The air felt a little warmer that afternoon. The golden-brown leaves still clinging to the tall trees seemed brighter somehow, and even the grey-tinged sky looked alive. Maybe it was because our plan had worked — our carefully constructed charade had been enough to scare the rich little bastard away. Maybe it was because Noah was no longer a threat. Or maybe — most likely — it was because I was heading to Niall's place, where Harry was waiting.

It was all of those things. But mostly him.

Standing outside Niall's door, I smoothed my hair, adjusted my coat, and tried to steady the strange fluttering in my chest. It felt like showing up for an interview for a job you know you won't get — mixed with the thrill of meeting someone from your past who still owns a piece of your heart.

It made no sense. But to me, it made perfect sense.

"Hey, you're early!" Harry grinned as he opened the door, eyes lighting up the way they always had when they landed on me.

"I guess I walked faster than I thought," I said honestly, taking him in. That smile — wide, genuine, full of mischief and warmth — pulled at something deep in me.

"That's great. Come in, love," he said softly, pressing a kiss to my cheek. It made me blush like a schoolgirl, and I nearly giggled.

We'd agreed to meet on neutral ground, and Niall had kindly offered his place. I hadn't seen Harry since our plan had unfolded. Now here he was — relaxed, charming, intoxicating.

"Did he hand in the assignment?" Harry asked as we settled into the living room.

"He did," I said, and then, "He handed it in the minute he left your ambush." I smiled faintly. "But it was never about the assignment, Harry. It was a power play."

"Was it any good?" he teased.

"I haven't read it. Gave him a D- just for fun," I joked, and he burst out laughing.

"That's my girl. I love it when you're all spiteful and petty." His tone was playful, but my heart stuttered at those words. My girl. Jason used to call me that.

And now...

"We need to talk."

"Would you like a drink?" I asked, suddenly unsure.

"No, thank you."

"Do I need a drink?" he asked with a raised brow. "You just said we need to talk."

"Harry—"

He crossed the room to the bar and poured himself something dark and unfamiliar. After a long sip, he perched on the edge of the table, eyes locked on mine.

"Shoot," he said.

I took a breath. "First—"

"Oh, there's a list," he joked, gesturing for me to sit. It made me want to smile and cry at once.

"First," I began again, locking eyes with him, "I want to thank you. For dropping everything. For coming home when I needed you."

"There's no need to thank me," he started to say, but I stopped him with a look.

"Please let me finish. Otherwise, I won't be able to get through it."

He nodded. "Okay. Say your piece. Then you'll let me say mine?"

"I promise."

"First," I repeated, "thank you for dropping everything and flying home for me. You were in the middle of filming, you had responsibilities, and you still came. That means the world."

He reached for my hand. I let him take it, grateful for the contact, for the warmth.

"Second, thank you for what you did with Noah. For putting yourself on the line... for me."

"Fucking prick," he muttered.

"Harry," I warned with a faint smile.

"Sorry. No more interruptions."

"What you did — the video, the plan — it was bold and brilliant and... it worked."

He gave me a sheepish grin, but I could see he was listening carefully.

"Third," I said, and this time my voice softened, "thank you for making me realise that I deserve more."

That surprised him. He blinked, pulling his hand back, brow furrowed.

"All these years, I've hidden behind Jason's death. Behind motherhood, behind work. Behind duty. I told myself that being a good professor, a good mother, a good daughter — that was enough. I convinced myself that was all I was allowed to be."

His expression was unreadable, but I knew he was holding his breath.

"I loved Jason very much. I still do. Not a day goes by that I don't think of him. I see him in Anzette's eyes, in her mannerisms, in the music she plays, in the meals I cook. He was my partner. What we had... it was epic."

A tear escaped before I could stop it. Harry didn't flinch. He didn't look hurt. Instead, he gently wiped the tear with his thumb.

"I'm not asking you to forget him," he said softly.

"I know." I cupped his hand between mine. "And that's exactly why I'm so grateful for you. You didn't ask me to forget him. You reminded me that it's okay to live again. To feel again. To love again."

He leaned forward, resting his palms on my knees. Listening. Open.

"You made me feel wanted. Desired. Alive. You gave me back a part of myself I thought had died with him. And I didn't even know how much I needed it."

"You gave me a pretty hard time," he said, voice low and rough.

"I know," I whispered, "and you stayed. You stayed anyway."

He didn't respond — not right away. His hands tightened slightly on my knees. His eyes shimmered. The moment stretched, full of everything we hadn't said yet.

And we weren't done.

"Of course, enrolling in my class wasn't your brightest moment," I tell him, a playful glint in my eye.

He chuckles, dimples flashing. "I enjoyed it, though. I really did. You're incredible, Ashley. All your students adore you."

I raise a brow in amused disbelief.

"Okay—almost all of them," he concedes with a grin.

"I can't tell you how much I love teaching, Harry," I admit, heart full. "It's a part of me. That's why it crushed me, even for a second, to think I could lose it because of us."

His smile fades, replaced by guilt. He shakes his head. "Because of me, you almost didn't anymore."

"Harry," I reach for him, my voice soft, "Please, sweetheart. Let me finish."

The endearment stills him. He nods, his expression quiet, reverent.

"Thank you," I begin, my voice firmer, steadier now. "Thank you for making me believe in myself again. For helping me feel whole after I thought that part of me was lost forever. Thank you for pushing me—gently, fiercely—to taste life again after losing Jason."

He watches me, breath caught somewhere between hope and fear.

"I know now," I continue, "that I can still cherish what Jason and I had. I can hold space for it in my heart and still move forward."

A beat.

"So... are you ready for this?" he asks gently. "For us?"

My hands cup his face, and his eyes soften under my touch.

"I'm sorry, but I can't," I whisper.

His face crumples, all the hope draining from it in an instant. "But... why?"

"Because, baby," I say tenderly, brushing his short hair back with trembling fingers, "you deserve epic, too."

He opens his mouth to argue, but I keep going, voice calm, unwavering.

"I'm not your epic, Harry. Not really. You're just starting out. The world is yours to explore, to conquer. You need to run toward dreams, not settle before you've even begun. And I... I've lived those years. I'm looking to slow down. I want a quiet kind of love now. I want routine, piano recitals, school meetings, dinner at six. A stillness you're not ready for—and shouldn't be."

His eyes glisten. "No, Ashley—"

I hush him gently, pulling him into an embrace. Over his shoulder, I keep speaking, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm so proud of you. So proud of the man you are, and even more of the one you'll become. You have this light in you, Harry... this pull. You'll inspire so many. Change lives. You'll live, and it'll be everything I always wanted for you."

He trembles in my arms, and I feel the weight of goodbye setting into his bones. Slowly, I pull back and see the tears running down his cheeks.

"I don't want to travel anymore," I say honestly. "I want to write. To teach. To sit on the couch in mismatched pyjamas and bake lasagne on Sundays. I want a quiet life with someone who wants the same things."

"Simon?" he asks quietly, a flicker of insecurity breaking through.

I smile and shake my head. "That prick? Not in a million years. You've set the bar far too high."

He chuckles wetly, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt. "Good."

We sit there for a long moment, breathing each other in, neither of us ready to break the spell.

"Do you understand?" I ask finally, though I already know he does.

"I do," he says, voice thick. Then he pulls me into a hug so tight it could mend every crack in me.

"I'm so grateful for you," I whisper into his shoulder.

"Me too," he breathes, and then he kisses me—gently, sweetly, unexpectedly. Like a full circle. Like a soft full stop at the end of something unforgettable.