I lie on my side, propped up on one elbow, watching Naomi sleep.

She’s curled up next to me, her breathing slow and even, her face peaceful in a way I don’t often see when she’s awake.

There’s a slight furrow in her brow, like she’s dreaming about something important, and I have this overwhelming urge to smooth it out with my thumb.

But I don’t. I just watch her.

The room is quiet except for the soft hum of the fan by the window. The air smells like her— sweet and clean, mixed with the lingering scent of the lotion she always uses.

Her curly hair’s a mess, her small ponytail from earlier mostly undone, dark strands splayed across the pillow. She’s beautiful. Like, stunningly, effortlessly beautiful.

It’s still sinking in, everything that happened until now. How we ended up here, tangled in each other, all because of some stupid dare.

A laugh bubbles up in my throat when I think about it.

A dare.

Now, lying here, with her pressed so close, I can’t help but feel grateful for the ridiculous series of events that led us to this moment.

The truth is, I’ve been scared. Not of her, but of this—of what it means to let myself feel all the stuff I’ve been shoving aside. Naomi has this way of getting to me, like she sees parts of me I didn’t even know were there. Parts I’m not sure I’m ready for anyone to see.

She’s relentless like that and I’m so glad she is.

I reach out, my fingers brushing the back of her hand where it rests between us. Her skin is warm, soft, and it feels so natural, so easy, to touch her like this.

I can still feel the weight of her hands on me, the way her lips had moved against mine, the way her body had fit perfectly with mine like we were made for this.

For each other.

She shifts slightly in her sleep, her face turning toward me, her lips parting just a little.

She looks so soft, so vulnerable, and it hits me all over again just how much she means to me.

How much she’s always meant to me, even before I was ready to admit it.

I let my gaze drift around the room, my eyes catching on the pile of clothes she’d dumped on the floor earlier, the bottle of water we’d both reached for at the same time, the blankets half-kicked to the edge of the bed.

It’s all so… us. Messy and imperfect and exactly right.

I think about that night at the pier, the Ferris wheel, and the promises we made. I told her I’d still be her girlfriend when I got back, that nothing—distance or time—would change us. I meant it then, but now? Now I feel it even more.

Being with her like this, it’s like coming home, literally. Like I’ve found something I didn’t even know I was missing.

I brush my fingers lightly over her arm, tracing invisible patterns on her skin. She stirs but doesn’t wake, her body instinctively curling closer to mine. I wonder if she feels it too—the rightness of this.

For a long time, I just lie there, soaking it all in. The quiet. The warmth of her next to me. The overwhelming sense of this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

It’s not something I’m used to feeling—this kind of peace. But Naomi brings it out in me.

I think about what happens next now that I'm going back after this term. About how this changes things, if it changes things. It’s not like we’ve talked about it yet.

But the thought of not being with her, of not having her in my life like this? It feels impossible. Unthinkable.

The moonlight catches on her face, and I reach out, unable to resist brushing a strand of hair away from her cheek.

She murmurs something in her sleep, her brow furrowing again, and I smile. Even unconscious, she’s got that same fierce stubbornness that I love so much.

Love.

The word lingers in my mind, heavy and real and terrifying. Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? What it’s always been.

I love her.

I love the way she laughs, the way she gets so worked up about the smallest things, the way she looks at me like I’m the only person in the world. I love the way she challenges me, pushes me, refuses to let me hide.

And it’s not just about the big, dramatic moments, like the Ferris wheel or the way she’d kissed me in the doorway earlier, so desperate and full of feeling she’d barely managed to close the door behind us.

It’s about the little things. The way she chews on her bottom lip when she’s nervous, the way she always steals my fries even though she swears she’s not hungry, the way she texts me goodnight every single night without fail.

I love all of it. All of her.

The thought makes my chest ache in the best way possible, and I know there’s no going back.

Naomi stirs again, her eyes fluttering open, and for a moment, she just looks at me, her expression soft and sleepy.

“Hey,” she murmurs, her voice thick with sleep.

“Hey,” I whisper back, my fingers still tracing the curve of her arm.

“What time is it?”

“Late,” I say. “Go back to sleep.”

She hums in response, her eyes already drifting closed again. But before she does, she reaches out, her hand finding mine and holding on tight. It’s a small gesture, but it says everything.

I squeeze her hand gently, my own smile tugging at my lips as I settle back against the pillows.

Naomi’s breathing evens out again, and I let my eyes close.

This is what I’ve always wanted, even if when I was miles away from her. This quiet, this peace, this connection. Her.

And I know, without a doubt, that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it. To keep her. Because she’s not just part of my life—she’s my life.

My home.

My everything.

And I don't know what the future holds for us but I know I want her to be in my future.