ARIA'S POV
Peace didn't arrive all at once.
It came in fragments—mornings where I woke without a knot in my chest, evenings where my phone stayed silent and it didn't feel like punishment. It came when I realized I could sit alone in my apartment and not feel lonely.
That felt new.
I spent most of that week avoiding familiar places. Not because I was afraid of running into Ethan, but because I was tired of measuring my healing against his presence. I wanted progress that didn't depend on whether he noticed.
Ella noticed instead.
"You look lighter," she said again one afternoon as we walked back from class.
"I feel quieter," I replied. "And I think I like it."
She squeezed my hand. "You earned that."
David texted again that night.
Can we talk?
I stared at the message for a long moment before replying.
I don't think talking is what I need right now.
There was no guilt this time. No second-guessing. Just honesty.
Setting boundaries felt strange—like using a muscle I'd ignored for too long—but it didn't hurt the way I expected. It felt steady.
Ethan didn't reach out again.
That surprised me more than if he had.
Some part of me had braced for apologies, explanations, late-night messages wrapped in nostalgia. Instead, there was nothing. And in that nothing, I learned something important: I didn't need closure from him to keep moving.
One evening, I sat on my apartment floor with the windows open, the city's hum drifting in softly. I journaled—not about Ethan, not about betrayal—but about myself. About the girl I used to be. About the woman I was becoming.
I wrote about trust.
About silence.
About how peace didn't have to be dramatic to be powerful.
When my phone buzzed, I didn't jump.
It was Mom.
You okay, sweetheart?
I smiled and typed back.
I am. Really.
And for once, I meant it without hesitation.
As I lay in bed later, the thought came gently, without fear:
Loving Ethan had taught me how deeply I could feel.
Letting him go was teaching me how deeply I could protect myself.
I didn't know what the future held. I didn't know if our paths would cross again in ways that mattered.
But for now, this version of me—the one choosing herself quietly, daily—felt enough.
And that was more than I'd ever had before.
I felt good and happy.