The sun was too bright.
It shimmered on the platform's tiles, spilled between the gaps in the train station awning, and made everything look too awake — like the world didn't care it had just lost something irreplaceable.
Sunny didn't move.
The train was long gone, the tracks empty now. But she stayed in place, her eyes locked on the space where Zane had stood just minutes earlier. Her hand still hovered near her chest, fingertips tingling from where they'd last touched.
She hadn't cried.
Not in front of him. Not when she handed him the case. Not even when the doors slid shut and his figure blurred through the window.
But now?
Now, the silence echoed louder than applause ever had. And the tears came.
Slow at first. Then steady. The kind that didn't need sobs to be heavy.
She pressed her sleeve to her face, wiping them away as the station emptied around her. Her heart felt hollow — like a room where the music had stopped playing.
You said you'd come back, she thought. So why does it feel like goodbye?
---
She wandered without direction.
The city was already stirring — dog walkers on sidewalks, cafes opening shutters, the scent of baking bread in the air. She passed a flower stall and paused for a second, staring blankly at the hydrangeas.
Red.
Zane's favorite color.
She kept walking.
The streets blurred around her. She wasn't sure how long she drifted — ten minutes? Twenty? The weight in her chest didn't lift. Her fingers trembled as she finally pulled out her phone.
Sunny [7:54 AM]:"hey… you up?"
Amelia [7:56 AM]:"just barely. what's up?"
Sunny [7:57 AM]:"can i come over?"
A pause. Then:
Amelia [7:57 AM]:"of course. always."
Amelia [7:58 AM]:"…he left?"
Sunny didn't reply right away. Then:
Sunny [7:59 AM]:"yeah."
---
Fifteen minutes later, Sunny stood at the familiar front steps of Amelia's house — a villa with tall windows and soft curtains fluttering in the breeze. Even the trees looked like they belonged to a family that watered them with old jazz records and peach iced tea.
The door opened before she could knock.
Amelia stood there in pajama shorts and an oversized tee, curly hair tied into a loose pineapple bun, her eyes still a little sleepy — until they landed on Sunny's face.
She stepped forward wordlessly, wrapped her arms around her.
And Sunny finally, truly let go.
---
The Villanova villa was still mostly asleep when Amelia quietly closed the front door behind them and let Sunny in.
The air inside was warm, faintly scented with rosemary and something sweet — maybe lemon glaze. Distant clinks and a soft kettle whistle hinted that her mom was already in the kitchen, starting breakfast. But the house was quiet otherwise. Nico's duffel bag sat near the coat rack, his leather jacket folded neatly over the banister.
"He's still asleep," Amelia whispered. "And if we're lucky, he'll stay that way until brunch."
Sunny gave a faint nod, her hands clenched tightly around the sleeves of her hoodie. Her eyes were already glassy again, like the tears were waiting for permission.
Amelia didn't ask anything else. She simply led her upstairs.
---
They slipped into Amelia's room, the familiar clutter offering a strange kind of comfort — posters half-hanging from thumbtacks, pastel notes stuck to the vanity mirror, an old digital drawing tablet on the floor. A half-finished sketch of a stage outfit fluttered on her corkboard as the door clicked shut behind them.
Sunny sat down on the edge of the bed.
And then crumpled forward.
Amelia was barely able to kick off her slippers before Sunny folded into her lap, face hidden, shoulders shaking.
The sound that escaped her wasn't dramatic. It wasn't a sob. It was just… raw.
A soft, helpless sound — like her body had been holding in too much for too long.
Amelia said nothing. Just ran a hand gently through Sunny's hair, thumb brushing behind her ear. Letting her cry it all out. Slow, steady. The kind of crying that came in waves — one breath, then another, then the tears again.
"I'm sorry," Sunny mumbled into the fabric of her sweater, voice muffled.
"Don't be," Amelia whispered back. "Cry all you want."
