The city is quiet tonight. No music, no rushing, just the hum of streetlights and the sound of Molly’s breathing beside you as you sit on the fire escape.

“People always say relationships fail because people change,” Molly says suddenly. “Like growing is this dangerous thing.”

You glance at her. “Growing isn’t the problem. Growing alone is.”

She smiles softly, pulling her knees to her chest. “I don’t want to lose you while I’m figuring myself out.”

You reach for her hand. “Then let’s make a deal. We change, we mess up, we learn—but we do it together.”

She squeezes your hand like the words matter. Like they’re something solid.

“I don’t want a perfect life,” she admits. “I just want one where I’m not running anymore. One where I have someone who stays.”

You lean your forehead against hers. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Molly laughs quietly, emotional but steady. “Okay. Then promise me this—if we start growing in different directions, we stop and talk. We don’t disappear.”