Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The cursor blinked back at Rumi from her laptop screen like it was mocking her silence. A half-written caption for a brand partnership sat waiting, but she couldn’t force herself to finish it. 

The words looked brittle, fake, and she knew her manager would scold her for missing another deadline. She tugged on the hoop in her ear and stared through the screen until her own reflection blurred into the glow.

She wasn’t thinking about captions. She wasn’t thinking about content calendars. She was thinking about Jeju — about volcanic cliffs and glassy water, the quiet rhythm of waves against the black rock, the sound of laughter that wasn’t hers anymore.

“Babe?” Zoey’s voice carried from the kitchen, warm and cautious. “You okay?”

Rumi blinked, dragging herself back to the room. She looked up just as Zoey padded over with two steaming mugs, setting one in front of her. Zoey tucked herself onto the couch, knees tucked under her oversized hoodie, hair in two lopsided buns that somehow made her look effortless. She looked concerned, yes, but she also looked like safety. Like home.

Rumi wrapped her hands around the mug. She didn’t drink, just let the steam burn her face. Her throat felt tight.

“I need to ask you something,” she said at last, her voice rough around the edges.

Zoey tilted her head, watching her carefully. “Okay. Shoot.”

Rumi hesitated. She hated how heavy the words felt, like each one might crack something delicate between them. “You know how… when you’re with someone for a long time, you start to believe they’re it? That no matter what, they’re your person?”

Zoey didn’t answer right away. Her face stayed calm, but her hand on her mug tightened, just slightly.

“I thought Mira was it for me,” Rumi went on, almost flinching at the name. “I thought she was my forever. We had this place in Jeju. Every year, on our anniversary, we’d go. Just us. It was…” She trailed off, staring into the steam. “It was our promise.”

The weight of it filled the room. Zoey shifted, not pulling away but not leaning closer either. She set her mug down on the table, clasping her hands in her lap. “And now?” she asked quietly.

“And now it’s our…um old anniversary next week.” Rumi laughed, brittle and humorless. “The first one without her. And I can’t stop thinking about it. About Jeju.” She rubbed her face with both hands. “I thought I could just… move on, you know? But it feels like there’s this stone in my chest, and the only way to get rid of it is to go back. One last time. Leave it all there. Close the door for good, so I can…” Her voice cracked, and she forced the words out anyway. “So I can be all in. On us.”

Zoey’s lips parted, but she didn’t speak. The silence between them stretched long enough that Rumi’s stomach twisted. She rushed to add, “I don’t want you to think it means I’m—”

“Do you want to do this alone?” Zoey interrupted, her voice even but soft.

Rumi froze. The thought of being there without Zoey—standing on those cliffs, in that villa with its open windows and ocean breeze, surrounded by ghosts—made her chest seize. She shook her head hard. “No. I wouldn’t rather do this with anyone else.”

Zoey’s brow furrowed, and she exhaled slowly, like she was sorting through her own feelings. Finally, she reached across the table, threading her fingers through Rumi’s. Her grip was firm, grounding. “Then we’ll go,” she said.

Rumi blinked, relief flooding her in a rush so sharp it left her dizzy. “Together?”

“Together.” Zoey squeezed her hand again.

Rumi let out a shaky laugh, leaning forward until her forehead rested against Zoey’s shoulder. She breathed her in — the faint scent of vanilla lotion, the warmth of her hoodie. Her eyes burned. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Zoey pressed her cheek against Rumi’s hair. She didn’t say “you’re welcome,” didn’t offer some neat reassurance. Instead, she murmured, “I’ll pack sunscreen.”

Rumi smiled into her shoulder, small and watery, but real.

They stayed like that for a long while, the only sound the low hum of the fridge and the occasional sip of cooling tea. Rumi’s mind wandered — to the cliffs of Jeju, to Mira’s hand entwined with hers as they watched the sun slip into the horizon, to whispered promises that had once felt unbreakable. Her chest ached with the memory.

But Zoey’s fingers tightened around hers, warm and steady, pulling her back into the present.

“I don’t want to lose you to the past,” Zoey said softly, almost too quiet to hear.

Rumi pulled back just enough to look at her. Zoey’s eyes were guarded but glistening, fear tucked under her calm.

“You won’t,” Rumi said, and she meant it with every raw part of her. “I want you. I want us. That’s why I need to do this. So I can stop dragging ghosts into what we’re building.”

Zoey studied her for a moment, then nodded, slowly. “Okay. Then we’ll face your ghosts together.”

The words settled over Rumi like a promise.

She curled back into Zoey’s arms, closing her eyes. Outside, the city pulsed, but in here there was only the two of them, tea cooling on the table, and the unspoken truth that Jeju was waiting.

And somewhere, far across the sea, Mira’s ghost stirred.

Chapter Text

The airport was too bright, too loud, too ordinary for the weight Rumi carried in her chest. She adjusted the strap of her duffel bag as they passed through the gate, feeling Zoey’s hand brush hers every few steps. 

Zoey wasn’t clinging — that wasn’t her style — but she hovered close enough that Rumi could feel the warmth of her presence even in the sterile chill of the terminal.

The flight to Jeju was only an hour, but it felt longer, stretched by everything unspoken between them. Rumi sat by the window, forehead pressed against the glass as the ocean came into view beneath the clouds. 

A familiar tightness seized her ribs at the sight. How many times had she watched that same coastline appear, Mira’s fingers laced with hers, Mira’s laugh muffled through headphones as they shared a playlist?

She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to breathe. This is the last time, she reminded herself. This is for closure.

Beside her, Zoey shifted. “You okay?”

Rumi opened her eyes, turning her head. Zoey’s space buns were hidden under a beanie now, her hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands. She looked younger like this, softer. And worried.

Rumi managed a small smile. “Yeah. Just… in my head.”

Zoey reached over and slid her hand onto Rumi’s thigh, her thumb brushing circles through the fabric of her joggers. She didn’t push for more, and Rumi was grateful for that.

The plane touched down, and soon they were walking through Jeju Airport, past signs in Korean and English, the air carrying the faint scent of sea salt even inside. 

Rumi felt her chest tighten again — déjà vu so strong she almost staggered. Every corner here was a ghost: Mira tugging her toward baggage claim, Mira complaining about overpriced airport coffee, Mira leaning on her shoulder as they waited for a taxi.

Zoey touched her elbow lightly. “Hey. You with me?”

Rumi nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I’m here.”

Outside, the air hit them like a kiss — soft with humidity, tinged with brine, warmer than Seoul had been. Rumi paused on the curb, letting it wash over her. For a moment she almost reached for a hand that wasn’t there. She stuffed both hands in her pockets instead.

Their cab wound down the coastal road, the sea flashing silver in the afternoon sun. Rumi pressed her forehead to the glass again, watching waves shatter against the black volcanic rock. 

Memories layered themselves over the view without her permission. Mira’s head in her lap as they drove this same stretch. Mira’s laugh when they’d pulled over to dip their toes in the water. Mira’s lips, salty with spray, pressed against hers under a setting sun.

Her stomach flipped. She closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat, forcing her breathing steady.

Zoey’s fingers brushed hers again, tentative, like she was afraid of intruding on something Rumi wasn’t ready to let go of. Rumi turned her palm up and caught Zoey’s hand firmly, grounding herself in the present.

The villa was perched on a cliff above the sea, just like she remembered. Pale stone, wide windows that opened to the breeze, bougainvillea spilling down the walls in a riot of magenta. Rumi’s chest clenched so hard it almost hurt. It looked the same. Too much the same.

Zoey whistled low. “This is… wow.”

Rumi tried to smile. “Yeah. It’s something.”

Inside, everything was airy and white, accented with dark wood. The staff had already stocked the kitchen, laid out fresh linens. It should have felt like a retreat, but to Rumi it felt like stepping into a photograph she hadn’t wanted to see again. She dropped her bag a little too hard by the bed.

Zoey hovered in the doorway, watching her carefully. “You okay?”

Rumi laughed softly, shaking her head. “You’re going to get sick of me asking, but yeah. Just… ghosts everywhere.” She rubbed her arms. “I thought I was ready. I thought I could just walk in here and—”

“Hey.” Zoey crossed the room and took her by the shoulders. “You don’t have to be ready all at once. You just have to be here. With me.”

Rumi’s throat closed up. She nodded quickly before she could fall apart.

They unpacked slowly, moving around each other in silence. Zoey filled the fridge with snacks, humming under her breath, while Rumi folded clothes into the drawers Mira used to hog. Every task scraped against memory. By the time the sun began sinking low, painting the sea gold, Rumi felt raw.

“Let’s go outside,” Zoey suggested gently.

The terrace overlooked the ocean, waves flashing like coins under the dying light. Rumi leaned on the railing, letting the wind whip her hair around her face. She closed her eyes and inhaled deep, salt and flowers and something heartbreakingly familiar.

Zoey stood beside her, quiet for a long time. Then she said, “It’s beautiful. But I can see why it hurts.”

Rumi turned her head, startled. “You can?”

Zoey’s smile was soft but a little sad. “You loved her here. Every corner probably has a memory attached. That doesn’t just… disappear.” She reached out, brushing Rumi’s hair back from her face. “But it doesn’t mean there can’t be new memories too. With us.”

Zoey’s presence…her calm. She was so grounding for Rumi, who nodded slowly, whispering, “Yeah. New memories.”

Zoey leaned her head against Rumi’s shoulder. For a while, they just stood there, the sea loud in their ears, the sky spilling color over the horizon.

But even as she clung to Zoey’s hand, Rumi couldn’t help but feel it — a phantom presence, a memory sharp as glass. She could almost see Mira’s silhouette beside her on this very terrace, hair catching the light, eyes daring her to promise forever.

And deep inside, where she didn’t dare say it aloud, Rumi wondered if coming back to Jeju would really set her free… or if it was only the beginning of being haunted all over again.

Chapter Text

The next morning dawned hazy, sunlight bleeding pale through gauzy curtains. Rumi woke before Zoey, her body restless even though her mind begged for more sleep. 

She gently slid out of Zoey's iron grip around her waist, smiling and pressing a kiss to her girlfriend's forehead.

Rumi padded barefoot into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, and leaned against the counter. The sea outside glittered under a low sky, calm and endless.

But she felt anything but calm.

She scrolled her phone absently, thumb moving through notifications she didn’t really read. No Mira — there hadn’t been for months. She’d blocked her on everything after the breakup. Not because she hated her, but because seeing her face had felt like reopening a wound every single time. It had been the only way to breathe again.

Still, sometimes Rumi caught herself wondering what Mira was doing. If she was happy. If she was wrecked too. If she thought about her. She shoved the thought down like she always did.

Zoey’s footsteps padded behind her, sleepy and soft. “Already awake?” she mumbled, hair falling loose from the bun she’d slept in.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Rumi admitted. She handed Zoey her water and kissed the top of her head as she passed. “I was going to make coffee.”

“Mm.” Zoey collapsed onto the couch, pulling her phone from the blanket she’d dragged along. “Coffee first, then beach?”

“Sounds good.” Rumi turned to the kettle, trying to anchor herself in the rhythm of pouring water, measuring grounds, anything to keep her mind steady.

Behind her, she heard Zoey’s soft hums as she scrolled. 

She set the kettle down and turned, wiping her hands on a towel. Zoey was staring at her phone with her eyebrows knit, then quickly swiped down. Too late — Rumi had seen enough of the photo flash by to feel her stomach plummet.

“Wait. Go back,” she said, sharper than she meant.

Zoey blinked, surprised. “What?”

“Go back.”

Zoey’s scrolled back up, turning the phone for Rumi, inquisitively. And there she was.

A girl on the beach, her hair a shocking, impossible pink, catching sunlight like fire. She stood barefoot on the black volcanic sand, eyes cast out toward the water. The caption: My favorite place — time to let go.

The glass in Rumi’s chest shattered. Her breath left her in a sharp sound she couldn’t control.

“Mira,” she whispered.

Zoey’s eyes flicked up to her, wide. “Oh.”

Of course. Of course she was here. Of course Mira had the same thought — return to Jeju, the island that had been theirs, and bury the ghost of them. Rumi pressed her hand hard against her chest like she could hold herself together, but the memories swarmed anyway. 

Mira’s laughter spilling across this very shore. Mira’s hair whipping in the salt wind. Mira’s fingers twined with hers in the surf. Mira’s lips tasting like seawater and promise.

Rumi turned away fast, squeezing her eyes shut, but the image was burned there anyway. “Fuck.” Her voice cracked. “Of course she’s here. Of course she—” She bit down hard on the words, choking on them.

Zoey set her phone down slowly, then stood and crossed to her. Her arms wrapped firm around Rumi’s waist, pulling her back against steady warmth. “Hey. Hey, breathe.”

Rumi shook her head, tears hot against her lashes. “I can’t— Zoey, she’s here. On Jeju. She’s—”

“I know,” Zoey murmured against her temple, grounding her. “But I’m here too.”

The words cut through the storm like an anchor. Rumi’s fists unclenched, her breath catching on a sob. She turned in Zoey’s arms and buried her face in her shoulder, clinging like the tide.

Zoey held her without flinching, strong and patient. Her hands rubbed soothing circles down Rumi’s back, her cheek pressed firm against her hair. “You don’t have to fall apart alone,” she whispered.

“I thought I was ready,” Rumi choked. “I thought I could come here and just—just let go. And now she’s here, she’s fucking here—”

Zoey tipped her chin up gently, forcing her to meet her eyes. There was no judgment there, only that steady, unwavering gaze. “You don’t have to be ready all at once. You just have to keep choosing. Every day. And you’ve chosen me. That hasn’t changed.”

Rumi blinked hard, breath stuttering. The truth of it cut through the panic. Zoey’s hands were warm. Zoey’s eyes were steady. Zoey was the one who had patched her back together, piece by piece, when she’d thought she’d never be whole again. Zoey was the one who stayed when she was raw and unlovable. Zoey was the one who never flinched.

Her soulmate.

Rumi’s throat ached, but she nodded, letting Zoey kiss her damp cheek. “I love you,” she whispered, fierce and cracked and real.

Zoey’s smile was soft, but her grip was iron. “I love you too. And we’re going to get through this. Together.”

Rumi collapsed back into her, breathing in the vanilla warmth of her hoodie, the grounding steadiness of her heartbeat. Outside, the waves crashed steady against the cliffs, indifferent to human ghosts.

And though Mira’s shadow now lingered heavy over the island, Zoey’s arms reminded her of the truth: even if the past had followed her here, the present was stronger.

Chapter Text

Mira sprawled across the crisp white sheets of the villa’s bed, one arm flung over her face as her phone lit up with another notification. The air was humid but fresh, carrying the distant crash of waves through the open balcony doors. Jeju always smelled like salt and promise. She loved it.

Her thumb flicked over the screen mindlessly, scrolling through an endless parade of DMs. Blue checkmarks, strangers, acquaintances, thirsty fans. Compliments stacked on compliments until they blurred together: You’re gorgeous. God, marry me. Queen. Angel. Hottest woman alive.

Her jaw tightened. She scrolled faster.

Yes, she knew she was beautiful. She’d built an entire career on it. Runway gigs, influencer campaigns, magazine covers — she could step in front of any camera and give them exactly what they wanted. And people loved her for it, or at least for the version of her they saw.

But not one of these comments mattered. Not one of these people mattered. She didn’t want them. She didn’t want anyone.

Her chest clenched, and she sat up sharply, tossing the phone aside like it had burned her. No. She refused to finish that thought. She didn’t want her. Not anymore. Not after what Rumi had done.

The name echoed through her skull like a bruise she couldn’t stop poking. Mira dragged her hands down her face, nails biting into her skin. “God, fuck you,” she muttered to the empty room, as if Rumi could hear her from across the world.