"I held it in," she choked. "At the station, I smiled. I kissed him goodbye and I smiled, and I thought I was okay. But I'm not. I'm not okay."
Amelia's fingers stilled for just a second — then moved again, tracing gentle arcs along Sunny's scalp.
"You don't have to be."
Sunny turned her face slightly, enough to look up through tear-rimmed lashes. "I didn't want to ruin the last moments. I wanted him to feel free. To go chase it. To feel like we were okay."
"You are okay," Amelia said softly. "You just miss him. And that's allowed."
The words cracked something open even deeper.
Because yes — that was it. She missed him. Already.
And somehow, that missing had filled every corner of her chest with this aching, unbearable quiet.
---
The room had quieted again. Sunny's sobs faded to soft hiccups, her cheek still pressed against Amelia's lap, hair damp near her temples. Amelia didn't move. She just sat there, cross-legged on the bed, one hand resting in Sunny's hair, the other holding her own knee for balance.
The door creaked open a sliver.
Mrs. Villanova peeked in, a tray balanced carefully in her hands. Two mugs of tea — faint steam curling above their rims — and a small plate with honey-dipped biscuits.
She didn't say a word. Just caught Amelia's eye and raised her brows in a silent question.
Amelia gave a small, subtle nod.
Mrs. Villanova stepped in gently, setting the tray on the desk with practiced quiet. The soft clink of ceramic was the only sound. She glanced at Sunny, her expression warm and calm — like she'd seen this kind of pain before, and knew not to crowd it.
She crossed over, placed a hand briefly on Amelia's shoulder — a quiet "I'm here if you need me" — and then left just as silently as she came, pulling the door closed behind her.
The scent of chamomile and orange peel slowly filled the room.
Sunny shifted, her voice still hoarse. "Your mom's kind."
Amelia smiled faintly, brushing hair from Sunny's face. "She knows what heartache looks like."
Sunny let out a small, broken laugh. "Great. Is it that obvious?"
"Only to people who love you," Amelia said. "Which makes it a short list. And a good one."
---
Eventually, Sunny sat up.
Amelia didn't say anything — just passed her a warm mug, careful not to break the quiet too quickly.
Sunny took it with both hands, cradling the heat. The scent of chamomile and orange peel rose in soft curls. She took a slow sip. Usually, the flavor comforted her — but this morning, everything tasted like she wasn't quite there.
The plate of honey-dipped biscuits sat untouched.
She leaned back against the bedframe, legs still curled on the mattress. Her eyes looked far away.
"I wonder what he's doing now," she murmured.
Amelia glanced over, but didn't interrupt.
Sunny traced a finger down the side of the mug. "If he's sleeping. Or just… staring out the window. He said the train ride would be long. Twelve hours, maybe more." Her lips curled faintly. "He probably forgot headphones again."
She gave a tiny breath of a laugh — then frowned. "Or maybe he didn't. Maybe he planned it better than I think. He's been preparing for this for a while."
Silence stretched for a beat. Then:
"We pulled an all-nighter." Her voice was quieter now, more fragile. "Not just talking. We… we watched the sunrise together. One last time. And I kept pretending I was okay with it — like I could handle him leaving. But now that he's gone, it's like… everything I didn't say is echoing too loud."
Amelia's expression softened. She reached to gently adjust Sunny's blanket, but didn't push.
Sunny's gaze stayed low. "He moves around so much," she whispered. "New shows, new cities, projects. Sometimes I wonder… does any place ever feel like home to him?"
She swallowed, her voice breaking around the edges. "Did the penthouse feel like home? Did… my place?"
She looked up then — not quite at Amelia, more toward the window.
"…Did I feel like home?"
The words hovered in the air.
And for once, even Amelia didn't have an answer right away.
---
Amelia sat beside her, cross-legged on the bed, picking at a thread in the blanket. She didn't speak right away. She just listened, like she always did.
Sunny sighed. "He's always looking ahead. Like something out there is shinier, louder, more worth chasing. And I get it. That's who he is. He doesn't stop — not really. But sometimes I wonder if he ever… looks back."
