Paris had always been more than a home. It was a feeling—a gentle hum beneath my skin, stitched into every memory I held dear. The cobbled streets, the amber glow of the streetlights casting shadows like whispers, the hushed lullaby of the Seine—it all felt alive, like the city had been cradling me in its arms all these years. And now, in two days, I’d be leaving it behind.

The chill kissed my fingertips as I wrapped them around the warmth of a hot chocolate mug. Across the small café table, Jeremy sat with his sharp blue eyes fixed on me, his gaze steady but curious. The quiet of the late hour wrapped around us, interrupted only by the gentle clink of mugs and the occasional murmur of other patrons.

"I got the job," I blurted, unable to hold the news in any longer.

For a beat, Jeremy froze. And then his face lit up, his grin breaking wide and unrestrained. "Aiza! That’s incredible!" he exclaimed, leaning forward, his excitement radiating across the table. "Why didn’t you tell me sooner?"

I couldn’t help but smile, his enthusiasm contagious. "I wanted to tell you in person," I said, my voice tinged with nervousness. "It didn’t feel right over the phone."

He let out a low whistle, shaking his head in awe. "You did it, Buttercup. I always knew you would. Look at you, my superstar," he said, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. "So, when do you start? Tell me everything!"

My grin faltered slightly, and I looked down at the steaming mug between my hands. "It’s in the UK," I said softly. "I leave the day after tomorrow."

Jeremy’s hand stilled over mine. His excitement flickered for just a moment, but he caught it, replacing it with a determined nod. "Okay. Okay. We’ll figure it out. This is huge, Aiza. I’m so proud of you."

His words warmed me, but the weight of what they meant lingered.

The café seemed quieter now, the silence between us heavier than before. Jeremy leaned back in his chair, his sharp blue eyes studying me like he was searching for something he couldn’t quite find.

"Are you happy?" he finally asked, his voice gentler now.

"I am," I said, my honesty laced with hesitation. "And Mom’s thrilled. Dad… he’s Dad. But I think he’s proud in his own way."

Jeremy let out a short laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "And me? Do I get a say in this?"

His question pierced more than it should have, and I looked away, out toward the window where snowflakes drifted lazily beneath the streetlights. "Would it change anything?"

He sighed, pushing his chair back and nodding toward the door. "Come on. Let’s get you home."

The ride on his Harley was silent. I held on tight, resting my head against his back, committing everything to memory—the solid warmth of him, the bite of the winter air, the pulse of Paris beneath us as if it were keeping time with our hearts.

When we reached my apartment, Jeremy killed the engine but didn’t move. "Aiza," he murmured.

I turned to him, my chest tightening.

"I love you," he said, the words trembling slightly. "I may be scared, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you."

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. "Jeremy, we can make this work. We just have to—"

He shook his head, his expression raw. "I don’t know if I can. The waiting, the missing, the not knowing if one day you’ll wake up and think I’m not enough…"

"That’s not true," I whispered fiercely, reaching for his hands. "You are enough. We are enough."

He studied my face for what felt like an eternity before nodding. "Okay. Then we try."

Relief flooded me, bittersweet and fragile, because I knew trying didn’t promise success. It only meant we weren’t giving up—yet.

Jeremy leaned in, his fingers brushing my cheek before his lips met mine. The kiss was soft and lingering, full of unspoken fears and fragile hopes. When we pulled away, our foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the cold night air.

"This isn’t goodbye," he said softly. "Not yet."

I nodded, though the weight of what lay ahead pressed against my chest like a stone.

Inside my apartment, the silence wrapped around me like a shroud. My best friends, Ana and Ryna, were fast asleep behind closed doors. I slipped into my room, shut the door, and sank to the floor, knees pulled to my chest.

The tears came then, hot and unstoppable, spilling from the cracks I had tried so hard to hold together.

Diary Entry:

Dear God,

I don’t know if this is a test or some kind of punishment. I don’t know what I did in my past life to deserve this constant push-and-pull. I love him. I love him so much that it hurts. But why does love always feel like saying goodbye?

I’m scared. Scared that distance will turn us into strangers. Scared that one day, his voice will be just another memory. And I don’t want that. I don’t want to lose him.

Please, if you’re listening, let me keep this one thing. Just this once.

Your child,

Aiza.