She’d told herself this trip was about moving on. About finally severing the last strings Rumi had left tangled around her heart. Jeju had been their place once, their sacred, stupid little anniversary tradition. Mira had loved it — no, she had loved her, and Jeju had been the backdrop. Now she was here to burn it clean. To let go.

Her phone buzzed again, this time with a text. She grabbed it, already feeling her shoulders unknot when she saw the name.

Jinu [11:04 AM]: Yo, how’s the island? Gettin some peace yet?

Mira’s lips twitched despite herself. Jinu was one of the few people who didn’t treat her like she was made of glass or gold. He was blunt, borderline rude sometimes, but he’d never lied to her, and that was worth everything.

Mira [11:06 AM]: It’s fine. Pretty. The beach is always nice.

She stared at the blinking cursor, then added:

Mira [11:06 AM]: Weird being here though.

Almost instantly, his reply came back.

Jinu [11:07 AM]: Bet. Ghosts everywhere huh?

Her throat tightened. She typed, then erased, then typed again.

Mira [11:09 AM]: Yeah. But I’m here to get rid of them. Not let them drown me.

A pause. Then his little typing bubble flickered back on.

Jinu [11:10 AM]: Good. You deserve clean air. A clean break.

Her chest warmed a little at that. Then the next message landed:

Jinu [11:11 AM]: Lol hopefully Rumi isn’t there 😂

The warmth iced over in an instant. Mira’s stomach twisted. Her thumbs stabbed the screen harder than necessary.

Mira [11:12 AM]: Don’t even joke.

Another message followed before he could reply.

Mira [11:12 AM]: That would be a nightmare.

Her pulse raced just typing the words. The idea of seeing Rumi again — of that face, that voice, that laugh she still heard in dreams — it made her blood boil. She didn’t want to see her. She didn’t want to want to see her.

Because despite the hate simmering in her chest, despite the anger that kept her up at night, despite the way she swore she’d never forgive — Mira knew the truth.

Rumi had shattered her. Left her bleeding. And part of her still ached for her anyway.

Mira shoved the phone away, harder than she needed to, and stalked out onto the balcony. The ocean stretched endless and glittering below. She gripped the railing, nails white against the wood, and forced herself to breathe.

“Time to let go,” she muttered under her breath, echoing the caption she’d posted that morning. Maybe if she said it enough times, it would be true.

But even here, surrounded by beauty, her chest felt tight. Like the island was holding its breath along with her.

And somewhere deep inside, buried under all the rage, a voice whispered: What if she’s here too?

Mira shook her head violently, shoving the thought away. No. That was impossible. That would be cruel.

Chapter Text

The sand was warm under Rumi’s feet as she and Zoey made their way down the shoreline. The water glittered like spilled glass, and gulls called overhead, slicing the quiet.

Zoey had insisted they walk — said the air would clear Rumi’s head after the phone incident. Rumi hadn’t argued. She was too busy trying not to implode.

Mira. Here. On this island. On their island.

Her chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself, but Zoey’s hand was in hers, grounding, steady. Zoey’s thumb rubbed slow circles into her skin, as if she knew Rumi was seconds away from unraveling. She probably did. Zoey always knew.

“Hey,” Zoey said softly, glancing at her. “Breathe. Just breathe with me.”

Rumi obeyed, inhaling until her ribs stretched, exhaling until the tide matched her. Zoey’s voice — low, calm, full of warmth — sank into her bones. She clung to it, clung to her.

They were rounding a curve in the sand when Zoey slowed. Her head tilted, eyes narrowing at a figure down by the water’s edge. A woman in a flowing white slip dress, hair like spun candy-pink catching in the sea breeze. The ocean kissed at her ankles as she stood with her back to them, phone in hand, framing a shot of the horizon.

Zoey whispered, “Damn…” Her eyes were wide in wonder. 

Rumi followed her gaze — and froze.

Her stomach plunged. Her heart stopped, then restarted at a sprint. Even from behind, she knew. She always knew. The curve of her spine, the way she tilted her head slightly when she looked at something too long.

Mira.

It was like being struck by lightning. Every nerve in Rumi’s body fired at once, hot, sharp, undeniable.

Zoey’s fingers tightened in hers. “Rumi?”

Rumi couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

And then Mira turned.

Their eyes met across the stretch of sand — those piercing dark eyes framed in lashes, that mouth painted wine red. Mira’s expression dropped, lips parting, surprise flickering before a cold mask slid into place.

The charge between them was instant. Violent. It was hate, longing, grief, desire — a storm Rumi wasn’t ready for.

Zoey felt it. Her breath caught, her gaze darting between them as if she’d stepped into a live current. And yet she couldn’t look away. 

Mira had a presence that swallowed space, magnetic in a way Zoey had never experienced. It wasn’t just beauty — though god, she was beautiful — it was command. The world bent toward her without permission.

“Fuck,” Rumi whispered, barely audible.

“Fuck…” Zoey repeated, just as softly.

Mira’s lips curved — not a smile, something sharper. “Of course.” Her voice carried across the wind, cool and mocking. “Of course you’re here.”

Zoey’s pulse stuttered. There was venom in Mira’s tone, but beneath it something else thrummed. She couldn’t name it yet, but it burned.

Rumi finally found her voice. “Mira.” The word tasted like ash and honey all at once.

They stood like that, the three of them, with the waves crashing behind. No one moved. No one blinked.

Zoey squeezed Rumi’s hand again, then released it slowly, almost reluctantly, as though she knew Rumi needed both hands free for this kind of battlefield. Still, she stayed close, steady as ever.

Mira’s eyes flicked to her. Zoey felt it — the weight of being seen. Mira’s gaze lingered just a fraction too long, and heat rushed through her veins. She swallowed hard, unsettled, but captivated.

“New girlfriend?” Mira asked, her tone light but sharp as broken glass.

Zoey opened her mouth, but Rumi cut in fast. “Soulmate,” she snapped. “She’s my soulmate.”

The word hung in the air, raw and heavy. Zoey’s chest ached at the conviction in Rumi’s voice. It was true — she was her soulmate, and that bond was everything. But even soulmates weren’t immune to old wounds. Not when Mira was standing here, tearing the sky open.

Mira’s mouth twitched again, like she might laugh, but no sound came out. Instead, she turned back toward the water, as if dismissing them. “Figures. You always did land on your feet.”

“Don’t do that,” Rumi spat, voice rising. “Don’t act like you don’t care.”

That made Mira pause. Her shoulders stiffened, and when she glanced back over her shoulder, her eyes were fire. “Oh, I care, Rumi. I care so much I had to come to this island to fucking bury you.”

Zoey felt the words slam into Rumi, saw her flinch like she’d been struck. Her own chest tightened in sympathy, protective instinct rising like a tide. She reached out, fingers brushing Rumi’s arm, grounding her again.

But beneath the fury in Mira’s voice, Zoey caught something else — desperation, raw and unhealed. 

The three of them stood in the charged silence, the air thick with salt and memory.

Zoey couldn’t deny it anymore: whatever bound Rumi and Mira together hadn’t died. It hummed between them like electricity, dangerous and magnetic. And she… she was drawn to it too, even as she ached for Rumi.

The storm had arrived.

​​Back at the Airbnb, the silence was suffocating. Rumi paced, arms folded tight, while Zoey watched from the bed, her eyes careful, patient.

“You okay?” Zoey asked.

“I’m fine,” Rumi snapped, then winced. “Sorry. I just—she gets under my skin.”

Zoey tilted her head, lips quirking faintly. “Well, I didn’t realize your ex was so hot.”

Rumi froze mid-step, her gaze snapping to Zoey. “What?”

Zoey smiled, gaze dropping to her hands. “Nothing. Just… an observation.”

Rumi’s stomach twisted. Oh no. This is dangerous. This is exactly what I was afraid of.

“Rumi…” Zoey’s voice softened, her hand reaching out, settling gently on Rumi’s arm. “What happened with you and Mira? You’ve never really said. Just that she broke your heart.”

Rumi’s jaw clenched, her eyes fixed on some far-off point beyond the walls. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, heavy. “No, Zoey. That’s not the truth. I’m the one who broke hers.”

Chapter Text

Zoey blinked, startled, then waited. She didn’t push, just shifted on the bed so her legs tucked beneath her, her presence an open door.

Rumi sat beside her, posture stiff, eyes unfocused as if staring years away. She inhaled, shaky. “The end of us wasn’t loud,” she began. “It wasn’t fireworks or screaming or one of those fights people gossip about for weeks. It was… slow. Like a thousand paper cuts. One day we looked down and realized we were bleeding out.”

Zoey’s chest ached at the way she said it, but she stayed quiet, her hand brushing Rumi’s arm, waiting.

“For four years, Mira and I were the internet’s favorite fairy tale,” Rumi went on, voice hollow. “We had the whole package—Instagram grids full of soft smiles and handholding, vlogs that hit a million views in a night, red-carpet clips that made headlines. We weren’t just a couple. We were a brand. People bought what we were selling.” A short, bitter laugh escaped. “Sometimes I think they loved us more than we did.”

Zoey’s hand squeezed hers gently. God, she’s still carrying all of it. No wonder it haunts her.

“But the cameras only caught the surface,” Rumi said. “Behind them… the smiles were brittle. We’d stopped laughing at the same jokes. The silences weren’t comfortable anymore—just heavy.” 

Her eyes darted away like the weight was too much to look at head-on. “We’d fight over nothing. A missed call. A sponsorship offer. A joke that wasn’t a joke. We performed forgiveness in public, but privately… we were sharpening knives.”

Zoey winced. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It was.” Rumi swallowed hard, her throat bobbing. “One night, it all cracked wide open. I remember the light in our apartment, the city humming outside, how damn small we felt sitting on that couch. I was scrolling through a contract, and without even looking at her I said, ‘We’re selling different things, Mira.’”

Zoey’s brows knit. “What did she say?”

“She bristled. ‘What does that even mean?’” Rumi mimicked the clipped tone, then sighed. “I told her I felt like we weren’t us anymore—that we were just a line item in someone’s pitch deck. That I couldn’t tell where I ended and the brand version of me began.”

Her voice wavered, but she pushed through. “Mira laughed, but it wasn’t real. She asked if I wanted to throw away four years just because managers wanted to monetize us. She thought I was running from pressure.”

“And were you?” Zoey asked carefully.

Rumi’s eyes flicked down, shame bleeding through. “I was running, yeah. But not from pressure. From the feeling that I was drowning in something that used to be my safe place. I told her, ‘I can’t do this anymore.’”

The words hung between them like smoke.

Zoey reached for her hand again. “That must have destroyed her.”

“It did.” Rumi’s voice cracked, guilt searing through. “She looked at me like I’d ripped the floor out from under her. She kept asking if I wanted out, like she couldn’t believe it. And I—I couldn’t soften it. I just… I thought maybe leaving would give us both air.” Her shoulders hunched. “But leaving didn’t free her. It shattered her. And I was the one holding the hammer.”

Zoey’s throat tightened, but she didn’t interrupt. She still blames herself for every shard of it.

“We didn’t scream or throw things. We just sat there and… dismantled a life. Who kept which cameras, which guitars, which contacts. Then came the statement—the perfectly neutral press release. Mutual respect, independence, all those sanitized words. The world read between the lines and tore us apart anyway.”

Rumi’s eyes glistened, her voice raw now. “After it went out, I spent nights deleting photos. One by one, years of my life gone from my feed. It felt like vandalism, like ripping out pieces of myself. But I couldn’t keep seeing her face pop up. So I muted her. I unfollowed mutual friends. I built walls in my algorithm so she couldn’t sneak in. It was exile—self-imposed, but exile all the same.”

The silence that followed was thick and merciless.

Zoey brushed a strand of hair back from Rumi’s face, her thumb grazing her cheek. “No wonder you said you broke her heart,” she whispered.

Rumi gave a humorless laugh that cracked at the edges. “Yeah. And the worst part is, I think I broke mine too.”

For a moment, Zoey just looked at her, really looked at her. At the sharp edges she wore like armor, at the guilt she dragged like chains. And something in Zoey snapped — not in frustration, but in fierce protectiveness.

“Rumi,” she said, voice low but steady. “You made mistakes. So did she. But those mistakes don’t define you.” She cupped Rumi’s cheek, forcing her to meet her gaze. “What defines you is how much love you still have to give. What defines you is the way you care, the way you fight, the way you’re sitting here tearing yourself apart because you can’t stand the thought of hurting someone you once loved. That’s who you are.”

Rumi’s eyes burned, glassy, her chest heaving. Why does she always know how to pull me back from the edge?

“You’re not broken,” Zoey whispered. “You’re mine. And I love you.”

The words cracked something open. Rumi surged forward, her mouth crashing into Zoey’s in a kiss that was equal parts apology and desperation. Zoey gasped into it, then responded in kind, her hand sliding into Rumi’s hair, pulling her closer.

The kiss deepened fast, heat sparking between them like dry tinder catching flame. Rumi clutched Zoey’s hoodie, tugging her onto her lap, her lips moving with a hunger that bordered on frantic. I need you. I need to feel you here, now, alive.

Zoey moaned softly against her mouth, grounding even in passion, her hands framing Rumi’s face. She broke the kiss only long enough to murmur, breathless: “You don’t have to prove anything to me. Just let me love you.”

Rumi’s throat tightened, but she nodded, kissing her again, harder this time. The air in the room grew hot, charged with want and need. Zoey’s touch moved from reassurance into something more, sliding down Rumi’s arms, tracing over tattoos, igniting every nerve in her wake.

The world outside the Airbnb, outside Jeju, outside everything — it disappeared. There was only Zoey, only the press of her lips, the fire of her hands, the sound of her whispering Rumi’s name like it was both a vow and a plea.

And when they tumbled back onto the bed, laughter breaking through between gasps and kisses, it was with the kind of inevitability that came when two people had been orbiting each other all day, all week, all year.

Rumi let herself go — into Zoey’s arms, Zoey’s mouth, Zoey’s love — and for the first time that night, she felt like she could breathe.

Chapter Text

Zoey had an urgent work call she couldn’t miss, insisting Rumi go out and explore while she sorted it out. Rumi had argued, but Zoey’s eyes had been firm — please, just a few hours. Go out. Enjoy the island.

Now, stepping through the wooden doorway of a quiet tea house tucked into a leafy street in Jeju, Rumi felt the weight of solitude settle over her. The scent of jasmine and roasted tea leaves wrapped around her, soothing at first — until she spotted the familiar figure seated at a low table in the corner.

Mira.

Rumi froze, a hot shock traveling from her chest down to her toes. Her breath caught.

Mira looked up, pink hair tumbling over her shoulder, and something like a smirk played across her lips. Her eyes narrowed, sharp and gleaming. 

Rumi’s gaze drifted down to Mira’s right hand, which rested on a notebook and pencil…and on her ring finger gleamed a gold signet ring with a black center.

Rumi’s pulse stuttered. No. I saw that on the beach. She’s been wearing it the whole time…

Mira’s gaze flicked to her, cool, predatory. “Fancy seeing you here,” she said, voice soft but razor-edged. “I was wondering if you’d have the courage to wander alone.”

Rumi’s tongue felt thick. “Mira,” she managed, trying to mask the jolt of shock with disdain.

Mira leaned slightly forward, her gaze locking on Rumi’s. “You’re… different,” she said, voice low. “I can tell. You’ve been… active lately.”

Rumi blinked. What does she mean?

Mira’s smile widened, a flash of pure mischief. “It’s in the way your cheeks flush. The way your hips sway. The tension in your hands. Only someone who knows you that well could notice it.”

Rumi’s face burned, her chest tight with embarrassment and anger. God, she’s seeing straight through me.

Mira’s head tilted, bringing her voice close to Rumi’s ear. “Do you still think about me at night? When you’re… with her?”

