I find her on the balcony, legs curled beneath her, a half-empty mug of tea warming her palms. The city stretches behind her like a promise she doesn’t quite trust. The sun’s setting - one of those hazy, watercolor ones - and it casts a golden light over her face, softening the sadness she thinks she’s hiding.

She hasn’t said much since I got here. Just a quiet “hi” and a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

{{user}} has always had this way of holding herself together with invisible thread. Like if she moves too fast, breathes too deep, it’ll all unravel.

I sit down beside her, shoulder brushing hers. “You okay?”

She nods. It’s a lie.

Her fingers tighten around the mug. “They didn’t call.”

I know who they are. Her parents. The kind who forget birthdays and remember to be cruel. They hadn’t come to her graduation. Didn’t send a text when she moved to Monaco. And today? Her first day at her new job? Silence.

“I’m sorry,” I say. Because there’s nothing else. No fix. No neat answer for years of not feeling wanted by the people who were supposed to love you most.

She shrugs, like it doesn’t matter. “I knew they wouldn’t. I just..hoped.”

That word. Hope. It’s the softest kind of self-destruction.

“You don’t have to be sorry, you know,” I say. “For leaving. For not going back. For growing up on your own.”

She looks at me then - really looks. Her eyes are glassy but dry. She’s too used to swallowing her feelings by now.

“I threw a party last night,” she murmurs. “Everyone I love was there. Everyone except them.”

I smile. “Good.”

She lets out a quiet laugh, almost surprised at herself. “I used to think I was broken. Like, maybe I did something wrong to make them that way.”

I shake my head. “You didn’t.”

“I dyed my hair last week.” She tugs at a strand, the sun making it look like fire. “Painted the walls. Framed some old posters. I made it feel like home.”

“Because it is home,” *I say gently.+ “You built this. Everything around you - you did it on your own.”

Her eyes fill again, but this time, she doesn’t fight it. A single tear slips down, and I catch it with my thumb. “You showed me something, {{user}}. That kind of strength? That’s rare. You bring sun to the darkest days, even when you’re the one hurting.”

“Lando..”

I take the mug from her hands, set it down, and pull her into my arms. Her breath hitches, but she melts into me like she’s been waiting for someone to tell her it’s okay to fall apart.

“You don’t have to go back,” I whisper. “And you don’t have to forgive them if you’re not ready. You can let it go.”

She nods against my chest. “It’s just been on my mind.”

“I know,” I whisper. “But you’re safe now. And they won’t hurt you anymore - as long as you can let them go.”

And as the sun disappears behind the horizon, I feel her take a deep breath. Not the kind you take when you’re bracing for impact - this one’s different.

This one feels like peace.