The email came on a Wednesday.
Aria had just returned from her morning sketching class, still in her paint-splattered overalls, sipping lukewarm coffee as she absentmindedly scrolled through notifications.
Her eyes froze at the subject line:
"International Artist Residency – Accepted Offer Pending Confirmation"
She blinked.
Then opened it.
Dear Miss Aria Monroe,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected for our spring residency program at the École des Beaux-Arts in Paris. This opportunity includes a full scholarship, accommodation, gallery space, and the chance to present your work to international curators…
It went on. A prestigious opportunity. A dream.
But also—
Three months.
In Paris.
Alone.
Her breath hitched.
Everything she'd ever wanted…
At the worst possible time.
Ronan was waiting for her outside her next class.
She didn't say anything. Just handed him her phone, the email open.
He read it. Then looked at her.
"Paris," he said softly. "That's… huge."
"I know."
"And it's everything you've worked for."
"Also true."
"But…" His voice caught, just a little. "It means leaving."
"For three months."
Silence stretched between them.
Ronan's jaw tensed, but he smiled. "You have to go. You have to."
"Are you sure?"
"I'd never be the guy who holds you back."
She searched his eyes for resentment, fear, jealousy. There was none.
Only something deeper.
"You make it really hard to leave," she whispered.
He pulled her into a hug. "Then come back to me."
Later that night, Aria sat in the studio, brushing final touches on a piece she titled "Choices."
It showed two versions of herself. One beneath cherry blossoms. One beneath Parisian street lamps. Both reaching for the same light, but from opposite corners of the canvas.
She didn't hear the door open.
Or the footsteps.
But she felt it.
The shift in the air.
She turned—
And froze.
Liam.
Standing in the studio doorway. Smirking like nothing had changed. Dressed too neatly, as if pretending to be the man she once thought he was.
"Nice place," he said, stepping inside like he belonged. "Better than the one-bedroom box you had with me."
Aria's hand tightened around her brush. "What do you want?"
"You never answered my messages."
"I didn't want to."
He circled the studio slowly. Eyes on the canvases. On her.
"I've been thinking," he said, voice deceptively casual. "You've changed. Got a little backbone now. Got some guy on your arm who thinks he's better than me."
"I am better without you."
His smile vanished.
"You think that punk would survive one week in the real world? He's just a passing thing. You and me—we were real."
"You were poison," she said, standing her ground. "And I let you inside my life for too long."
He moved closer. "You still owe me, Aria."
"For what? The trauma? The anxiety? The nights I cried myself to sleep?"
"For walking away without looking back." His voice dropped. "You hurt me."
She felt her pulse thrum in her ears. "Get. Out."
Liam's face twitched—but before he could say more, a voice cut through the tension like a blade.
"Touch her and I'll break your jaw."
Ronan.
He stood at the threshold, fists clenched, fury written across every inch of him.
Ethan stepped back, eyeing Ronan with disgust. "Oh, great. The rebound."
"No." Ronan walked forward. "I'm the man who won't let you hurt her ever again."
For a terrifying second, Aria thought Liam might lunge—but he didn't. He just glared, jaw tightening, and spat on the floor before stalking out, slamming the door behind him.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Aria was trembling. Ronan wrapped his arms around her, grounding her with the warmth of his chest and the steadiness of his heartbeat.
"I should've told someone he was still around," she whispered.
"You don't need to justify anything," he said softly. "But you do need to protect yourself now. File a report. Let the school know."
She nodded into his shirt. "I will."
After a beat, she pulled back and looked up at him. "You always show up."
"Always."
The next day, Aria filed a formal complaint. The university launched an investigation. Security was tightened.
And Aria confirmed her spot in the Paris residency.
That night, Ronan surprised her with dinner beneath strings of fairy lights in the campus courtyard.
"You're going to leave," he said, "and take Paris by storm."
"I'll miss you."
He smiled. "Then write me."
"You don't do letters."
"For you, I will."
She laughed, heart full. "I'll be back before the cherry blossoms bloom."
Ronan reached for her hand. "Then I'll wait for you under the tree."
And just like that, the choice didn't feel like a loss anymore.
It felt like love—brave enough to let go, certain enough to wait.