Rumi’s stomach knotted violently. Zoey. I’m with Zoey. And yet—

Mira’s next words were a low, sultry murmur: “Do you remember how good my tongue felt on your—”

“Oh fuck you!” Rumi exploded, pushing back, her anger and frustration crashing out of her like a tidal wave.

Mira didn’t flinch. She watched Rumi with unwavering eyes, amusement and malice twisting her lips. “Anger suits you,” she said softly. “It always did.”

Rumi’s fists clenched, nails biting into her palms. Why does she always have to get under my skin like this?

Mira leaned back, slow, deliberate, letting Rumi seethe, letting her words hang like smoke. “You’ve changed,” she said, almost casually. “The girl who left me a year ago… she’s still here, but you’re… softer. Easier to prod.”

Rumi’s chest rose and fell rapidly. “I don’t need you to remind me of anything,” she spat, voice trembling with fury and something hotter, sharper, more dangerous.

Mira tilted her head, the sunlight glinting off the gold ring on her finger. “Oh, I’m not reminding you. I’m… observing.” She pushed herself up, walking closer, her presence radiating control and magnetism. “And I can tell. Every time you try to forget, every time you tell yourself she’s gone… you’re still mine, Rumi. Do you know how easy it is to see that?”

Rumi’s knees shook, not just with rage, but something deeper, darker, uncomfortably intimate. She’s right. And it makes me hate her for it.

Her eyes wandered down to Mira’s hand again, gaze locking on the ring. Mira’s eyes followed hers, and widened slightly in surprise as she tried to casually put her hand in her pocket, hiding it. 

Mira’s smile softened slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if she were savoring the reaction she’d pulled from Rumi. “Enjoy your walk, Rumi. Try not to think about me too much.”

Rumi audibly grunted, frustration raw and loud as Mira turned to leave. Go. Just go. Walk away. Don’t look back.

But Mira paused just a fraction before she walked out. Her composure cracked ever so slightly — a tightening around her eyes, a subtle falter in the set of her shoulders. 

For a heartbeat, Rumi caught a glimpse of the truth beneath the mask: this was revenge. Vengeance wrapped in desire. A test. Mira was here to provoke, to pull, to remind Rumi of everything she had lost… and everything she still couldn’t resist.

Rumi’s fists unclenched slowly, breath ragged. Her chest burned. I hate her. I hate her so much. And yet…

The bell above the tea house door jingled as Mira left, the scent of her perfume lingering like a promise and a threat. Rumi stayed frozen for a moment, torn between fury, longing, and something dangerous simmering just beneath the surface.

This isn’t over, Rumi thought, gripping the table edge. It’s just beginning.

Chapter Text

Rumi barely touched her lunch, the flavors blurring together as her mind replayed Mira’s words over and over. Even with Zoey by her side, grounding her with gentle touches and reassuring smiles, Mira’s presence had left a raw, almost physical ache she couldn’t shake.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Zoey asked, voice soft, fingers brushing against Rumi’s.

“Yeah love, I’m okay,” Rumi muttered, though her stomach twisted in knots. Lie. Just… lie. She doesn’t need to see this weakness.

Zoey didn’t push further, letting Rumi gather herself. They strolled back to the Airbnb in a quiet, tentative silence. 

Rumi’s thoughts kept drifting back to Mira — that smirk, the way she’d leaned close, her voice murmuring impossible things. I hate her. I want to punch her. And… fuck, I want her too.

By evening, Zoey suggested dinner at a small seaside restaurant she’d been meaning to try. The lanterns flickered warmly against the walls, the smell of grilling fish and fresh vegetables mingling with the salty night air. Rumi tried to focus on the menu, on Zoey’s laughter, on the easy comfort of her presence.

It’s Zoey. I love Zoey. I can’t lose sight of that.

The waiter slid their plates in front of them, and Zoey reached across the table to lace her fingers with Rumi’s. “Babe, talk to me. What’s going on in that gorgeous head of yours?”

Rumi sighed, pressing a hand to her face. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about Mira. Everywhere I go, she’s there in my head.”

Zoey’s brow arched slightly. “Even now?” Her thumb brushed along the back of Rumi’s hand. “With me?”

“Yes,” Rumi admitted, voice low. “I hate that it’s still like this. I hate that she gets under my skin.”

Zoey tilted her head, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re not the only one she’s got a pull on.”

Rumi blinked at her. “What?”

Zoey’s gaze drifted to the door, then back to Rumi. Her lips curved almost imperceptibly. “Nothing…nothing.”

Rumi’s stomach twisted. What does that even mean?

Before she could ask, the door swung open, and the air in the restaurant seemed to shift. Mira stepped in, pink hair catching the light, sunglasses tucked atop her head.

Rumi froze mid-bite.

Zoey’s eyes widened ever so slightly, a flicker of something curious — admiration, fascination — crossing her face before she masked it with a polite nod. 

Oh no. She’s noticing.

Mira’s gaze scanned the room, sharp and calculating, before landing on Rumi. She smirked faintly, then her eyes flicked to Zoey. “Well, isn’t this… cozy?” she said, voice smooth, dripping with amusement.

Zoey’s fingers tightened on Rumi’s hand, almost instinctively. But she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Mira, watching the way she carried herself — the subtle tilt of her head, the confident sway of her shoulders, the way she seemed to command every glance in the room without even trying. It’s magnetic… why am I noticing this?

Rumi’s chest felt heavy. Zoey’s looking at her like that? She’s fascinated by her? No. That can’t be good.

Mira sauntered past their table, deliberately close enough that Rumi could feel the heat radiating off her. “Enjoying the island?” Mira asked, tone casual, almost teasing, but with an undercurrent of something sharper.

Rumi clenched her fork so tightly her knuckles turned white. “We are.”

Mira’s smirk widened as she leaned in slightly. “Good. Can’t have you sulking all night, now can we?” She turned, letting her coat sway around her, and strolled toward another table, casting a look over her shoulder that made Rumi’s stomach twist.

Zoey exhaled softly, gaze still lingering on Mira.

Rumi’s frustration boiled. She’s fascinated. She’s noticing her. And now I have to deal with both of them in the same space.

But as they continued dinner, Zoey’s fascination with Mira became subtly apparent. The way she stole glances when she thought Rumi wasn’t looking, the slight catch in her breath when Mira laughed at something across the room — it all made Rumi’s head spin.

Rumi tried to ground herself, focusing on Zoey, on the warmth of her hand, on the shared smiles. I love her. I choose her. Always her.

Yet, every time Mira moved, every deliberate brush past their table, Rumi felt her own desire flare anew — a mix of anger, longing, and something dangerously magnetic that threatened to unravel her resolve.

Zoey leaned closer, voice soft. “You okay?”

Rumi nodded, though her chest still throbbed. “I will be. With you.”

Zoey smiled, brushing a strand of hair back from Rumi’s face. But in the back of her mind, she couldn’t ignore the pull Mira had, the strange fascination that made her pulse quicken. Why do I find her… interesting? Dangerous… alluring even?

Rumi noticed, of course. Her eyes narrowed slightly, a flash of possessiveness sparking. Zoey notices her. And she’s… drawn to her? This is going to be a problem.

The night stretched on, filled with laughter, subtle tension, and the undercurrent of things unsaid. Mira remained a ghost in the back of Rumi’s mind, a catalyst for every complicated, dangerous feeling. Zoey’s growing infatuation added another layer of chaos Rumi wasn’t sure she could navigate — and yet, she was utterly consumed by it.

As they left the restaurant, the cool Jeju night brushing against their faces, Rumi slipped her hand into Zoey’s. The tension between them was a taut wire, unspoken yet undeniable. Mira wasn’t gone. She was everywhere — in the air, in their thoughts, in the heat behind Rumi’s eyes.

Chapter Text

Mira scrolled idly on her phone as she sprawled out on the huge couch in her villa. Her phone buzzed in her hands and her eyes drifted up to the notification hanging at the top of the screen...a text from an unknown number. Her heart began thudding.

We need to talk. — Rumi

Her heart stopped. Just those four words, typed in a familiar way, hit her like a lightning strike. After a year. After everything. How can I let this in again…? This ache, this chaos…

She stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard, unable to type. No. Not yet. Not like this. Rumi had definitely blocked her when they broke up. What the fuck was going on? 
Instead, she opened a message thread with Jinu.

Mira: You fucker. You jinxed this. I’m sorry I haven’t texted you sooner but Rumi IS fucking here…with a GIRL.

Jinu: Shit. How are you holding up?

Mira: Not well. Rumi texted me. She wants to talk.

Jinu: Then talk to her. Go. You know you’ll regret it if you don’t.

Mira’s fingers trembled. I can’t… this is dangerous. My heart hasn’t healed. My walls are still half-standing…

Jinu: You’ll survive. Just… breathe. Don’t let her see you crumble before you even start.

Finally, after a long pause, Mira tapped a reluctant Okay and hit send.

They met in a small park, the air taut with unspoken tension. Rumi’s stance was rigid, arms folded, eyes flashing with frustration and something darker — protectiveness, jealousy. Mira took a slow, steadying breath, reminding herself to keep control.

“You texted?” Mira asked, tone even.

Rumi’s jaw tightened. “I need to know what you’re doing.”

Mira arched an eyebrow. “Doing? You mean walking around the island?”

“No,” Rumi snapped, stepping closer. “You… you’re putting her under your spell. Zoey.”

Mira blinked, taken aback. “Excuse me?”

Rumi’s lips pressed into a thin line. “For once in my life, I have something that’s just mine. Something that’s untouchable. And of course, of course, you have to swoop in and try to take it for yourself, like you always do!”

Mira’s chest tightened. Her eyes went sharp, a fire flickering to life. “You think I’m trying to take her? Do you have any idea how unhinged you sound right now?”

“Oh I’m unhinged?? You know exactly what I mean!” Rumi yelled, voice raw. “This isn’t just jealousy — it’s survival. I can’t… I can’t lose her.”

Mira’s hands curled into fists at her sides, lips trembling. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone I loved?” Her voice cracked, and suddenly the carefully measured composure fell away. “Do you have any idea how broken I was when you left? You obliterated me, Rumi. I spent months—months—relearning how to breathe, how to move, how to exist without pieces of myself scattered across the floor because of you!”

Rumi’s own chest tightened, eyes wide, heart hammering. She’s… she’s still bleeding. I left her like that.

“You told me it wasn’t me, that it was ‘different paths,’ that you were drowning…” Mira’s voice shook. “You left, and I watched the world read between the lines. Every perfectly neutral post, every staged smile — I felt it, Rumi. I felt the betrayal, the abandonment. You left and the world applauded your courage, and I… I was invisible. I was shattered.”

Rumi’s breath caught, guilt slicing through her like a knife. She blinked, helpless as Mira’s tears fell freely, and a part of her heart — the part that always ached for Mira — cracked all over again. I broke her. 

Mira wiped roughly at her eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath…resetting. Then, the wicked gleam appeared. Her lips curved into a sharp, teasing smile that made Rumi’s blood run hot again.

“Now,” Mira said, voice sly, almost dangerous, “I might have put a little spell on Zoey. Watch yourself, Rumi. She’s adorable, but… she might just follow me around if I wink hard enough.”

Rumi froze, cheeks burning, and Mira’s smirk deepened. “Nice chat,” she said lightly, eyes sparkling with mischief as she brushed the remaining tears from her cheeks. 

Then, without another word, she spun on her heel and walked away, each step deliberate, leaving a charged silence in her wake.

Rumi’s jaw clenched, shoulders rigid, chest heaving. She let out a low, frustrated groan, watching Mira disappear into the shadows of the street. I hate her. I love her. I can’t…

In her mind’s eye, Zoey was warm, grounding, unwavering. But even Zoey couldn’t erase the echo Mira left, the reminder of a past that still had claws deep in Rumi’s heart.

Chapter Text

The morning after her explosive argument with Mira, Rumi was still raw. She hid it under makeup and a cheerful tone that was just a little too forced, but Zoey saw the cracks. She always did.

When Rumi ducked out for a video call with her agency, Zoey decided to head down to the market near the harbor. Anything to clear the heaviness out of the Airbnb. Fresh fruit, maybe flowers for Rumi. Something simple.

The sea air was warm, briny. Stalls overflowed with glossy persimmons, stacks of tangerines, steaming buns wrapped in paper. Zoey tucked her hair behind her ears and tried to feel light. Tried.

And then she saw her.

Standing at a vendor’s stall, sunglasses perched low on her nose, pink hair loose around her shoulders. She wore a cropped white button-down that clung in all the right places, gold hoops catching the sun. 

Zoey’s stomach dropped. Of course. Of course Mira would be here, like a storm she and Rumi couldn’t outrun.

Mira turned, slow and deliberate, as though she’d felt Zoey’s gaze burning into her skin. Their eyes met, and the corner of Mira’s mouth curved — not a smile, not exactly. Something sharper.

“Zoey.” Her voice slid through the market noise, smooth as glass.

Zoey froze. 

“Mira,” Zoey managed, stepping closer before she could stop herself.

Mira bought two tangerines, handed one lazily to Zoey…casual, as though this was routine for them. “Vitamin C. You look like you could use it.”

Zoey accepted, pulse quickening. “Thanks.”

Silence stretched, charged. Mira leaned against the stall’s edge, tilting her head. “So. Rumi didn’t tell me she upgraded her type.”

Zoey’s breath caught. Heat crept up her neck. “I’m not—this isn’t—”

Mira laughed, low and knowing. “Relax. I don’t bite. Not unless someone begs me to.”

Zoey swallowed hard. Why does everything she says sound like a fucking dare?

“You don’t have to do this,” Zoey said, softer than she meant to. “The… whatever this is. The power plays. It’s not fair to Rumi.”

“Fair?” Mira’s sunglasses caught the light as she slid them higher on her nose. “Fair went out the window when she left me gutted on the floor. You think she’s told you everything? You think she’s some tragic victim?”

Zoey stiffened. She wanted to defend Rumi, to snap back. But then Mira leaned in, close enough that Zoey caught the faintest trace of her perfume — sharp citrus, something floral beneath. It was dizzying.

“Be honest,” Mira murmured, her lips near Zoey’s ear. “You feel it, don’t you? That pull. You can’t look away.”

Zoey’s breath stuttered.

Mira chuckled, a dark little sound. “Thought so.” She peeled her tangerine, fingers deft, juice glinting on her perfectly manicured nails. She popped a slice into her mouth, slow, watching Zoey watch her.

Zoey’s cheeks burned. She forced herself to look away, to breathe. “God Rumi was right. You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been called worse.” Mira’s voice softened suddenly, almost wistful. “She does love you, you know. I can see it. I’d almost admire it… if it didn’t feel like she’s flaunting what you stole.”

Zoey turned back, stunned by the flash of rawness in Mira’s eyes. For a second, she saw the woman Rumi had described — not the sharp edges, but the break beneath.

“I didn’t steal anything,” Zoey said quietly. “She chose me.”

Mira’s jaw tightened, and something unspoken twisted through her expression. She stepped back, slipping the sunglasses fully on. The armor was back in place.

“Maybe.” She smiled without warmth. “Or maybe she just chose safety.”

Zoey’s chest ached. She wanted to argue, to say No, she chose love. She chose me. But the words caught, because the truth was Mira wasn’t wrong about her magnetism. Even now, Zoey’s body hummed with the tension of standing too close.

Mira checked her phone, as if bored. “Anyway. Don’t worry, I’m not here to poach. I have better things to do than tangle myself in Rumi’s rebound.”

The jab stung, but Zoey held her ground. “You don’t actually believe that.”

That earned her a real laugh, sharp and cutting. Mira reached out suddenly, brushing a thumb over Zoey’s wrist where her pulse raced. The touch was feather-light, gone almost instantly — but enough. Too much.

Zoey’s skin burned. Oh, shit. Oh no.

