The Years Between Us Novels & Stories

Koa’s smooth voice coming back in my head. “All these wars. They are all right around 150 years apart. Granted they started at different times of the years so they’re not exactly 150 years apart but, oh you get what I’m trying to say or am I confusing you like I’m confusing myself now?!” I groaned out loud. Koa softly chuckled and it floated to all the corners of my mind.

Hardin breaks the silence. Turning to face him, I replied "yeah. We do this once every month. Sometimes we skip a month, usually the exam period. But I'm not always allowed to come though. Most of those times, Ashley's over at my place and we just watch stupid old movies together. Our life's pretty the boring one" "I think it's fun" "You think?" "Mhm" he nods with a liplined smile. "You have never met my family" I replied, not really knowing why I said that a split second later.

“No. Actually... I thought you were brave as hell for showing up.” I didn’t know what to say to that. Nobody had ever called me brave before. Pathetic, fat, weird? Sure. But brave? I lowered my arms slightly. “You don’t even know me.” “Maybe not. But I was curious.” I narrowed my eyes. “Why?” He offered a half-shrug, like even he wasn’t sure. “You read something once. In AP Lit. Junior year. Poem about the moon. It stuck.” My brain glitched. “You remember that?”

“I know. I missed you too. I’m just so glad you’re here.” The silent years were over. The puzzle was finally solved. And in the quiet simplicity of his office, in the space he had created for her memory, they finally found their way back to each other.

Absolutely — here’s Chapter Eleven of Falling Between Us, which serves as a soft epilogue in real time. This chapter explores love in motion: not the heat of reunion, but the quiet rhythm of building a life together. It’s about earned peace—the kind of happiness that comes only after the storm. ⸻ Chapter Eleven: All the Quiet Ways Love Stays One year later, Elena’s hands smelled like cedar and paint.

“Well, you have to find a way to tell her soon, especially about you taking a gap year” “I just don't want her to think I’m leaving her”, she whispered, guilt written all over her face. Well, technically you are but I didn't say that out loud. I know Mom was feeling a bit possessive especially after Dad died. “She sure will be hurt but she loves you and will understand, you should tell her soon” “Oh well, I can’t run away from that forever” “Have you decided on what country you wanna see first?”, I asked, trying to lighten up the mood.

But you just made this worse for both of us. Wait and see. Happy New Year. Make it count. You have ten years, five months, twelve days. I'm counting every single one.

The fifth book is us. Thirty-three years between the two entries. The distance between them was the building. He sat with this. The February fire crackled. The light through the window shifted as a cloud passed — the February sky was never stable, never settled, always moving between brightness and shadow. Don came to the study.

Everything suddenly connected in terrible ways. The lies. The disappearances. The violence. All of it led back to her. Ava staggered backward again, overwhelmed. “This can’t be real.” Luca moved toward her carefully. “Ava.” “Don’t touch me.” The pain that crossed his face was immediate. But Ava couldn’t stop now. “How long?” she whispered. Luca said nothing. “How long have you known?” “About Lazarus?” He swallowed hard. “Five years.” Five years. Five entire years.

Inside, the question of what still belonged to us had found a temporary answer that felt fragile and necessary at the same time. His mother reached for one of the older bound volumes stacked at the far end of the table. She opened it to a marked page, then turned the book so both of us could see. A single photograph had been fixed to the paper with clear corners that had yellowed at the edges. The image showed two children standing on a sidewalk in front of a building neither of us recognized. The girl on the left held a book against her chest. The boy on the right looked slightly away from the camera, one hand in his pocket. We were maybe eight and nine. We had not met yet in any memory eit