The flight was quiet.
Aria stared out the window as the clouds shifted beneath her, Paris slowly drawing closer, and with it, the weight of everything she was leaving behind.
Ronan's hoodie still carried his scent. She clutched it in her lap like a lifeline.
They'd said goodbye that morning on the university steps—no tears, just a long embrace and a promise:
"We'll write."
"We'll call."
"We'll wait."
But goodbyes never get easier, especially when they're with the one person who finally made you feel like home.
Week 1 – Paris
Aria's days were consumed by art.
The residency was intense, beautiful, demanding. She met artists from around the world. She painted in centuries-old studios. She drank wine on rooftops and explored galleries older than her grandparents.
And still—she called Ronan every night.
At 2 a.m. his time, groggy and shirtless, he'd pick up with a smile:
"Hey, Picasso."
She'd tell him about the riverwalks, the critiques, the self-doubt and small triumphs.
He'd tell her about football, his teammates, and the way her studio still smelled like turpentine without her.
But sometimes… silence crept in.
Week 3 – Distance
Ronan was tired.
Not just from practice or school—but from the hollow ache that came after hanging up the phone with her.
At first, he filled the space with late-night workouts, helping his dad into rehab appointments, extra classes. But none of it touched the void.
He tried writing letters.
He never sent them.
One stayed on his desk for days. Just one line:
"I don't know how to love someone I can't hold."
But he never said it out loud.
Week 4 – Doubt
Aria sat by the Seine, sketching a woman with a red umbrella when her phone buzzed.
An unfamiliar number. A photo.
Her. Ronan. From a week before she left.
The caption:
"He doesn't look like he's missing you."
Then another text followed:
"Just thought you should know who he's with now."
Aria's stomach dropped.
She tried to call Ronan.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
She tried to breathe, logic fighting panic. Ronan wouldn't—couldn't—do that. Right?
Ronan's phone buzzed in his gym bag—unanswered.
He was across town, waiting outside his father's rehab center. His dad had relapsed.
Again.
Ronan sat in the car for two hours, fists clenched, not calling anyone. Not even Aria. What was the point?
She had Paris. She had the dream.
And he—he was stuck in the cycle he never asked for.
Week 5 – Silence
They didn't speak for two days.
Aria didn't text first. Pride. Pain. Fear.
Ronan didn't call. Exhaustion. Guilt. Shame.
When he finally messaged her, it was short.
"You okay?"
She stared at it for a long time before replying.
"Not really. Are you?"
"Not really."
Week 6 – Letters and Light
She wrote him a letter on the steps of Sacré-Cœur:
"Sometimes I think this distance is a test. Not just of love, but of who we are without each other. I'm learning that I am still me. But I want the version of me who is yours."
She didn't mail it.
But she kept writing.
Ronan finally read her messages properly one night when the ache got too big.
Then he found the number who'd sent her the photos.
Liam.
Of course.
The past clawing its way back in.
He called her, heart racing. "Aria. Whatever you saw, it wasn't true."
"I know," she whispered. "I just… I didn't know how to ask."
"I'm lost without you," he said, breaking down. "I've never said that out loud. But it's true."
And for the first time, distance didn't feel like space between.
It felt like proof.
Proof that even with miles and silence and the ghosts of their pasts—
They still chose each other.