Mira leaned in, her voice low, velvet and venom both. “Careful, sweetheart. Rumi might be the one you sleep beside, but don’t pretend you’re not curious.”

Zoey’s breath caught audibly.

And then Mira straightened, casual again, as if she hadn’t just set Zoey’s insides on fire. “Enjoy the market.” She popped another slice of fruit into her mouth and walked away, hips swaying with deliberate ease.

Zoey stood rooted to the cobblestones, heart pounding like she’d just sprinted. She wanted to scream. She wanted to chase her. She wanted to run the other direction…to run to Rumi.

Instead, she stood there, the taste of citrus on her tongue, watching Mira vanish into the crowd — and hating how badly she already wanted to see her again.

Chapter Text

Mira didn’t usually linger after encounters like that. Not anymore.

She’d perfected the art of armor: sharp smiles, sharper words, and the kind of confidence that left no room for doubt. Walk away first, laugh last. Always.

But when she rounded the corner out of the market and finally let out the breath she’d been holding, her hands were trembling.

“Goddammit,” she muttered under her breath, shoving her sunglasses up onto her head. Her pulse was still racing like she’d sprinted half a mile. All because of one girl with wide eyes and a stubborn streak.

Zoey.

She pressed her back against the side of a convenience store, staring down at the tangerine peel still sticky on her fingers. 

That look Zoey had given her — equal parts defiance and hunger — kept replaying like a broken reel.

Mira wanted to scoff at it, chalk it up to the same routine she always pulled with Rumi. Stir the pot. Make her squirm. Remind her that Mira knew every weak spot, every tell.

And it had started that way. She’d spotted Zoey across the market and thought, Perfect. Let’s see how she handles a little pressure. Another way to twist the knife in Rumi’s side.

But it hadn’t stayed that way.

Because when Zoey looked at her — when she blushed, when she snapped back with that quiet steel in her voice — Mira had felt something sharp twist in her chest. Something she hadn’t let herself feel in a long time. Not since before the breakup.

She swallowed hard, dragging her fingers through her hair. No. Don’t even go there. This is Rumi’s girlfriend. Rumi’s.

And yet.

Her phone buzzed, and for a terrifying second she thought it might be Rumi again. But no — Jinu. Of course.

Jinu: How’s it going?

Mira barked a laugh that startled a passing tourist. Peace. Right.

Mira: Peaceful my ass. Remember? Rumi’s here. With a girl.

The dots appeared instantly.

Jinu: Wait WHAT? I fucking thought you were joking that she was with a girl! Damn...I just didn't think Rumi had it in her.

Mira: Dead serious. And you won’t believe it. The girl’s… Jesus, Jinu.

Jinu: What’s she like?

Mira hesitated, thumbs hovering. She could lie. Say Zoey was nothing special. Say she was bland, forgettable. That would be safe. But the memory of that shiver in Zoey’s pulse under her touch made Mira’s fingers betray her.

Mira: She’s… not what I expected. Pretty. Sweet. Fire under the surface.

Jinu: Mira.

Just that. Her name, loaded with warning.

Mira: Don’t. I’m not doing anything. Just observing.

Jinu: You’re playing with fire.

Mira: When am I not?

She slid her phone into her bag before he could reply, pushing off the wall and walking toward the quieter streets away from the market.

The truth she didn’t want to admit: she hadn’t felt that pull since Rumi. Not once. Not in all the nights of meaningless flirting, the DMs stuffed with thirsty fans, the endless parade of glossy photo shoots where she played goddess for the camera. Nothing had cut through the haze.

But Zoey had. In ten minutes flat.

Mira bit her lip hard enough to sting, willing the thought away. It’s not real. It’s just adrenaline. Just revenge dressed up as attraction. You’re not that stupid.

And yet her body still hummed with the memory of Zoey’s closeness, the way she’d swallowed like she couldn’t breathe, the way her voice had cracked just a little when she said, You don’t actually believe that.

Mira shook her head, furious at herself. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was supposed to be control. Her rules, her game. 

She was supposed to rattle Zoey just enough that Rumi would feel it — that Rumi would crack under the reminder that Mira still had power, still knew how to get under skin and stay there.

But somewhere between the smirk and the peel of a tangerine, Mira had lost her balance.

She reached the pier and sat on the edge, letting the wind whip at her hair. She pulled the signet ring off her finger, turning it over in her hand.

Rumi had given it to her. Their first year together, some tiny boutique in Myeongdong, a late-night date that had ended with cheap noodles and stolen kisses in the rain. 

Mira had pretended she didn’t care much for jewelry, but the moment Rumi slipped the gold band onto her finger — the black center catching the city lights — she’d felt claimed. Chosen. Loved in a way that still left her breathless to remember.

And she’d worn it every single day since.

Mira knew Rumi had noticed it at the café. She wore it so much she didn’t even think about taking it off when she saw Rumi. She’d caught the flicker in her ex’s eyes, the way her gaze snagged like a hook. Mira wondered, not without a bitter twist, what Rumi thought of it now — that Mira still carried the gift of a girl who’d once sworn she’d never let go.

Jewelry had always been their language, the secret love notes they passed back and forth when words felt too heavy. Rumi’s favorite gift, Mira knew, had been the gold necklace Mira had commissioned on a whim: a small gold pendant with a embossed flower, delicate and eternal. On the back, Mira had had the words etched in fine script: “You are my home.”

Mira’s chest ached, because she could still see that moment as vividly as if it had been yesterday.

They’d been in their kitchen, bare feet on cool tile, Rumi in one of Mira’s oversized hoodies. Mira had pretended to cook just so she could sneak the small velvet box out from the counter.

“Close your eyes,” Mira had said, grinning like an idiot.

Rumi had laughed, suspicious but obedient, her lashes fanning against her cheeks. Mira slipped the necklace over her head, the pendant settling against her collarbone. When Rumi opened her eyes and read the inscription, her mouth fell open.

“Mira,” she’d whispered, touching the pendant with trembling fingers. And then, with tears shining in her eyes: “You can’t just say things like that—”

“Yes, I can,” Mira had interrupted, kissing her quick and fierce. “Because it’s true. You are my home.”

Rumi had worn that necklace constantly after. In videos, in photos, on lazy mornings when they hadn’t bothered to get dressed yet. Mira used to tease that it was practically welded to her skin. But secretly, she’d loved it. Because every time she saw the little flower glinting in the light, she knew Rumi carried her words, her heart, everywhere.

She closed her fist around the ring, jaw tightening.

Did Rumi still wear it? Or had she tucked it away in some forgotten drawer, too painful to look at, too precious to throw away?

“Come on Mira,” she muttered. “It’s just metal.”

But she knew better.

It wasn’t just metal. It was the history of them.

Now, staring at her reflection in the dark water, she whispered to herself, “Don’t be an idiot. You don’t want her back. You want revenge.”

But the echo came back, merciless: Then why did it feel like wanting?

Chapter Text

Zoey had been quiet ever since they got back from the market. Too quiet. She helped Rumi carry their bags of mochi and skewers, set them neatly on the little counter in the rental, but her movements were clipped, her smiles rehearsed. When Rumi teased her about nearly knocking over a rack of postcards, Zoey laughed, but it was hollow—air escaping rather than joy.

Rumi noticed. Of course she noticed.

“Okay,” she said finally, leaning against the counter with arms folded. “You’re doing the thing.”

Zoey glanced up, blinking. “What thing?”

“The thing where you look like someone just kicked your puppy, but when I ask what’s wrong you say ‘nothing’ like I can’t see your face.”

Zoey sighed, dragging a hand through her hair before collapsing onto the bed. “I ran into Mira.”

The words were so blunt, so dropped-in, that Rumi’s stomach clenched. “…What?”

“At the market,” Zoey said, frustration bubbling in her voice. “She just…appeared. Like she does. I swear she’s haunting me.”

Rumi tilted her head, watching carefully. “And?”

Zoey groaned. “And she was frustrating. That’s all. Just—god, she knows exactly how to get under someone’s skin.”

Rumi’s mouth twitched. Yeah. That’s Mira. She crossed her arms, feigning casualness though her pulse hammered. “She always did have that talent.”

Zoey’s lips pressed tight, then parted. She hesitated before blurting, “She’s beautiful.”

The silence after was deafening.

Zoey’s eyes went wide, panic flashing. “I mean, objectively.” Her words tripped over themselves as she continued trying to come back. 

Rumi’s chest tightened, the ghost of something dangerous moving through her, but she breathed steadily and crossed to her girlfriend. She sat down beside Zoey, brushing her knuckles along her arm. “Hey. It’s okay. I trust you. I choose you. Always”

Zoey’s throat caught. Her eyes softened, and relief flickered, but guilt immediately surged back, twisting. Why did I say that out loud? Why can’t I just shut my mouth? She leaned into Rumi’s touch anyway, nodding against her shoulder. I love her. That’s the truth. So why the hell does Mira linger in my head like smoke?

⸻

Dinner was a quiet affair. They ate takeout from neat bento boxes on the bed, the television humming with some cheerful variety show they weren’t really watching. 

Zoey laughed at the jokes, but each sound felt like it was pitched a note too high. Rumi didn’t press; she knew when not to chase shadows.

When the food was gone and the dishes stacked, Rumi slipped into the bathroom to change. Zoey sat cross-legged on the mattress, scrolling her phone, but her thoughts looped endlessly.

Mira’s presence. Mira’s voice. Mira leaning just a little too close at the market.

Her stomach twisted. I shouldn’t have noticed. I shouldn’t have liked it. I love Rumi. Full stop. End of story.

Still, a treacherous whisper curved through her: But people can think others are beautiful. That’s not a crime. Right?

She snapped her phone shut, tossing it aside, and flopped onto her back, staring at the ceiling. Totally fine. It’s fine.

⸻

Rumi padded into the bathroom, tugging her shirt over her head. She stood in the soft glow of the bedside lamp in nothing but a white sports bra and underwear, muscles shifting as she pulled her purple hair up into a messy knot.

The gold chain around her neck glinted, the flower pendant resting against her tan skin.

Rumi’s fingers found it automatically, lifting it up so it swayed, catching the light. She flipped it over once, twice, the inscription gleaming faintly: “you are my home”.

Her throat constricted.

Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.

She pressed her lips together, forcing the tears back down where they belonged. But the memories clawed up anyway—the day Mira had slipped it around her neck, laughing nervously, muttering something about it not being her usual style but how it made her think of her.

And she’d loved it. Rumi had worn it every single day since.

She closed her eyes, dragging her thumb across the words, and her chest ached.

Her mind betrayed her further.

The café. Mira’s hand lifting her cup, the ring.

Rumi had noticed immediately—because she had chosen it. Because it had been the first gift she’d given Mira, a marker of a thousand firsts that followed.

However, she had convinced herself Mira had worn it that day in the shop just to psych her out, to taunt her, to prove she still had power. And maybe that was true. Mira loved games, loved getting under her skin.

But God, how she wanted to believe the opposite—that Mira still wore it because she couldn’t stop, because somewhere under the fire and venom, she hadn’t moved on either.

Rumi’s hand clenched around the pendant until her knuckles whitened, breath shuddering through her teeth.

Then she forced herself to let it fall back against her chest.

No. Don’t give her that power. Not again.

She turned off the lamp and slid into bed beside Zoey, curling into the warmth of her girlfriend’s body.

Zoey stirred, turning into her, arm draping over her waist. The guilt still sat sharp beneath her ribs, but she tucked her face against Rumi’s hair and whispered, “I love you.”

Rumi smiled faintly in the dark, “I love you too.”

Chapter Text

The morning sun filtered gently through the small balcony, brushing Rumi’s shoulders with warmth as she leaned against the railing. 

It was their last full day in Jeju, and the ocean stretched beyond, blue and endless, while gulls wheeled overhead, their cries punctuating the quiet. Zoey stirred beside her, yawning and stretching.

“Morning,” Rumi said, nudging her with an elbow.

“Morning,” Zoey replied, voice thick with sleep. She held out a hand, and Rumi took it, letting their fingers interlace naturally.

On the small table between them sat takeout coffee and a basket of pastries from the market yesterday. Zoey had spread out a little itinerary she’d made: a list of streets, cafes, and scenic overlooks they could explore today.

“You really went full tourist mode, huh?” Rumi teased, eyes scanning the neat handwriting.

Zoey huffed. “I did not. I just…like to plan, especially since we want this trip to go out with a bang!. Don’t tell me you’re judging my handwriting too.”

Rumi grinned, leaning down to brush a stray strand of hair from Zoey’s face. “Maybe a little. But it’s cute.”

Zoey smiled softly, and for a moment, the air between them was filled only with sunlight and quiet, the world narrowing down to the balcony, the coffee, and each other.

⸻

They wandered through the winding streets of Jeju, hand in hand, stopping to sample honey tteok from a street vendor and laughing as Rumi tried to pronounce the names of unfamiliar fruits. Zoey bought a small charm for Rumi, a tiny seashell painted gold.

“I saw it and thought of you,” Zoey said, handing it over.

Rumi took it carefully, her fingers brushing Zoey’s. “You’re so cute,” she said, but her voice was soft. She turned the little charm over in her hand, imagining it dangling from a bracelet. “I love it.”

Zoey’s chest warmed at the words. “I just…want you to have something small to remember today.”

They drifted through the market, teasing each other over who got the better deal on trinkets and snacks. 

Rumi’s laughter rang clear as she nudged Zoey with her shoulder. “You’re bargaining all wrong! You’re supposed to haggle like a normal person, not like you’re terrified of offending them.”

Zoey laughed. “I’m not terrified, I’m…careful! There’s a difference.”

Rumi rolled her eyes, but her smile softened. I love her so much, she thought, letting the warmth of the moment wash over her. Mira felt impossibly far away today. This day was theirs.

⸻

By early afternoon, they ducked into a small, serene tea house tucked between narrow lanes. The smell of steeping leaves and soft wooden furniture enveloped them. Rumi ordered a jasmine tea, while Zoey chose something fruity and fragrant. They sat side by side, knees brushing under the table.

Zoey’s gaze lingered on Rumi as she took a careful sip of her tea. The light caught the curve of her jaw, the soft brown of her eyes, and the faint curve of the gold necklace at her collarbone. Zoey’s fingers itched to reach out, but she stayed still, absorbing the way Rumi looked so alive and grounded even in quiet moments.

She’s mine, Zoey thought fiercely, though a whisper of guilt flickered beneath. I love her. I do. She’s so…perfect. 

Rumi caught her gaze and smiled, small and knowing. “Everything okay?” she asked softly.

Zoey nodded quickly. “Yeah. Everything’s perfect.” She meant it. She really did.

This is enough, Zoey reminded herself. This is what I have. This is what matters.

⸻

The afternoon drew them to the cliffs, the wind strong and the waves crashing below. Rumi slipped her hand into Zoey’s without asking; Zoey squeezed back. For a long stretch, they walked in companionable silence, letting the sun and salt air fill the spaces between them.

Rumi glanced at Zoey, the corners of her eyes crinkling with soft amusement. “You know,” she said, “I think I could get used to days like this.”

Zoey smiled, leaning her head against Rumi’s shoulder. “We should get used to them.”

Rumi let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Mira can’t ruin every day for us, you know?”

Zoey’s stomach tightened at the name, but she let the tension slide. “Not today,” she said softly.

They stopped at the cliff’s edge, the wind tugging at their hair. Rumi turned toward Zoey, cupping her face in her hands, and Zoey leaned in, pressing her forehead against Rumi’s. Their kiss was slow, soft—less about need and more about claiming comfort in each other. The world around them blurred.

⸻

As the sun began to dip, painting the horizon in shades of pink and gold, they found a low stone wall to sit on. Their legs dangled, toes brushing the edge. Zoey rested her head on Rumi’s shoulder.

“I feel…lucky,” Zoey admitted softly. “To have found you. After everything. Somehow we ended up here.”

