."
Their mother watched them from a few steps behind, smiling softly, heart full.
For a few hours, the world felt whole again.
Thousands of miles away, Alexander sat beside a hospital bed.
His mother looked smaller than she had before—frail, yet still dignified. Her fingers were cool in his as doctors spoke quietly about options, probabilities, hope measured carefully in percentages.
"India," one doctor said. "There's a specialist there. Chemotherapy might help—but it won't be easy."
Alexander nodded, absorbing every word, every risk.
He agreed to it without hesitation.
If there was even a chance, he would take it.
Yet even as plans were made—flights arranged, specialists contacted—his thoughts kept drifting back to Eliora.
The way she smiled without trying.
The way she listened without interrupting.
The way she felt like peace he hadn't known he was searching for.
That night, he called her.
Their conversation stretched for hours.
He told her about his mother—carefully, honestly. About hope and fear braided together. She listened, her voice soft, grounding him when his own threatened to falter.
Then he spoke of lighter things.
"What kind of music calms you?" he asked.
She hesitated. "Old songs. The kind that feel like memories."
"What makes you laugh when no one's watching?"
"Small, silly things," she admitted. "Like watching people dance badly."
He smiled to himself.
"And what do you want?" he asked quietly.
That one made her pause.
"I don't know yet," she said honestly. "I'm still learning how to say those things out loud."
He didn't push.
"I'll wait," he said simply.
A few days later, both of them returned to their separate lives.
But Alexander didn't let distance dull intention.
He asked her permission first—always respectful, always careful.
When she agreed, workers arrived to take Eliora on a quiet shopping spree. Gucci. Louis Vuitton. Stores she had only ever admired through glass windows.
She was overwhelmed.
"Alex, this is too much," she said over the phone.
"Only take what makes you feel like yourself," he replied. "Nothing more."
Still, the dresses, the bags, the shoes, the earrings all chosen with care felt like a language he was learning just to speak to her.
Then came the surprise.
He didn't do it in Canada,where they were permanently based,He flew her to the United States.
Just for a weekend. The place was intimate no crowd, no spectacle. Just a private terrace overlooking city lights, candles flickering softly, and flowers everywhere.
Bouquets of roses.
Bouquets of lilies.
And one bouquet woven not with flowers, but with folded notes, arranged delicately among white blooms.
Her breath caught when she saw the words.
Will you be my girlfriend??
Eliora covered her mouth, heart racing.
Alexander stood a few steps away, hands in his pockets, eyes searching her face not demanding, not expecting.
Just hopeful.
"I didn't want to rush you," he said quietly. "I just wanted you to know that I choose you. Freely. Completely."
Tears filled her eyes.
"Yes," she whispered.
Then louder, steadier: "Yes."
They talked long after the candles burned low.
About fears. About timing. About distance. About how love didn't have to be loud to be certain.
Alexander told her about the India trip. About the weight he carried.
Eliora told him about her family. About her dreams she had never named before.
And somewhere between words and silence, something settled gently into place. Not perfection.
Not certainty.
But intention.
And that, they both knew, was enough for now.