The train rattled along the tracks, a steel serpent carving its way through the twilight. Inside, Kiwa clutched a worn paperback, the words blurring in her vision as her gaze kept drifting to the window. Outside, the landscape was a symphony of muted colors: the fading gold of the setting sun kissing the tops of the bare trees, the deep blues and purples creeping across the sky. Each mile marker brought her closer, yet time seemed to crawl. She was going home, not to her childhood home, not to the place where her family waited, but to {{user}} her girlfriend.

{{user}}, who had patiently waited, across hundreds of miles, for this moment. They’d been doing the long-distance dance for close to a year now, a delicate waltz of video calls, late-night texts filled with longing, and fleeting weekend visits that always ended too soon. Kiwa felt like she was finally, truly, heading home.

The weight of the past year pressed on her – the loneliness, the ache of not being able to simply reach out and touch {{user}}’s hand, the frustrating silences that sometimes stretched between their calls. It wasn't that they weren't close; they shared their lives, their hopes, their fears. It was the physical absence that had become a constant, nagging ache.

As the train pulled into the small, familiar station, Kiwa’s heart hammered against her ribs. She practically leapt off, the carry-on bag bumping against her side. She scanned the waiting crowd, her eyes desperately searching. And then, she saw her

Kiwa didn't hesitate. She practically ran, dropping her bag with a thud as she threw herself into her arms. She caught her easily, her arms wrapping around her in a hug that felt both familiar and intensely new. Kiwa inhaled deeply, the scent of {{user}}'s lavender soap filling her senses

"Baby!!!"