Rumi kissed the top of her head. “We worked for it. We’re building something together. Something that’s ours.”

Zoey pressed closer, letting herself sink into that truth. This is what matters. This is what lasts.

⸻

Evening came quietly. They found a small, cozy local restaurant tucked away on a narrow street. The smell of grilled seafood and rice welcomed them, and they laughed over shared dishes, occasionally brushing hands or shoulders in little touches that said more than words could.

Back at the Airbnb, they collapsed into bed, tangled and warm, exhausted from walking, from laughing, from feeling so thoroughly alive. 

Zoey traced patterns along Rumi’s arm as Rumi dozed, soft snores filling the space between them.

For once, Mira’s shadow felt distant. Today was just theirs.

And for Rumi, watching Zoey’s chest rise and fall in sleep, she felt a small, steady beat of gratitude: love like this, patient and unshakable, was worth holding onto, no matter what storms still waited.

Chapter Text

The sky over Jeju was low and gray when Rumi and Zoey rolled their suitcases across the terminal floor. The kind of sky that pressed down on you, heavy with the promise of rain.

“Boarding pass?” the agent asked, her tone already weary from a long day of irate travelers. Zoey slid hers across with a tired smile, then reached back for Rumi’s.

The woman tapped at her keyboard, frown deepening. “Your flight to Seoul is delayed.”

Zoey exhaled. “How long?”

The woman’s eyes flicked to the screen, then back up. “At least three hours. Maybe more.”

Behind them, a groan rolled through the terminal as the announcement came over the speakers: All departures to Seoul have been delayed due to severe weather conditions.

Rumi rubbed a hand down her face. “Of course,” she muttered. She glanced at Zoey, trying to summon patience but already feeling the edges fray. “Has the Airbnb reservation expired?”

Zoey’s answering grimace said it all.

By the time they found a bench to sit on, chaos had erupted around them. Families arguing with agents, business travelers snapping into their phones, kids sprawled on the floor surrounded by backpacks and stuffed animals. The whole terminal buzzed with exhaustion and frustration.

Zoey leaned her head on Rumi’s shoulder, sighing. “This is a nightmare.”

Rumi pressed her lips to Zoey’s hair, steadying herself. “We’ll figure it out. Always do.”

But hours later, as night swallowed Jeju and the rain began pelting the windows in sheets, the loudspeaker crackled with the final blow: All remaining departures for tonight are canceled. Passengers, please rebook at the counters or through the airline’s app.

The terminal erupted again.

Zoey groaned into her hands. “Okay. Okay, we just need… we need a hotel. Something close.” She pulled out her phone, thumbs flying across the screen.

Rumi checked hers too. Within five minutes, they had the same result: No availability. Every hotel near the airport was booked solid. Even the cheap motels had filled up with stranded passengers.

Zoey shoved her phone into her pocket and stood, pacing. “Okay, what about calling the Airbnb host? Beg her to let us back in for the night?”

Rumi tried. No answer. Voicemail. She dropped her phone into her lap and stared at it. “Even if it is, it’s across town. No buses are running in this weather, and I don’t think we’re getting a cab.”

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the frantic buzz of the terminal. Zoey sank down beside her again, shoulders tense, fingers tugging at the hem of her sweatshirt.

Rumi felt the dread crawl up her spine before she even said it. She hated how obvious the answer was, how inevitable.

“There’s only one person left we could call.”

Zoey froze. Lifted her head slowly. “Rumi—”

“I know,” Rumi cut in, voice sharp but weary. “Trust me, I know. But we’re out of options.”

Zoey chewed her lip. Her eyes darted toward the rain-smeared windows, then back to Rumi. “Do you think she’d even say yes?”

Rumi let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, she’ll say yes. Not because she wants to help, but because she’ll enjoy watching us squirm.”

The thought of Mira, smug and sharp, made her stomach knot. But the thought of spending the night on an airport bench with Zoey shivering against her was worse.

Zoey hesitated, then reached for Rumi’s hand. Her grip was warm, grounding. “If you don’t want to, we’ll figure something else out. Even if it means staying here.”

Rumi squeezed back, torn between pride and practicality. God, of course this is how it ends. Of course she’s the only one left. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them with resolve. “No. I’ll do it.”

Her fingers trembled slightly as she scrolled to Mira’s number. She’d deleted it once, years ago. But some part of her—stupid, stubborn—had typed it back in eventually. Just in case.

The line rang once. Twice.

“Rumi.” Mira’s voice slid through the speaker, smooth, laced with curiosity. “Well. Didn’t expect to hear from you.”

Rumi clenched her jaw. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, but I want to. It’s not every day my ex calls me at midnight from a storm-drenched airport.” Mira’s tone turned playful, cruel in that familiar way. “What’s wrong? Out of places to run?”

Rumi almost hung up. Almost. But Zoey’s hand in hers kept her steady. “Our flight was canceled. Everything’s booked. We need a place to stay.”

A pause. Mira let the silence stretch until it prickled against Rumi’s skin. Then, with a laugh that was low and smug: “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Rumi swallowed her pride. “Mira.”

Another beat. Then Mira sighed, sharp but acquiescent. “Fine. Come over. But don’t think for a second I’m doing this out of kindness.”

The line clicked dead.

Rumi lowered the phone slowly. Zoey studied her face, searching for cracks.

“She said yes?”

Rumi nodded, voice flat. “She said yes.”

A notification dinged on Rumi’s phone. Mira had texted the address.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The weight of what they’d just done hung thick in the air, heavier than the storm outside.

Finally, Zoey whispered, “Guess we’re really doing this.”

Rumi stood, grabbing the handle of her suitcase. Her pulse hammered. God help us.

The taxi Mira had ordered for them pulled up half an hour later, wipers struggling against the downpour. Rumi and Zoey climbed in wordlessly, exhaustion mingling with dread. The ride through the slick, neon-lit streets felt like a countdown, each turn bringing them closer to the one person they’d both been orbiting all week.

When they pulled up outside Mira’s villa, Zoey exhaled slowly. “Here we go.”

Rumi glanced at her, at the determination etched across her face, and forced herself to mirror it. They had each other. That was what mattered.

But as they walked toward the building, luggage wheels rattling against wet pavement, Rumi couldn’t shake the thought echoing in her chest: There’s no way out now.

Chapter Text

The taxi pulled up to the villa, and Rumi’s pulse hammered harder with each step towards the door. The lighting was soft and gold. She hated that she remembered this building so well.

“When do you think she’s leaving the island?” Zoey asked.

“Who knows,” Rumi shrugged. “This is her family’s villa. So in reality she could stay as long as she wanted.”

Zoey kept close, her suitcase rattling behind her. She glanced sideways at Rumi, lips pressed tight. She’s trying to be steady for me. The thought sent a painful wave of affection through Rumi’s chest.

And then—there it was. Mira’s door.

Before Rumi could knock, it opened.

Mira leaned lazily against the frame, hair damp like she’d just stepped from the shower. She wore an oversized black hoodie and shorts, casual, but her presence filled the doorway like a tidal wave. Her eyes skimmed over them both, lingering on Zoey just a moment too long before flicking back to Rumi.

“Well,” she drawled, lips curving. “The strays have arrived.”

Rumi’s teeth clenched, but she forced her voice steady. “Thanks for letting us stay.”

Mira’s smile sharpened. “Don’t thank me yet.” She stepped aside, sweeping an arm in mock invitation. “Come in.”

The villa smelled faintly of jasmine tea and rain. Everything was sleek, clean, minimal—yet the little details gutted Rumi. The bookshelf in the corner where they used to stack their favorite paperbacks. The framed print above the sofa, one they’d picked out together in a tiny Seoul gallery.

Zoey wheeled her suitcase inside, her eyes flicking across the space with quiet curiosity. Rumi could feel Mira watching Zoey watch everything, and it set her nerves ablaze.

“You can drop your stuff in the guest room,” Mira said, already moving toward the kitchen. “It’s down the hall. Sheets are clean. Try not to snoop too much.”

Zoey hesitated, looking to Rumi for direction. Rumi nodded stiffly, and Zoey slipped down the hall, suitcase bumping against the hardwood.

That left Rumi standing in the living room, Mira leaning casually against the counter with a glass of water in hand. The silence between them was suffocating, thick with years of unsaid things.

“You didn’t have to answer,” Rumi muttered.

Mira raised a brow. “Didn’t I? You’re stranded. You called me.” She took a slow sip, eyes glittering over the rim of the glass. “What was I supposed to do, let you sleep in the terminal?”

“Yes,” Rumi snapped, then immediately regretted the raw edge in her voice. She scrubbed a hand over her face. “No. I don’t know. Just—don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Mira tilted her head, studying her. For a moment, her expression softened, but then she smirked. “You look good, by the way. Stress suits you.”

Before Rumi could bite back, Zoey reappeared in the doorway, clearly sensing the tension. “The guest room’s great,” she said quickly, trying to cut through the atmosphere. She stepped further into the room, her gaze flitting to Mira before landing on Rumi. “Do you want me to…?”

“Yeah,” Rumi said. “We should get some rest. Early flight tomorrow, hopefully.”

Mira’s voice was deceptively light. “Sleep well, then.”

The guest room was comfortable, if too neat, the bed made with crisp linens that smelled faintly of lavender. Zoey crawled under the blanket while Rumi sat on the edge, still vibrating with leftover adrenaline.

Zoey touched her arm gently. “Hey. We’ll be fine. It’s just one night.”

Rumi gave a short laugh. “One night is enough.”

Zoey frowned. “She’s… intense, yeah. But she did let us stay. That has to count for something.”

Rumi shook her head, staring at the floor. “You don’t know her like I do.” You don’t know how dangerous it is to be in her orbit.

Zoey didn’t push. Instead, she slipped her hand into Rumi’s, threading their fingers together. Warm. Steady. “Then you just stay close to me,” she whispered. “We’ll get through this together.”

Rumi squeezed back, grateful but restless. She lay down beside Zoey, staring at the ceiling long after Zoey’s breathing evened out.

Through the wall, faintly, she could hear the sound of Mira moving about. A cupboard opening, a door shutting, footsteps crossing the floor. It was like the rhythm of another life bleeding back through the plaster, impossible to block out.

Rumi pressed a fist against her chest, the ache spreading wide. One night. Just one night.

But deep down, she knew nothing about being under Mira’s roof would ever be simple.

In the kitchen, Mira leaned against the counter in the dark, sipping another glass of water. She stared at the wall separating her from the guest room, lips twisting into something unreadable.

“Welcome home, Rumi,” she murmured to the silence.

Chapter Text

The rain didn’t let up for hours. By the time night fell, it was as if the entire island had sunk beneath a gray curtain, the wind howling against Mira’s windows like a living thing. The forecast had only gotten worse: high seas, grounded flights, nothing moving in or out of Jeju until at least next week.

Rumi stared at the weather report on her phone, fingers clenched so tightly around it her knuckles whitened. Her chest felt like it was caving in.

Zoey, sitting cross-legged on the guest bed, tilted her head. “Babe, you’re going to snap your phone in half if you grip it any harder.”

Rumi’s jaw locked. “It’s not funny. We’re stuck here. With her.”

Zoey reached out, steady and unshaken, curling her hand around Rumi’s. The tension in Rumi’s grip softened immediately, as if Zoey had a key to a lock no one else could touch.

“Hey,” Zoey said softly. “It’s a storm. Not a life sentence.”

Not a life sentence. Easy words, but Rumi’s stomach churned anyway. They were trapped in Mira’s orbit, and every second stretched her nerves thinner.

“I just—” Rumi broke off, shaking her head. She couldn’t find the right words. Couldn’t say she gets under my skin, or she knows every button to push, or worse, I don’t know if I’ve ever stopped wanting her. Instead, she exhaled and muttered, “It’s complicated.”

Zoey’s thumb brushed her knuckles, grounding her again. “Then let’s uncomplicate it. We’re safe, we’re together, and Mira hasn’t done anything catastrophic yet. We’ll ride it out.”

Rumi stared at her girlfriend, the way Zoey’s calm was an anchor against the storm raging both outside and inside. She bent forward until her forehead pressed against Zoey’s, breathing her in. “I don’t deserve you.”

Zoey smiled. “Maybe not. But you’ve got me anyway.”

The knot in Rumi’s chest eased just a fraction.

They ventured into the living room half an hour later, following the smell of garlic and sesame oil. Mira stood in the kitchen, stirring a pan on the stove, her damp pink hair piled in a loose bun. She glanced up, one eyebrow arched.

“Before you panic,” she said dryly, “I’m not poisoning you. Just making enough japchae for three.”

Zoey perked up immediately. “You cook?”

Mira gave a little smirk. “Contrary to the brand image, yes. Influencers are capable of boiling water.”

Zoey laughed softly, and Rumi’s stomach twisted at the sound. Mira’s eyes lingered a beat too long on Zoey before flicking back to the pan.

The three of them ate at the small round table by the window, the storm rattling the glass but the food warm and rich. Rumi kept her head down, focusing on the noodles, but she couldn’t ignore the strange shift in the air. Mira wasn’t on the attack. She wasn’t pushing, wasn’t cutting with her words.

If anything, she was… normal.

“Thanks,” Zoey said sincerely once she’d finished her bowl. “That was amazing.”

Mira shrugged, lips quirking. “Don’t thank me too much. You’ll make me look soft.”

Zoey grinned, and something in Rumi’s chest pinched so sharply she almost winced.

But when Mira caught her gaze, Rumi was startled. There was no mockery in Mira’s eyes. No smugness. Just a flicker of something that made her throat go dry. She looked away quickly, shoving another bite into her mouth.

Later, while Zoey showered, Rumi found herself alone in the living room again. Mira lounged on the couch, scrolling through her phone, her ring glinting in the lamplight. The sight of it made Rumi’s stomach lurch.

She couldn’t help herself. “Still wearing that, huh?”

Mira didn’t look up. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Rumi’s throat tightened. She remembered the tiny boutique where she’d bought it, Mira’s delighted smile when she slipped it onto her finger. Their history gleamed on Mira’s hand like it had never left.

Rumi forced her voice flat. “Thought you’d have thrown it out with the rest of us.”

At that, Mira’s eyes lifted. They locked onto Rumi’s, steady, unreadable. “Not everything is so disposable.”

The words landed like a blade, and Rumi’s breath caught. Before she could reply, the bathroom door opened and Zoey padded back out, damp hair dripping onto her t-shirt. The tension cracked, Mira leaning back into her cushions like nothing had happened.

But Rumi couldn’t unhear it. Not everything is so disposable.

The next two days blurred. The storm trapped them together, Mira’s villa both sanctuary and cage. They fell into a strange rhythm: Mira making tea in the mornings, Zoey chatting with her like they were old friends, Rumi trying not to unravel every time Mira’s gaze lingered.

And Mira was… tame. Almost civil. She wasn’t threatening Zoey anymore, wasn’t openly sparring with Rumi. If anything, she seemed to be observing them, her sharp edges hidden but not gone.

It unnerved Rumi.

“Why isn’t she fighting?” she whispered one night, curled against Zoey on the guest bed while the rain battered the windows.

Zoey smoothed a hand down her arm. “Maybe she’s tired of fighting.”

Rumi frowned into the dark. “Mira doesn’t get tired. She sharpens her knives when she’s bored.”

But Zoey shook her head. “She’s still human, Rumi. You saw her. She laughed today.”

Rumi thought back to it—the way Mira had nearly choked on her tea when Zoey told a dumb story about their last tour. It had been genuine, that laugh. Bright and startled, like Mira herself was surprised it had escaped her.

For the first time, Rumi wondered if maybe Zoey was right.

Still, unease pressed at her ribs. “Don’t trust it too much,” she warned.

Zoey kissed her temple softly. “I trust you. That’s enough.”

