Chapter 5

The night of the art centre’s opening still feels like a dream.

Even after everyone left, even after the lights dimmed and the laughter faded, I stood there for a long time, staring at the mural. It glowed under the soft lamps — colours melting into one another, alive, breathing.

It didn’t just belong to me anymore. It belonged to everyone who saw a piece of their own story in it.

Rand found me standing there, lost in thought.

“Still awake?” he asked gently.

I smiled faintly. “I could ask you the same.”

He walked closer, hands in his pockets, eyes on the mural. “It’s strange, isn’t it? You work on something for weeks, and then suddenly… It’s not just yours anymore.”

I nodded. “Feels like saying goodbye to a part of yourself.”

He looked at me then — that same steady gaze that once terrified me with how much it saw. “Maybe not goodbye,” he said softly. “Maybe just letting it live.”

Something in those words eased the ache in my chest. For the first time in months, I didn’t feel like my art was a wound. It was a heartbeat.

---

The next morning, the city was quiet after the storm. I woke up early and made coffee — strong, black, and a little too bitter, the way Rand drinks it. I smiled at the thought.

He texted me around nine.

> Rand: Meet me at the centre? Got something to show you.

When I arrived, he was standing by the courtyard, holding a large roll of paper.

“What’s this?” I asked.

He grinned. “A proposal.”

I raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

He unrolled the paper on a nearby bench — it was another blueprint, larger than the last one, sketched with delicate lines and handwritten notes.

“This is phase two,” he said. “A second wing for the centre — studios, classrooms, maybe even a gallery. I want you to help design it.”

“Me?” I blinked. “I’m not an architect.”

He laughed. “No, but you see things differently. You make walls speak. That’s exactly what I need.”

The thought of working together again made my heart flutter and twist all at once. “You really think I can do that?”

He looked at me like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Elena, you already did.”

---

Over the next few weeks, we met every day. Sometimes to plan, sometimes just to exist together in quiet spaces. Rand’s calm steadiness balanced my restless energy.

But the closer we got, the more I felt something shifting — something fragile and uncertain underneath the calm.

One afternoon, while we were reviewing designs, his phone kept buzzing. He ignored it twice, then finally sighed and answered.

“Yeah… I’ll call you back,” he said, his tone sharp, unfamiliar. When he hung up, he looked tense.

“Everything okay?” I asked carefully.

He hesitated. “It’s just… my old firm. They want me back for a major project.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

He nodded slowly. “It’s in another city. Two hours away.”

The words sank in like cold rain. “Oh.”

“They said it’s temporary,” he added quickly. “But it’s big, Elena. A once-in-a-lifetime kind of offer.”

I forced a smile. “You should take it.”

He frowned. “You don’t even want to think about it?”

“What’s there to think about? It’s your career.”

He studied me quietly. “You’re pulling away again.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” he said softly. “Every time life asks you to trust something you can’t control, you step back.”

I bit my lip, trying to keep my voice steady. “I just don’t want to hold you back.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not holding me back. You’re the reason I want to go forward.”

That night, when I went home, I couldn’t sleep. His words replayed over and over until dawn.

---

Rand left a week later.

We stood by the train station in the early morning mist, the city still half asleep. His suitcase looked too small for someone who carried so much of my world inside him.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he said, smiling softly.

“I know.”

He touched my cheek. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” I whispered, though we both knew I didn’t mean it.

He leaned down and kissed my forehead — gentle, lingering, and unbearably tender.

“I’ll call you every night,” he said.

“Don’t promise that,” I murmured. “Just… keep me somewhere in your day.”

He nodded, eyes shining. “Always.”

Then he boarded the train, and I watched until the silver carriages disappeared into the fog.

---

Days passed, then weeks.

We talked often — at first. Video calls, late-night messages, and small jokes kept the distance from feeling too wide.

But as his new project grew more demanding, the calls became shorter. The messages came later. Sometimes, not at all.

I tried to understand. I told myself this was normal, that love didn’t always have to shout to be real. But every time my phone stayed silent, a familiar ache bloomed inside me — the echo of all the goodbyes I thought I’d buried.

One evening, after finishing some sketches at the art centre, I sat by the mural — the same one that had brought us together. The rain began again, slow and steady.

And I whispered to it, “He said he’d wait. He didn’t say how long.”

---

The next morning, I walked into the café — our café. I hadn’t been there since the day we met. The same bell chimed above the door, the same scent of roasted beans filled the air.

And then, like a small miracle, I heard his voice.

“Elena?”

I turned.

Rand stood by the counter, looking exhausted but alive — eyes soft, smile real. “You didn’t think I’d stay gone too long, did you?”

I blinked, stunned. “What are you doing here?”

He held up a sketch roll. “The project’s done. I came back early.”

“You could’ve told me.”

He stepped closer, brushing a thumb against my cheek. “I wanted to surprise you.”

And then, with a quiet laugh, he added, “Also… I missed your rain.”

I laughed through the tears that had already started to fall. “You mean you missed me?”

“That too,” he said.

We sat by the same window where it all began, hands intertwined, hearts quiet but full.

And f

Or the first time in a long while, tomorrow didn’t scare me.

Because sometimes, love doesn’t need to be loud or certain — it just needs to find its way back home.