Nora saw her through the café window and forgot how to breathe.
Seven years.
Seven years since she had last seen Elia’s face. Seven years since the night by the sea, when Elia had kissed her like she was starving and then disappeared from Nora’s life before sunrise.
Nora had hated her for it.
At least, she had tried.
But hate was supposed to make someone smaller in your heart. Elia had only grown larger.
She was sitting alone by the window, rain touching the glass beside her face. Same dark eyes. Same soft mouth. Same impossible calm, like she didn’t know she had ruined somebody forever.
Nora stood outside with her hand on the café door.
Leave, she told herself.
But her body had always betrayed her when it came to Elia.
The bell above the door rang.
Elia looked up.
For one second, neither of them moved.
Then Elia whispered, “Nora.”
Not surprised.
Not confused.
Like she had been saying the name every day and finally someone had answered.
Nora walked to her table slowly. “You knew I was back.”
Elia’s eyes moved over her face with such hunger that Nora almost stepped back.
“Yes.”
“You waited here?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
Elia’s fingers tightened around her coffee cup.
“Three days.”
Nora laughed once, but it came out broken. “You’re insane.”
“I know.”
“You left me.”
“I know.”
“You kissed me like I was your whole life, and then you vanished.”
Elia looked down.
Nora wanted her to deny it. Wanted her to say she had been young, scared, stupid. Something ordinary. Something forgivable.
Instead, Elia said, “You were my whole life. That was the problem.”
The café noise faded.
Nora sat down before her knees could give out.
Elia looked older now. Sharper. Sadder. Beautiful in a way that made Nora angry. Beautiful in a way that felt personal.
“You don’t get to say things like that,” Nora said.
“I know.”
“You don’t get to come back and look at me like that.”
“How am I looking at you?”
Nora leaned forward. “Like you still own me.”
Elia’s eyes filled, but she didn’t look away.
“I don’t own you,” she said. “I belong to you. There’s a difference.”
Nora’s chest hurt.
She had imagined this moment a thousand times. In every version, she was colder. Stronger. Untouchable.
But Elia’s voice had always been the one place Nora had no armor.
“Why did you leave?” Nora asked.
Elia reached into her coat pocket and placed something on the table.
A silver necklace.
Nora froze.
She knew it immediately. A tiny moon pendant on a thin chain.
Her necklace.
The one she thought she had lost the morning Elia disappeared.
“I took it,” Elia said.
Nora stared at her. “Why?”
“Because I needed proof.”
“Proof of what?”
Elia’s hand trembled as she pushed the necklace toward her.
“That the night happened. That you loved me. That someone like you could love someone like me.”
Nora’s anger cracked straight down the middle.
“Elia…”
“No.” Elia shook her head quickly. “Don’t be kind to me yet. I won’t survive it.”
Rain slid down the window beside them.
Nora picked up the necklace. It was warm from Elia’s hand.
“I waited for you,” Nora said.
Elia closed her eyes.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t. I waited for months. I checked my phone every morning. Every night. Every stupid hour in between. I thought I had imagined us.”
Elia’s voice broke. “I wrote to you.”
Nora went still.
“What?”
“I wrote every day.”
Nora’s fingers tightened around the necklace.
“I never got anything.”
“I never sent them.”
The words landed between them like a confession and a crime.
Elia reached into her bag and pulled out a bundle of letters tied with a black ribbon. Thick. Worn. Real.
Nora stared at them.
Her heart started beating so hard it felt violent.
“How many?” she whispered.
Elia looked at her with all seven years in her eyes.
“Two thousand four hundred and sixty-one.”
Nora couldn’t speak.
Elia placed the letters in her hands.
“Every day I loved you,” she said. “Every day I was too much of a coward to come back.”
Nora looked down at the first envelope.
Her name was written across it.
Not Nora.
Not Dear Nora.
But the name only Elia had ever called her.
My only girl.
Nora’s vision blurred.
Then she noticed something written on the back of the final envelope.
A date.
Tomorrow.
Nora looked up slowly.
Elia’s face had gone pale.
“What is this?” Nora asked.
Elia swallowed.
“That’s the last letter.”
“Why tomorrow?”
Elia looked at Nora like the answer might destroy them both.
“Because tomorrow morning, I’m leaving again.”
Nora’s voice came out almost soundless.
“For how long?”
Elia reached across the table and touched Nora’s hand for the first time in seven years.
“Forever. Unless you ask me not to.”