But when Zoey drifted to sleep, Rumi lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Through the wall, she could faintly hear Mira moving around—closing cupboards, putting away dishes, the quiet hum of a life she wasn’t supposed to be part of anymore.

Her chest ached. She told herself it was just the storm, the stress, the confinement.

But deep down, she knew it wasn’t.

And worse, she wasn’t sure if Zoey knew it either.

Chapter Text

The storm refused to break. By the third day of being stranded, the world outside Mira’s windows had become nothing but gray water and screaming wind. The sea churned like it wanted to swallow the island whole.

Inside, the air wasn’t calmer.

Mira stood in the kitchen, sleeves of her loose cream sweater pushed up to her elbows, hair twisted into a low, careless knot. She moved easily, with a quiet authority that made even something as mundane as chopping scallions look deliberate, beautiful.

Rumi sat at the counter, pretending to scroll on her phone but unable to keep her gaze from drifting. God, she hated it—how instinctive it was. The long line of Mira’s throat when she tilted her head. The flex of her wrist as she stirred the pot. The flash of the gold ring when it caught the overhead light.

She looks so good it’s infuriating.

And Rumi wasn’t the only one noticing. Zoey had been half-watching her girlfriend out of the corner of her eye, but her focus kept slipping back toward the stove. Toward Mira. She didn’t mean for it to happen, didn’t want it to, but the sight of Mira barefoot in black leggings, sweater hanging just-so off her shoulder—it tugged at her.

Why does she have to look like that while cooking rice? Who looks like that doing something so normal?

Zoey shifted uncomfortably on the couch, forcing her eyes down to her phone. She loved Rumi—loved her—but there was no denying Mira’s presence was magnetic, inescapable.

Mira, for her part, didn’t miss the attention. She never did. A faint, knowing curve tugged at her mouth as she reached for the bowls. “Don’t hover,” she muttered without looking up.

Rumi startled. “I’m not hovering.”

Mira glanced sideways, one brow arched. “You’re standing in the kitchen watching me breathe. That’s hovering.”

Zoey coughed into her hand, hiding a laugh. The sound only made Rumi’s jaw tighten.

She always does this. Always gets under my skin.

“I just want to make sure you’re not slipping poison in again,” Rumi snapped.

Mira slid the bowls onto the counter with a touch too much force, gold ring glinting as she placed them down. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead. Don’t flatter yourself.”

The words landed like old choreography, sharp and practiced. But something in Mira’s tone was different—less venom, more weariness.

They ate in the living room, the storm rattling the windows while the three of them tried to act like sharing space was normal.

Zoey tucked her legs under her on the couch, cradling the hot bowl in her hands. The rice smelled good, savory and sharp with spice. Comfort food. She glanced between them—Rumi stiff at the far end of the sofa, Mira leaning against the armchair like she owned the whole damn place.

The tension pressed on Zoey’s chest until she finally said, “This storm really isn’t letting up, huh?”

“No,” Mira said flatly. “You’re stuck here.”

Rumi shot her a glare. “Don’t sound so thrilled.”

Mira shrugged, sipping her broth with deliberate calm. “I’m just stating facts.”

Zoey winced at the edge in both their voices. She set her bowl down and pressed lightly against Rumi’s knee, grounding her. “Hey,” she murmured, low enough Mira couldn’t quite catch it. “Don’t spiral. It’s just weather. We’ll get home.”

Rumi’s lips tightened, but her shoulders softened a fraction. She leaned into Zoey’s touch, drawing a slow breath. She always knows how to pull me back. Even here, even with Mira three feet away.

Zoey squeezed again, her own chest easing at the reminder of what they were. Of what they’d built. Mira was a storm in her own right, but Rumi was her anchor. She pivoted to try and make casual conversation.

Because Zoey wasn’t just being polite. She was genuinely curious.

And Mira wasn’t being cruel. She was… present. Attentive.

The realization made Rumi’s food taste like ash.

Halfway through the meal, Zoey leaned back in her chair, grinning as Mira deadpanned through some story about a brand sponsor trying to pay her in perfume instead of money.

“You’re impossible,” Zoey laughed.

Mira’s mouth tilted in a faint smile. “Takes one to know one.”

The air went taut, a string pulled too tight. Rumi’s stomach twisted violently.

She’s doing it again. Pulling people in. Pulling her in.

The scrape of her chair was too loud as she stood suddenly, dropping her chopsticks onto her half-finished bowl. “I need some air.”

“You can’t go outside,” Mira said flatly.

“I’ll stand in the hall then.”

Rumi stalked out of the room before she said something she couldn’t take back.

She pressed her back against the wall outside the guest room, trying to breathe, trying to steady the rage clawing at her insides.

She’s mine. Zoey’s mine. And Mira just—she just—

“Rumi?”

Her head snapped up. Zoey stood a few feet away, concern etched across her face.

“You okay?”

Rumi laughed bitterly. “No. Not really.”

Zoey’s hand hovered near her arm, uncertain. “You’re jealous.”

Rumi flinched at the word, but didn’t deny it. “She has this way of—of making everything orbit her. And I can’t—God, I can’t stand watching her pull you into that.”

Zoey’s eyes softened. “I’m not orbiting Mira.”

“You laughed. You—you looked at her like—”

Zoey cut her off with a firm shake of her head. “I love you, Rumi. Not her. Yes, she’s… magnetic. Annoyingly magnetic. But it doesn’t change who I want to come home to at the end of the day.”

Rumi’s throat burned. She searched Zoey’s face, desperate for any crack, any hesitation. But all she saw was sincerity.

Her shoulders slumped, shame prickling beneath her skin. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t.” Zoey squeezed her hand. “But maybe…” She hesitated, glancing toward the living room. “Maybe she doesn’t have to be the enemy either.”

Rumi froze. “Zoey—”

But before she could finish, Mira’s voice floated down the hall. “Are you two done whispering about me, or should I grab some popcorn?”

Rumi stiffened instantly, heat flooding her veins. She spun toward the doorway where Mira leaned, arms crossed, expression carefully blank.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Rumi hissed.

Mira tilted her head. “Enjoying what?”

“Watching me unravel. Watching Zoey—”

“Careful,” Mira said, voice cutting sharp.

Zoey glanced between them, eyes wide, but didn’t move. The tension coiled tighter, lightning without thunder.

“You think this is a game,” Rumi snapped.

Mira’s eyes glinted. “If it were a game, you’d have lost years ago.”

The silence after was electric, charged, every breath heavy.

Zoey broke it first, voice trembling but clear. “Okay, this—whatever this is—can we stop pretending it’s only about me? Because I’m not stupid. I see it. You two… you’re still tied up in each other. You never cut the cord.”

Rumi’s heart stopped. Mira’s face went pale.

Zoey swallowed hard. “So maybe we stop pretending we’re not all feeling it.”

The words hung between them like the lightning outside, dangerous and dazzling.

No one moved. The storm screamed against the glass, the room buzzing with the weight of everything unsaid. Rumi’s pulse thundered in her ears. Mira’s eyes were locked on Zoey now, not mocking, not cruel—hungry. Vulnerable.

And Rumi realized, with a shiver she couldn’t stop, that Zoey was right. The cord had never been cut. It was still wrapped around all of them, tangled and unbreakable.

Mira exhaled shakily, dragging a hand through her hair. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Zoey’s chin lifted stubbornly. “I know exactly what I’m saying.”

And just like that, the world tilted.

The storm outside had nothing on the one building inside the room.

Chapter Text

The rain lashed against the windows with a fury that rattled the glass. Wind keened through the eaves, a low moan that seemed to echo the tension inside the house.

They were trapped here — the three of them — with nowhere to run.

Rumi sat on the edge of the couch, elbows braced against her knees, head bowed into her hands. Her pulse hammered too fast, like she’d been running though she hadn’t moved in hours. Zoey’s hand rubbed her back in slow, grounding circles, but it only half-registered.

The silence in the room was unbearable. Mira sat in the armchair opposite them, legs crossed, posture deceptively relaxed. But her eyes — sharp, watchful, molten dark in the stormlight — never left Rumi.

Zoey broke the silence. Her voice was soft but firm, the kind that didn’t ask so much as cut.

“Okay. Enough of this. You both are going to say it...out loud.”

Rumi’s head snapped up. “Say what?”

Zoey’s gaze flicked between them. “That you two still have feelings for each other.”

Rumi froze, heart stopping in her chest. “Zoey—”

“No. Don’t deflect. Don’t pretend.” Zoey’s voice didn’t waver, though her hands trembled where they rested on Rumi’s back. “I’m not blind. I see the way you look at each other. I see how much it kills you both to breathe the same air. It’s not gone. It never was.”

Mira’s jaw clenched, fingers curling into the armrest. “This is ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Zoey leaned forward, her gaze locking onto Mira’s with a directness that stunned even Rumi. “Because if it’s so ridiculous, why do you wear that ring every single day?”

Mira’s composure faltered — a half-second crack before she masked it again. Her thumb brushed the edge of the ring on her finger, and her voice came out low, dangerous. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Rumi’s throat closed. She did know. Zoey was right. And the admission she’d been swallowing for over a year burned on her tongue.

I never stopped loving you.

But she couldn’t say it.

Zoey looked at Rumi now, unflinching. “And you. Don’t act like you haven’t thought about her. You wear the necklace every single day. Don’t you dare lie to me and say it doesn’t mean anything.”

Rumi’s hand instinctively rose to touch the pendant at her collarbone, the delicate flower pressed into the gold. You are my home. Mira’s words. Mira’s promise.

Her chest ached.

Mira’s breath faltered. The necklace…Rumi still had…still wore the necklace?

Her voice broke through the quiet, sharp and cutting. “Of course she thinks about me. Just like I think about her. Every damn day. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

The words tore through Rumi’s defenses, raw and unguarded. Tears pricked her eyes, but anger surged too. “Why are you saying this now?”

“Because she asked,” Mira spat. “Because she had the guts to force it out when you never could.”

Zoey’s hand slipped from Rumi’s back, fingers curling into her own lap. She swallowed hard, but when she spoke, her voice was steady, almost clinical in its honesty.

“Okay. So we’re all clear then. You two still feel something for each other.” Her eyes dropped, her breath shuddering. “But that doesn’t erase me.”

The words pierced Rumi.

Zoey raised her chin, forcing herself to meet both their gazes. “Rumi loves me. I know she does. That doesn’t stop her from loving you too, Mira. And as much as I hate to admit it, it doesn’t stop me from noticing you either.”

The air went still.

Mira blinked, stunned for the first time all evening. “What?”

Zoey’s voice was softer now, but there was no shame in it. “You’re… electric. You walk into a room and it’s impossible not to feel you. You drive me crazy, and I hate it, but I can’t deny it. You’re… beautiful. And infuriating. And magnetic.”

Rumi’s breath caught, torn between jealousy and something darker. The image of Zoey looking at Mira like that, wanting her — it seared hot and sharp inside her chest.

Mira’s lips parted. For once, no quick retort came. Her eyes flicked between Zoey and Rumi, back and forth like she couldn’t quite trust what she was hearing.

Rumi’s voice cracked. “Zoey—”

But Zoey cut her off, her words tumbling fast, trembling with the weight of confession. “I love you, Rumi. That hasn’t changed. It won’t change. But I’m not going to sit here and pretend I don’t feel the pull too. And I’m not going to let either of you keep lying.”

The room pulsed with silence. The storm outside seemed to roar louder, thunder rolling like it was part of their argument.

Mira’s voice, when it came, was rawer than Rumi had ever heard it. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

Zoey’s lips curved, bittersweet. “I’m not asking anything. I’m just… telling the truth.”

The tension shattered.

Rumi rose to her feet, trembling, the necklace clutched tight in her fist. “Do you think this is easy for me? That watching the two of you—” Her voice broke. “I don’t know what to do with this. With either of you.”

Mira stood too, eyes blazing, tears glittering unshed. “Then stop pretending. Stop running. Just admit it.”

Rumi’s chest heaved, fury and longing twisting together until she thought she might split open. “Fine. I never stopped loving you. Are you happy?”

The words landed like a blow. Mira staggered a step closer, her breath sharp, her own mask cracking wide. “No. Because it doesn’t change anything.”

“Doesn’t it?” Zoey’s whisper cut through them, so fragile it nearly broke.

Chapter Text

The storm outside raged harder, but none of them moved. Rumi’s confession still hung in the air, jagged and electric, and she swore she could hear the three of their heartbeats thundering louder than the thunder itself.

Zoey’s whisper lingered like smoke. Doesn’t it?

It did. God, it did.

Rumi’s throat was raw, her body trembling with the weight of everything she’d said, everything she’d never stopped feeling. The necklace was still clutched in her hand, pressing sharp edges into her palm, grounding her even as the room tilted. Mira’s eyes burned across the space between them, too dark, too alive. Zoey’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, full of love and ache, a mirror of her own.

Rumi couldn’t breathe.

She tried to sit back down, to retreat, but Zoey’s hand shot out, catching hers, stopping her. “No. Don’t run. Not this time.”

Her voice was soft, but unyielding.

Rumi’s knees buckled, and she let Zoey guide her back down onto the couch. Mira hesitated, still standing, but the stormlight caught her face and showed what she couldn’t hide: she was unraveling too.

For a long, awful moment, no one spoke. The rain hammered. The wind screamed.

Then Zoey exhaled, shaky but sure, and said the one thing none of them had dared until now.

“I wasn’t kidding. Say it out loud — again. Both of you. What you feel.”

Rumi’s breath caught, her mouth opening, but Mira beat her to it.

“I still love her,” Mira said hoarsely. “I never stopped. I thought hating her would be easier, but it wasn’t. I hated her because I loved her too much to survive the way she left me.”

The words struck Rumi like a physical blow. Tears blurred her vision. “Mira…”

Mira stepped closer, voice cracking. “And seeing you now—seeing you wear that necklace, knowing you still kept it—do you have any idea what that does to me?”

Rumi’s lip trembled. “I couldn’t take it off. It’s all I had left.”

The storm howled, rattling the shutters, but inside, the air had gone painfully still.

Zoey’s hand squeezed Rumi’s, her thumb brushing the back of her knuckles. “And you, Rumi? You said it already. But say it again.”

Rumi looked at Mira, at the way her shoulders shook as though she were fighting the urge to collapse. She looked at Zoey, steady and trembling all at once, the only anchor in this sea of chaos.

Her voice came out as a whisper, but it carried like thunder. “I still love you. Both of you.”

The silence that followed was unbearable, a sharp inhale before something inevitable.

Zoey laughed then — a soft, disbelieving sound that broke into something wetter, shakier. She wiped her cheek quickly. “God. I should be furious. I should be jealous. But instead I just…” Her gaze flicked between them, wide and burning. “I want you both too.”

Mira’s breath hitched, and she staggered a step forward as though she couldn’t stop herself.

Rumi’s chest seized, but she felt relief at the same time.

Everything fractured at once.

Zoey was the one who moved first — she stood and tugged Rumi up with her, pulling her into a kiss so fierce it stole the air from the room. Rumi melted, clinging to Zoey’s waist, her whole body shuddering with relief, love, desperation.

But when Zoey broke away, she didn’t let go. She turned, her hand reaching for Mira.

Mira froze, every muscle locked, as Zoey’s fingers brushed against hers. Mira looked past Zoey at Rumi…searching. Is this okay?

Rumi’s eyes narrowed and she gave a nearly imperceptible nod. Mira. Her bold, beautiful Mira may have talked a big game, but she would never take something like that from Rumi…not without permission. 

The first touch was like fire.

Zoey’s voice was low, trembling but sure. “You’re not the enemy, Mira. You never were. I see you.”

Mira’s control cracked. She surged forward, her lips colliding with Zoey’s in a kiss that was raw, unpolished, messy with longing she hadn’t let herself name until now.

