His voice cracked. "You're not, Junie. Please... you're not second choice."
But I shook my head. "I am, Aaron. I always will be. Even if you regret it now, even if you spend the rest of your life trying to make amends, I will always carry that truth, that I was the one you didn't choose and no matter how much I forgive, that stain doesn't fade for me. It's a scar now, a reminder etched into the deepest part of me.
The good thing, though," I continued softly, "is that scars don't just mark pain—they mark survival and I see how much you've grown. I see that you've learned, that you've worked to build a better version of yourself. I don't doubt you'll make someone incredibly happy someday. You'll be steady, wiser, maybe even the partner you once wished you could be for me. I truly believe you'll have a beautiful relationship in the future. But it won't be with me."
His tears spilled freely now, shoulders trembling as he nodded. Slowly. Painfully. It was the kind of nod that carried both acceptance and devastation.
I reached forward, my hands finding his. I held them not in longing but in closure, not to hold on but to finally let go. My touch was a goodbye disguised as comfort.
"I am grateful Aaron for everything, including the heartache, I forgive you and I wish you all the happiness in the world. Goodbye, Aaron," I whispered, the words soft but unshakable. "Take care of yourself. Be happy. Be better. You deserve that and I think we both know we came into each other's lives for a reason, to teach, to break, to shape, to grow. You'll find your reason soon enough."
I paused, the faintest smile tugging at my lips, though my eyes stung with unshed tears, and I whispered to myself, "I've already found mine. And I'm not letting it slip away."
I was stunned by how life could shift in a single hour—how I could look at my past, finally release it, and then turn to see both my present and my future sitting right before me.
Without a word, Liam took my hand, warm and steady, and guided me to sit beside him. His touch was grounding, a silent promise that we were here, now, together. We didn't need to say anything yet. My hand trembled in his, and he noticed, without hesitation, he enclosed it with both of his hands, holding me as though I might drift away. His eyes shimmered, glassy with tears, and then he began to speak.
"When I watched you dancing out there, it was like watching a constellation being born. Every step you took was a star igniting, every turn a planet finding its orbit. I couldn't breathe, not because I was afraid you'd fall, but because I knew I was seeing the universe rearrange itself around you. You weren't just dancing; you were gravity itself. Pulling everything toward you, pulling me toward you... like you always do."
I froze, caught off guard as always. I hadn't been sure he would come. Almost as if he could read my hesitation, he added softly,
"I came, of course I did. I had to see you. But I stayed in the shadows, because you didn't need pressure or distraction—you only needed the stage, the sky, your own light. I thought maybe if fate was kind, we would meet here with meteors crossing in the night, but if not... I was ready to sit alone and send my wish for your happiness on a shooting star. That would have been enough, because your joy is all that matters to me."
I could hardly breathe. He still wouldn't meet my eyes, just held my hand with a grip that felt both desperate and unshakable. His silence pressed against me like a tide, and then, without looking up, he went on,
"Out there, you weren't just dancing—you were the night sky in motion. Each step was like starlight unfurling, each turn like galaxies spiraling awake, Celestia... When I watched you move, I finally understood why I've always called you my Celestia. You weren't just dancing, you were the axis, the pull, the very center that everything orbits around. Even the stars would lose their way without you. I couldn't breathe because I knew I was standing in the presence of my universe."
He fell silent then, his voice tapering off into the stillness between us. For a moment, only our breathing filled the air, steady and uneven at once. Then, in the hush, he lowered his head and whispered, almost afraid of the sound of his own words,
"Please... tell me this is what I think it is."
He didn't look at me. Couldn't. His fear hung there between us, fragile as glass, shimmering with the weight of everything unsaid. For a moment, I just watched him—his lashes damp, his lips pressed tight, his whole body wound up like a star on the verge of collapse. Then, slowly, I reached up, stood up, took his hands, and lifted his face toward mine.
"Yes," I whispered, steady and sure, even though my own heart was a storm. "This is it. You're my choice, Liam. My constant. The one I'd chart my whole sky around—again, and again, and again."
Something broke inside him then, a laugh caught in a sob, and he pulled me against him with a desperation that felt holy, like if he let go even for a breath the entire cosmos would collapse into dust.
"And she's... using astronomy images, My God!" he choked out, the smallest ghost of humor in his trembling voice.
"Well," I murmured back, pressing my forehead to his, "I had to learn some."
That was all it took. His hands rose to my face, rough and reverent, and his mouth found mine. The kiss was everything he was—tender and fierce, fragile and overwhelming, a perfect contradiction that made my whole body quake. He was the moon and the tide both, pulling me in, holding me still, undoing me in ways that felt infinite.
When he finally drew back, just enough for us to breathe, his voice dropped low, urgent, a secret meant only for me. "You know... a kiss under the stars, during a meteor shower—that's a vow. Please... tell me you're all in."
My pulse thundered, steady as the heartbeat of the universe itself. I searched his eyes, saw feelings of hope and fear swirling there, and smiled through the ache in my chest. "I am, Liam. I'm all in."
This time his kiss was slower, lingering—a seal pressed gently into the fabric of time itself. When he pulled away, just barely, his words came hushed, reverent, as though he were speaking not only to me but to the sky above us.
"So," I whispered, searching his eyes. "How is she?"
A shadow crossed his face. He gave a sad smile, one that carried both love and grief. "The usual," he said softly. "Some days she doesn't know me at all, like I'm a stranger in her world. And then... other moments, we steal something back from the disease. She looks at me, really looks at me, and she knows. Those seconds are everything. I live for them."
My chest tightened. I reached for his hand, pressing it firmly, silently telling him I was here. That I understood more than words could carry.
He squeezed back, then tilted his chin toward the horizon, eyes glistening.
"Look," he whispered, voice breaking into awe. "It's starting..."
