Maya started writing again.
It had been a while—since before graduation, before Liam, before everything shifted into this blurry new version of adulthood. But one night, curled up in the corner of the campus café with nothing but her journal and a chai latte, the words started to pour out.
Not just about Liam. About herself.
Her fears. Her wants. Her confusion. Her fire.
She filled five pages before she even looked up.
Across the room, Caleb caught her eye and gave her a small wave. He didn't approach—just nodded at her notebook with a knowing look. She offered a soft smile back, grateful he didn't interrupt.
This wasn't about him. Not anymore.
This was about rediscovering Maya.
Liam said yes to the job.
He didn't tell her right away.
He meant to. He started typing the message twice. But the thought of seeing her face when he told her made his stomach twist.
He knew she'd be supportive. That wasn't the problem.
The problem was he didn't want to become the thing she quietly outgrew.
Maya finally asked Zoey the question she'd been avoiding.
"Have I changed that much?"
Zoey looked up from painting her nails. "You mean since August?"
Maya nodded.
Zoey capped her polish. "You've changed a lot. But not in a bad way. You're still Maya. You just… shine more now."
Maya blinked. "Shine?"
"Yeah. Like you're starting to take up space. You don't apologize as much for existing. That's kind of a big deal."
Maya sat with that for a while.
She wasn't sure if it made her feel proud… or guilty.
Liam called her that Friday.
"I said yes to the job."
She was sitting on a bench under the campus oak trees, her journal resting on her lap.
"Oh."
"I wanted to tell you sooner."
"I get it," she said, though her chest tightened. "It makes sense. You're helping your family. You're making real moves."
"I'm scared you're gonna think I gave up."
"Did you?"
"No," he said. "I think… I just chose a different road."
She bit the inside of her cheek. "I don't want you to disappear into that life. Not if it means losing what matters."
"I'm not disappearing. I'm just… building something I hope you'll still want to be part of."
She closed her eyes. "I want that."
"But?"
"I'm scared, too."
"Of what?"
"Of becoming someone you don't recognize."
"You're still you, Maya."
"But I'm learning to want more. To be more. What if one day I wake up and we don't fit anymore?"
There was a pause.
"Then I'll learn to love the version of you I haven't met yet."
Her breath caught.
"You're too good at this," she whispered.
"No, I just know that you're worth showing up for. Even when it's hard."
They talked for hours that night—about dreams and fears, about the ways the world felt big and small all at once.
And when Maya hung up, her heart didn't feel quite as heavy.
Because maybe love wasn't about having the same path.
Maybe it was about choosing each other… over and over… no matter where the road curved.