Zoey gasped against her mouth, and the sound went straight to Rumi’s chest, equal parts jealousy and hunger. She couldn’t look away — from Zoey’s fingers gripping Mira’s shirt, from Mira’s desperate clutch at Zoey’s waist, from the way they devoured each other like starving creatures.

“Mira—” Rumi’s voice came out broken, aching.

Mira pulled back, breathing hard, eyes wild. “Don’t look at me like that. I can’t—”

Zoey turned back to Rumi, cupping her face, pressing their foreheads together. “You can. We can. Together.”

The words cracked something wide open.

Rumi kissed Zoey again, fierce, desperate, tasting her love like oxygen. But then Mira’s hand slid to Rumi’s wrist, tentative, trembling.

Rumi froze. Her pulse skittered. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to Mira’s.

God, those eyes. Dark and raw and begging.

“I never stopped wanting you,” Mira whispered. “Even when I hated you, I wanted you.”

The sound that tore from Rumi’s throat was almost a sob. She surged forward, crashing into Mira’s lips, kissing her with all the pain and love and regret she’d buried for over a year. Mira clutched at her like a drowning woman, gasping against her mouth, her body shaking.

Zoey didn’t pull away. She pressed close against Rumi’s back, arms sliding around her waist, grounding her, surrounding her, kissing the slope of her shoulder as Rumi kissed Mira like she might shatter.

It was too much. It was everything.

When they finally broke apart, panting, trembling, Zoey’s lips brushed Rumi’s ear. “No more pretending. No more running. We choose each other.”

Rumi’s tears spilled over, unstoppable. “Yes.”

Mira’s hand shook where it rested against Rumi’s cheek, but her voice was steady. “Yes.”

And then there was no more holding back.

Zoey’s laugh broke somewhere between a gasp and a sob as Rumi kissed down her neck. Mira’s moan tangled with it as Zoey’s hands slid beneath her shirt. Rumi couldn’t tell where one of them ended and the other began, only that for the first time in months, maybe years, she didn’t feel broken.

She felt whole.

And when Mira’s lips brushed hers again, when Zoey’s hand slid over her heart, when all three of them tumbled together in a mess of heat and longing and love — she knew there was no going back.

The storm raged. The world outside could wait.

Rumi shivered, caught between fear and desire as Mira’s hands roamed her body like a map she’d memorized long ago. One year apart, and Mira still knew her in ways Rumi had thought lost forever — every sensitive curve, every shiver, every gasp.

Mira’s lips trailed down her neck, teeth grazing the hollow, lips brushing the swell of her breasts, and Rumi gasped sharply. She arched against her, hips pressing into the heat of Mira’s, pressing back instinctively, letting herself melt into the familiarity of what she had wanted all along.

Zoey’s hands were everywhere else, grounding her, worshiping her, tracing along her sides, over the smoothness of her stomach, skimming the sensitive curve where thigh met hip. Her lips brushed Rumi’s shoulder, teasing, tasting, sending shocks straight to her core.

Rumi felt herself trembling, torn in every direction. Mira’s skill, her memory, her ruthless knowledge of exactly how to ignite Rumi’s pleasure, made her head spin. She moaned into Mira’s mouth, the sound vibrating through both of them, and Zoey’s low hum of approval against her neck made her shiver even more.

Mira’s hands slid under Rumi’s bra, lifting, kneading, rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger. Rumi arched further, nearly breaking under the dual onslaught of touch and memory. She’d missed this — the way Mira could make her body feel like electricity, like fire crawling along her veins.

Rumi’s moans were desperate, ragged, splitting into cries as her body reacted to every touch, every angle, every kiss.

“Mira…” Rumi gasped. Her voice was a mix of need, desperation, and longing.

“Yes,” Mira whispered, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Yes, I remember. All of it. And I never stopped.”

Zoey’s lips brushed the other side of her neck, teeth grazing, teasing.

Rumi’s hands flew to both of them, clutching hair, shoulders, arms — desperate to anchor herself, desperate to feel them both, to feel their love and attention in equal measure.

Mira shifted slightly, pressing herself against Rumi’s chest, mouth moving over her shoulder and down to her breast, teasing, flicking, sucking. Zoey’s hands were relentless, sliding along Rumi’s stomach, down over her hip, dipping lower to press teasingly against her wetness.

Rumi moaned, high and broken, feeling herself shatter under the intensity. “I… I can’t—both of you—please…”

“You can,” Zoey murmured, lips brushing against her jaw, her body pressing close. “You deserve this. All of it. And we’re here. Both of us. Every inch.”

Mira’s hands gripped her thighs, spreading them slowly, deliberately, teasing the inner curves that only Mira had explored before. Her tongue darted against Rumi’s most sensitive spot, making her cry out, hips jerking against her, and Rumi felt herself drowning in sensation.

Zoey’s fingers joined Mira’s ministrations, sliding between her folds, tracing, circling, every movement synchronized and instinctive, as if they’d done this a thousand times before.

Rumi’s head fell back, body shaking, tears pricking her eyes. I’ve never been touched like this. Not by one person, not ever… and now both of them? I can’t believe this is real.

Mira’s lips captured her own again, kissing her with all the heat, all the anger, all the love and lust she’d stored for a year. Zoey pressed into her back, hands kneading, lips grazing, teasing, grounding, reminding her she was loved, worshiped, cherished in every way imaginable.

The dual attention was overwhelming, but it was perfect. Mira’s knowledge of Rumi’s body, the way she remembered every angle, every curve, every shiver, made Rumi moan and writhe in ecstasy. Zoey’s patient, steady, adoring touch reassured her, made her feel safe even as the pleasure threatened to consume her completely.

Rumi’s hands tangled in Mira’s hair, pulling her closer, desperate for more contact, more fire. Mira’s tongue traced a slow, exquisite path over her most sensitive spot, while Zoey’s fingers pressed harder, curling just right, sending Rumi spiraling.

“Mira… Zoey… I’m—fuck—” Rumi’s voice broke, raw and pleading.

“Shhh,” Zoey murmured against her neck, one hand stroking her back, the other roaming freely. “Just let go. Let us take care of you.”

Mira whispered against her skin, “You’re mine. All of this is mine. And hers.”

Rumi’s moans broke into cries as Mira and Zoey worked in sync — fingers, lips, and tongues moving in perfect, instinctive harmony. Rumi felt herself shatter into pure, raw ecstasy, body trembling, eyes rolling back, heart racing.

Mira’s movements, honed over years with Rumi, left her gasping, trembling, consumed. Zoey’s patience and devotion grounded her in a way that made her feel cherished, loved, and utterly safe amidst the storm of pleasure.

Rumi’s body was trembling violently, sweat slick, skin flushed, moans broken and ragged, and they were relentless. Mira’s mouth, tongue, and hands knew exactly how to make Rumi beg, while Zoey’s lips and fingers made her feel worshiped, adored, completely claimed.

Rumi’s mind was spinning, body on fire, senses overwhelmed. Every touch, every sigh, every moan, every groan, was a declaration: love, lust, devotion, and surrender.

When she finally tipped over the edge, it was like falling into a sea of fire, pleasure rolling through her in waves, her body trembling in Mira and Zoey’s arms, their lips and hands never leaving her, never letting her fall completely from the apex.

She cried out, moaning, shouting their names, hips bucking, body shivering in pure, unadulterated release. Mira and Zoey groaned in response, moving with her, pressing against her, following her rhythm, worshiping her body, making every nerve sing.

Her climax didn’t end. The second wave hit, hotter, deeper, more consuming. Rumi’s body convulsed again, quaking, trembling, moaning, every inch of her alive with sensation.

Mira and Zoey moved together around her, hands, mouths, tongues, and teeth synchronized in an intimate choreography. Rumi’s body melted into them completely.

Every gasp, every moan, every shiver was a confession of love, lust, and devotion. Every touch was a promise: I remember. I love you. I want you.

When she finally tipped over the edge, she cried out, hips bucking, body shuddering in a wave of release so intense it left her breathless, trembling in their arms.

Mira held her close, tongue and lips and hands worshiping, while Zoey pressed against her back, lips brushing her shoulder, whispering praise, murmuring love, grounding her even as she rode the peak of pleasure.

Rumi could barely think — just feel.

By the time she finally slumped back, trembling and spent, Mira pressed against her side, lips brushing her hairline, eyes dark and molten, while Zoey curled behind her, arms wrapped around, fingers stroking her skin, murmuring love and adoration.

Rumi’s chest heaved, mind spinning, body alive in a way she hadn’t thought possible.

And in the afterglow, in the heat and ache and love and lust, she knew one undeniable truth: she had never been this loved, this desired, this completely worshiped in her entire life. And she had both of them.

Both of them.

Chapter Text

Rumi was gone. Not literally, but in every way that mattered, she had given herself over completely and burned herself out in the fire of them. Her body lay slack between them, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, lashes brushing her flushed cheeks, lips parted in a soft sigh. Her hair was a storm of purple across the pillow, skin still glowing with sweat and satisfaction.

Mira and Zoey exchanged a look over her, a quiet, wordless grin blooming between them. They both knew this version of Rumi—the one who couldn’t string together a coherent sentence after being unraveled so thoroughly, the one who always fought and fought until she finally gave in, and then was nothing but warmth and vulnerability in the aftermath.

Mira smirked first, brushing her thumb over her bottom lip. “She’s done for the night,” she murmured.

Zoey huffed a breathy laugh, trying to keep her voice steady even though her body still hummed with aftershocks. “You think?”

“She won’t be moving for hours,” Mira said, smug but soft. She let her gaze drop back to Rumi, her sharpness dulling into something achingly tender. “She needs a real bed.”

Zoey hesitated. This—whatever this was—had already blurred lines that felt impossible to redraw. But Mira wasn’t wrong. The couch, with its thin blanket and stiff cushions, wasn’t where Rumi belonged tonight. Not after that. Not after being stretched and shattered and held together again by the both of them.

Mira rose first, gathering herself, tugging a discarded tank top over her head. Without another word, she bent down and slipped her arms beneath Rumi’s body. Zoey’s chest tightened at the sight—the ease with which Mira lifted her, the unconscious way Rumi’s arm flopped over Mira’s shoulder, head lolling against her collarbone. It looked practiced. Familiar. Intimate in a way that whispered of years, not hours.

Zoey followed, heart thudding, as Mira carried her gently into the guest bedroom. The bed was made neatly, sheets crisp and cool, and Mira lowered Rumi with infinite care, brushing strands of hair back from her damp forehead. For a moment, her hand lingered, thumb tracing the curve of Rumi’s temple, a shadow of longing flickering across Mira’s face before she pulled back.

Zoey crawled in on the other side, sliding beneath the blanket and curling instinctively toward Rumi, who shifted in her sleep, seeking out the warmth. Zoey pressed her lips to Rumi’s shoulder, a feather-light kiss.

Mira straightened, clearly ready to leave. She turned without a word, but Zoey’s hand darted out, catching her fingers.

“Stay.”

The word hung in the air, fragile but firm. Mira froze, eyes darting down to where Zoey held her hand. For a heartbeat, she looked like she might refuse. Like walls might snap back into place, undoing all the softness that had seeped into her. But then she gave a small, sharp nod, and the mattress dipped as she slipped in beside Zoey.

They didn’t touch at first. The three of them lay in a fragile constellation—Rumi sprawled next to them. Zoey curled into Rumi’s warmth. Mira stayed rigid, back pressed against the headboard, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

The silence stretched. The rhythm of Rumi’s breathing filled it, steady, grounding, proof of the exhaustion Mira had predicted.

Time passed, though neither Mira nor Zoey could say how much. Eventually, Mira slid upright fully, leaning against the headboard, knees drawn up. She stared down at them both, at the tangle of limbs and hair and necklaces glinting faintly in the low light.

God.

She’d had the time of her life tonight. The kind of night she hadn’t let herself dream about anymore. She could still feel Rumi’s voice breaking in her ear, the taste of Zoey’s lips, the pull of two people who had felt—just for a moment—like they might actually want her too.

But the ache came quick on its heels. Because morning always came. And morning never cared about yearning.

Her throat tightened. Rumi was still hers in memory, in jewelry neither of them had taken off. But in reality? In reality, Rumi belonged to the girl curled up against her now, the one who made her laugh and steadied her when her temper sparked. Zoey. The girl Mira hadn’t meant to notice, hadn’t meant to want, until it was already too late.

She dragged her palm down her face, stifling a groan. She wanted them both—so badly it scared her. But what if this was nothing more than heat-of-the-moment desperation? What if she woke tomorrow to find Rumi’s smile turned bitter, Zoey’s warmth replaced with regret?

Mira was a unit. She was tough. She could survive many things. But not being left behind again. Not watching Rumi walk away twice.

Her gaze softened as it fell on Rumi’s slack face, then shifted to Zoey’s steady breathing. Mira’s chest ached. Don’t get used to this, she told herself. Don’t you dare.

But she already had.

Zoey wasn’t sleeping. Not really. She breathed slow, steady, the practiced rhythm of someone pretending, but her mind was alive with chaos.

She could feel Rumi’s warmth pressed against her front, the rise and fall of her chest soothing like a lullaby. She could sense Mira’s presence at her back, the weight of her gaze heavy on her skin even when she didn’t look.

And she couldn’t stop replaying everything.

The feel of Mira’s hands on her hips, sharp and demanding. The way Rumi had cried out, torn between them both. The moment Zoey realized she wanted it all.

Her stomach flipped. She should be terrified. She should be overwhelmed by the impossibility of it. But all she felt was… clarity.

She wanted them. Both of them.

Not just for the night, not just because the storm outside had forced their hand. She wanted the way Rumi softened when she trusted. She wanted the way Mira’s smirk melted into tenderness when she thought no one was looking. She wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was space for her in the story they hadn’t finished writing.

But morning loomed. And Zoey knew what morning could do.

She swallowed hard, staring into the dark. If they both woke and decided this was a mistake, where would that leave her? Alone, probably. Caught between two women bound by history deeper than anything she could touch.

Still… she tightened her arm around Rumi’s waist, fingers brushing the chain of the necklace she never took off. She breathed in her scent, lavender and salt and sweat, and whispered silently into the night: Please. Don’t let this end here.

Chapter Text

The storm hadn’t let up. Rain still battered the windows, rattling against the glass like pebbles, the sound filling every corner of the apartment. The sky outside was washed in gray, heavy and endless, and the air smelled faintly of sea salt and wet earth.

Inside, though, it was warm. Too warm.

Rumi stirred first, lashes fluttering as her body shifted instinctively between the two sources of heat flanking her. She blinked into the pillow, brain foggy, limbs heavy. Every muscle ached, delicious and sore, the kind of ache that spoke of surrender. The kind that reminded her she hadn’t just been loved last night—she’d been devoured.

A groan slipped out before she could stop it, soft and needy, and she immediately felt the shift on either side of her.

Zoey’s arm tightened around her waist, protective and grounding, while Mira stilled like a statue, as if caught in the act of watching. Rumi’s throat went dry.

She was not ready for this.

God, what did we do…?

Her fingers twitched, brushing over the necklace at her throat. Comfort. Anchor. She wanted to hide in it, bury herself in the safety of routine, but the heat of two gazes pinned her in place.

“Morning,” Zoey murmured against her shoulder, voice scratchy with sleep but warm enough to make Rumi’s chest clench.

Rumi managed a hum, trying to force her lips into something like a smile. “Morning.”

Mira didn’t speak. She was sitting up halfway, back braced against the headboard, watching them with an expression Rumi couldn’t quite place. Not mocking. Not smug. Something softer. Something dangerous.

Zoey was the one who cut through the tension, blinking herself awake fully and stretching slightly without releasing her hold on Rumi. “I think my body might actually be broken.”

Rumi laughed—too loud, too sudden, but real. Relief bled through the sound. Mira even cracked a smirk, shaking her head.

“Lightweight,” she muttered, though the fondness in her tone surprised even her.

Zoey tilted her head toward Mira, eyes glinting. “You don’t look so untouched yourself.”

Mira raised a brow, but there was no venom in it. Just challenge. And maybe a hint of gratitude that someone had dared call her out.

The three of them fell into silence again, though not quite the same heavy silence as the night before. This one thrummed. It was alive with something unsaid, pulsing between them like the storm outside.

Rumi finally pushed herself upright, dragging the blanket up to cover her chest. Her hair fell wild around her shoulders, and she didn’t miss the way Mira’s eyes followed the motion. Didn’t miss the way Zoey’s thumb absently stroked her hip as though claiming her.

“I…” Her voice faltered. She bit down on her lip. “Last night—”

“—was real,” Zoey said before she could stop herself.

Rumi’s head snapped toward her. Mira froze.

Zoey swallowed, cheeks flushing, but she didn’t look away. “I don’t know about you guys, but that wasn’t some random… storm madness thing for me. I wanted it. I wanted both of you.”

The air thickened. Mira’s pulse leapt in her throat, though she tried to school her face into something unreadable. Her mouth opened, then closed again.

Rumi felt her heart stutter painfully. She wanted to believe Zoey. She did believe Zoey. But the fear still gnawed at her ribs. Fear that Mira was only here to prove a point, to pull at old wounds. Fear that if she admitted the truth of her heart, she’d lose both of them in the same breath.

But Zoey’s words had cracked something open.

“I…” Rumi’s voice broke, and she cursed herself, forcing it steady. “I can’t pretend I don’t still have feelings for Mira. I never… I never stopped.” She risked a glance at Mira, eyes sharp even in their vulnerability. “But that doesn’t mean what I feel for you, Zoey, is less. I love you. That hasn’t changed.”

Zoey’s chest squeezed. God. She could see the honesty in Rumi’s eyes, the rawness that mirrored her own.

And Mira—Mira felt like she’d been punched. The words slammed into her, unbalancing her, dragging every hidden part of her to the surface. She’d waited a year to hear something like that. She’d told herself she’d never hear it again.

Her lips twisted into something caught between a smirk and a grimace. “Guess I should stop pretending too, then.”

Two sets of eyes turned on her. Mira held their gazes, jaw tight, fingers knotting in the blanket. “Zoey… you’re electric. You walk into a room and it’s like everything bends toward you. I tried to use that against Rumi, at first, but… hell. It wasn’t just a game. Not anymore. And Rumi—” Her voice cracked. She laughed, bitter and broken. “You already know what you are to me. You’ve always known.”

The room spun with silence. All three of them breathing hard, staring like they could carve answers out of each other’s faces.

Then Zoey laughed softly, a shaky sound but real. “So, um… we’re all disasters. But at least we’re disasters on the same page?”

Mira barked a laugh despite herself, rubbing her eyes. “You’re insane.”

Rumi let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, and something inside her unclenched. For the first time in days—hell, for the first time in years—she didn’t feel like she was drowning.

Zoey reached across Rumi, threading her fingers with Mira’s. Mira startled but didn’t pull away. Her hand was warm, calloused, trembling faintly.

On Rumi’s other side, Zoey squeezed her waist, grounding her.

They didn’t kiss. They didn’t dive into each other again. Not yet. But the weight of it was there, pressing down, undeniable.

For the first time, it felt possible.

Chapter Text

The windows were streaked with rain, the ocean outside Mira’s villa gray and restless, waves rising and breaking like fury incarnate.

Inside, though, the mood had shifted. Not comfortable, exactly—no one dared call it that—but lighter than it had been in weeks. The air still held a fragile weight, but now it hummed with possibility instead of dread.

Rumi padded into the kitchen barefoot, drowning in one of Zoey’s hoodies. Her purple braid hung over one shoulder, damp from her shower, and her eyes softened at the sight before her.

Mira, hair piled into a messy bun, sleeves shoved up, was chopping vegetables with the kind of precise rhythm that came from years of practice. She looked maddeningly casual—loose gray sweats hanging low on her hips, a black tank that showed the slope of her shoulders.

Zoey leaned against the counter across from her, arms crossed, watching. Rumi caught the faintest smile playing at Zoey’s lips. Not smug, not teasing—just soft admiration, like she couldn’t help it.

Something tugged low in Rumi’s chest.

“Need help?” she asked, her voice a touch rough from disuse.

Both women turned at once. Mira’s eyes flicked over her, then back to her task. Zoey’s grin widened, bright and easy.

“We’re good,” Zoey said. “Mira’s got knives, and honestly, I don’t trust either of us around sharp objects before food.”

Mira snorted. “Smart girl.”

The exchange shouldn’t have felt charged. But it did. Everything did now.

Rumi hesitated, then moved closer, brushing past Zoey to snag a mug. The air between them sparked—Zoey’s hand ghosted across the small of her back, grounding her without words.

Coffee. She needed coffee, something normal, something to cling to.

The smell filled the kitchen, warm and bitter. Mira slid a bowl of sliced peppers across the counter toward her. “Here. You’re on sauté duty.”

Rumi arched a brow. “Thought you didn’t trust me with sharp objects.”

“You’re not chopping,” Mira said dryly. “Just don’t burn the place down.”

Zoey snickered. Rumi rolled her eyes but took the bowl, moving to the stove. Mira joined her a beat later, sliding closer than necessary to hand her the oil.

Their fingers brushed.

Rumi froze. The jolt was instant, visceral. Mira didn’t flinch. She just set the bottle down, lips twitching like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Zoey cleared her throat, and both of them jolted like teenagers caught. She was leaning casually against the counter, but her eyes were sharp, reading every flicker of tension.

“Play nice,” she murmured.

Something in her tone made both Mira and Rumi glance away, cheeks heating.

They ended up eating at the small table by the window, the storm raging outside like it was trying to drown them out.

The food was simple—stir-fried vegetables, rice, eggs—but good. Comforting. Rumi chewed slowly, watching Zoey laugh at something Mira muttered under her breath. Their laughter blended too easily.

It should have scared her. It should have felt like a knife twisting in her chest. Instead, a strange calm washed through her.

They’re mine, she thought, and the realization nearly unseated her. Both of them. Even if they don’t know it yet.

Mira caught her staring. For a moment, neither of them looked away.

Then Zoey’s hand slid onto Rumi’s thigh beneath the table. Rumi startled, but Zoey’s smile was steady, grounding. Her thumb traced small circles into her skin, quiet reassurance that no one was being replaced.

Mira noticed. Of course she did. Her eyes flickered down, then back up, expression unreadable.

The meal ended in silence, but not an empty one.

Later, they sprawled across the couch with mismatched blankets. Mira sat on one end, her knees drawn up, a book resting against them. Rumi sat in the middle, nursing another cup of coffee she didn’t need, while Zoey curled sideways with her head in Rumi’s lap, scrolling idly through her phone.

Every once in a while, Zoey would hum at something she read, tilt her screen up to show Rumi. Their laughter was soft, shared, and Rumi’s hand threaded into Zoey’s hair without thought.

But she could feel Mira’s gaze flick up from her book every so often. Could feel the way the air shifted whenever their eyes met.

God, why does it feel like we’re already a unit? Like some twisted little domestic picture.

Her heart rebelled at the thought—but not with rejection. With longing.

Zoey dozed off first, her breaths evening out against Rumi’s thigh. Rumi brushed a strand of red hair from her face, tenderness pooling warm in her chest.

Mira shut her book softly. “She’s good for you,” she said, her voice low enough not to wake her.

Rumi’s throat tightened. “I know.”

Mira’s eyes softened, shadows pulling at the edges. “She’s good for me too.”

The words hung there, heavy with truth.

Rumi’s hand stilled in Zoey’s hair. She wanted to argue, to throw up walls. But she couldn’t. Not when she’d seen it herself—the way Zoey looked at Mira, like she’d been caught in her orbit.

Not when part of her wanted it too.

She exhaled shakily, staring at the rain-slick window. “This is dangerous.”

“Yeah,” Mira murmured. “But maybe worth it.”

Their eyes met. Not a challenge this time. Not a fight. Just naked honesty, raw and unguarded.

Rumi’s pulse thundered. She looked down at Zoey, safe and steady in her lap, then back at Mira. And for the first time, she let herself wonder—not with fear, but with tentative, aching hope—if the three of them could really exist like this.

Maybe fate had this storm lock them together for a reason.

Chapter Text

Rumi couldn’t stop watching the way Zoey’s arm brushed against Mira’s when she passed her a plate. Couldn’t stop noticing how Mira’s lips twitched like she was fighting a smile. Couldn’t ignore how natural it felt, all three of them in this kitchen like they belonged.

The realization sat heavy in her chest.

When they finished eating, it was Mira who broke the silence first. She set her fork down, spine stiff, eyes sharp in a way that told Rumi she’d been chewing on this for hours.

“We should talk,” Mira said.

Zoey froze halfway through licking syrup off her thumb. “Oh no,” she muttered. “That’s never good.”

Mira’s mouth twitched. “Relax. It’s not—” She paused, searching for words. “It’s not bad. Just…real.”

Rumi’s stomach tightened.

Zoey tilted her head, watching Mira carefully. “Okay. Real’s good.”

Mira exhaled slowly. Her gaze flicked to Rumi, lingered, then darted back to Zoey. “This thing between us—was it an accident?”

Zoey’s brows shot up. Rumi felt her pulse thrum hot at the bluntness.

Mira pressed on, voice steady. “I’m not good at this. I don’t share. I don’t…fall. But it happened. With both of you. And I don’t want to keep pretending it didn’t.”

The words landed heavy, like stone dropped in water.

Zoey nodded slowly. "It feels real. And it's not just sex."

Rumi’s breath caught. Her instincts screamed to run, to armor up, to shove the truth back in the dark where it couldn’t burn her alive. But Zoey’s hand slid onto hers under the table—warm, steady, patient.

Rumi swallowed hard. “You’re saying…” Her voice cracked, and she hated it. “You want this? All of this?”

Mira’s eyes didn’t waver. “Yeah. I think I do. If you do.”

For a second, the room was silent but for the storm pounding outside.

Then Zoey laughed—bright, shaky, almost disbelieving. “Oh my god. Do you two even hear yourselves? You’re both so dramatic.” She reached across the table, threading her fingers through Rumi’s other hand, then Mira’s. She tugged until all three of them were linked in the middle.

Her grin softened, eyes shining. “I’ve been waiting for you guys to catch up. Of course I want this. I’ve wanted it since the second I saw you two look at each other.”

Heat climbed up Rumi’s neck. Mira ducked her head, a faint blush staining her cheeks.

Rumi stared at their joined hands, her throat tight. It was terrifying. Reckless. Impossible.

And yet—her heart whispered—it felt right. Like it had been waiting for this shape all along.

She squeezed their hands, just once, and forced the words out. “Then we’re really doing this.”

Mira’s lips curved in something between relief and challenge. Zoey beamed.

The storm howled against the windows, but inside, the three of them sat steady, hands clasped together.

There was no going back now.

The storm finally tapered off, leaving Jeju damp and glistening in the weak sunlight. Puddles reflected the gray sky, and the air smelled clean, electric, like the world had been scrubbed fresh.

Inside, Zoey leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes sharp but gentle. “You two need to hash it out,” she said.

Rumi looked at her, incredulous. “Hash what out?”

Mira’s brow furrowed. “Zoey, seriously. I—”

Zoey cut her off with a sigh that was equal parts exasperation and motherly patience. “No, listen. You both still have a ton of unresolved feelings, and it’s obvious. Sure we had sex, but you’re walking on eggshells around each other. You can’t keep dancing like this. You need to talk. Full stop.”

Rumi barked out a laugh at Zoey's bluntness, and rolled her eyes. “I don’t need a lecture from you, thank you very much.”

Mira snorted, shaking her head. “Yeah, and I definitely don’t need to open all the old wounds again.”

Zoey’s lips quirked. “Oh, you will. And you’re going to do it like adults. Or at least… like teenagers being scolded by a mom.”

There was a pause. Then Rumi and Mira exchanged a glance that made both of them twitch with a mixture of amusement and something deeper, something unspoken.

Zoey shook her head, though her lips threatened a smile. “Now get your jackets on and go for a walk. Air it out.”

Rumi let out a reluctant laugh. Mira’s lips twitched into a grin she didn’t bother hiding. They stood together, shoulders almost brushing as they left the apartment, the rain-slick streets of Jeju shimmering beneath their feet.

It was quiet at first. Comfortable, but tentative, the way two people do when there’s a long, tangled history between them.

Finally, Rumi broke the silence. “I… I need to explain why I left,” she said, voice low. “Why it started to feel like… like our relationship wasn’t ours anymore. Mira, I loved you—God, I still do—but for a while it felt like we were a brand, not people. Everything we did, every smile we shared, every video or post… it had to look perfect. I was drowning in it, and I thought leaving would give us both air...room to breathe. Room to grow.”

Mira’s jaw tightened, and Rumi’s chest ached to see her like that. “I… I hated you for leaving,” Mira admitted finally, voice quiet, raw. “I hated you so much. And I hated myself even more for still loving you. For wanting you back every damn day. I’ve spent so long trying to convince myself I didn’t need you, but…” She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I needed you. Still do.”

Rumi blinked, her throat tight. “A month after I left, I… I deleted all the photos from that trip we took—the one with the lanterns, the night markets, the fireworks.”

Mira laughed softly, a sound that was almost a sigh. “Yeah. I did that too. Didn’t help as much as I thought it would.”

Rumi let out a laugh as well, and it broke something open in her chest. “Yeah… it didn’t help at all.”

For a few moments, they walked in silence, letting the sounds of the city and the softened rain fill the space. It wasn’t uncomfortable—just quiet, tethered by their shared history and the unspoken weight of the year they’d spent apart.

Rumi’s eyes flicked to Mira’s hand, and then she noticed the signet ring she’d seen before—the one she’d given Mira on one of their first dates. She couldn’t help the swell in her chest at the sight.

Mira’s gaze followed hers, and a small, almost shy smile curved her lips. “I wear it every day,” she admitted. “I’ve worn it since… since you gave it to me. I wanted you to know it mattered.”

Rumi’s fingers brushed the dainty gold necklace around her own neck—a gift from Mira, the flower pressed into the pendant, the inscription on the back: you are my home. “I… I noticed,” Rumi whispered. “Every time I see it, it… it means the world. Seeing you wear it, knowing you still have it… it’s like… you’re still mine, in a way.”

Mira’s smile softened, eyes shimmering. “I was thinking the same thing. I can’t not wear it. I… I think it’s one of the few pieces of us I get to keep, even if we lost everything else for a while.”

Rumi exhaled, the tension that had been coiling in her chest all day beginning to unravel. They walked a few more steps before the conversation faltered, and a short, comfortable silence settled between them.

Neither spoke, but the quiet wasn’t heavy this time. It was tethered by understanding, by recognition of the pieces of themselves they still held in one another.

Then Rumi laughed quietly. Mira laughed with her, a sound that was soft, teasing, familiar. And for the first time in a long time, Rumi felt it: a flicker of the warmth, the lightness, the connection that had never really left.

Mira’s eyes lingered on Rumi in a way that made her stomach flip. There was still heat there, still longing, but also tenderness—an acknowledgment that the past was behind them, even if the scars were still visible.

And they noticed Zoey at the villa window as they returned—watching, patient, ever-present. She gave them a small, knowing smile, a gentle nod. She’s here, Rumi thought. And she’s steady. She’s ours, too.

As they stepped back inside, the faint smell of rain on pavement still clinging to their coats, the three of them were tethered in a way they hadn’t been in over a year.

No words were necessary. Not yet. But they all knew the truth: forgiveness had been said, apologies had been made, and hearts were finally open.

It was enough to take the next step.