She blinked away a tear before it could fall. "If he misses things when they're not right in front of him. If he will miss me."
Amelia finally spoke. "He does," she said softly.
Sunny looked up.
"I saw him that day. After he told you." Amelia smiled, faint but warm. "He looked wrecked. Like something cracked open in him and he wasn't sure how to hold it together."
Sunny didn't speak.
"I was mad at first," Amelia went on. "You know that. I didn't trust him. I didn't want you to get hurt. But then…" She glanced toward the window. "Then I saw how he looked at you. Even when you weren't looking back."
A pause. Then:
"People like Zane… they live on stage. In motion. But I think with you? You gave him somewhere to land."
Sunny's lips quivered slightly.
Amelia nudged the biscuit plate closer. "He's dumb. Impulsive. Kind of emotionally stunted."
Sunny let out a small, teary laugh.
"But he's yours," Amelia said. "And you're his. I think he's still figuring out what that means. But give him time."
Sunny looked down at the tea again.
"…I hope the next place he goes feels a little like me."
"It will," Amelia said gently, brushing Sunny's hair back. "You don't forget home. Even when you leave it."
---
The tea had gone lukewarm. Neither of them noticed.
Amelia was still combing her fingers through Sunny's hair when a soft knock landed on the door.
"Ames?" came a groggy voice from the hallway. "You up?"
Sunny sat up slowly, brushing her cheeks. Amelia turned toward the door, voice muffled with sleepiness. "Yeah, Nico. Come in."
The door creaked open, and Nico poked his head in — his hair a mess, hoodie tugged on half-backward. "Couldn't find the coffee. You guys hiding it in your secret artist stash again?"
Amelia smirked. "It's behind the rice cooker, genius."
He stepped in fully now, rubbing his eyes — then paused when he saw Sunny sitting upright in bed, holding a half-empty cup of tea.
"Oh," he said, suddenly softer. "Did I… interrupt something?"
"No," Sunny murmured, voice faint but warm. "It's okay."
Nico gave her a small smile. "Rough morning?"
Sunny hesitated, then nodded.
"Yeah," she said. "But it's getting better."
He glanced at his sister for confirmation — she nodded once, and he relaxed.
"You want some coffee too?" he offered gently. "It's awful, but effective."
Sunny chuckled lightly. "Maybe in a minute."
As he turned to leave, she spoke again.
"You live pretty far from here, right?"
Nico looked over his shoulder. "Yeah. Different country, different time zone. Whole thing."
"And… does it ever feel like you're too far to stay close to people?" she asked. Her voice wasn't accusatory. Just… curious. Quiet.
Nico leaned on the doorframe, considering.
"Honestly?" he said. "Sometimes. It gets lonely. You miss birthdays. Laughs. Moments you can't explain over a phone call."
Sunny nodded slowly.
"But," he added, "it never breaks anything. Not when you really care. The love just… stretches. You find new ways to show up. And when you come back, it's like no time passed at all."
Sunny blinked.
He shrugged. "That's how it's always been with Ames. And with the people who matter."
Amelia smiled faintly behind her teacup.
Sunny looked down, fingers tightening around the warm mug.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Nico gave a mock salute. "Anytime."
Then he disappeared down the hall, muttering something about "fancy rice cookers and invisible coffee."
The door clicked shut behind him.
Sunny stayed quiet for a moment, then looked at Amelia.
"…He really loves you, huh?"
Amelia exhaled through her nose, smiling. "Yeah. I love him too."
"Even with all the miles?"
"Especially with the miles," Amelia said.
Sunny rested her head against the bedframe again.
"Do you think… it'll be like that for me and Zane?"
Amelia leaned closer, wrapping an arm gently around Sunny's shoulders.
"I do."
Sunny blinked fast.
"I think if it's real… then no amount of cities, or tours, or time zones will erase it."
A pause.
"You just have to keep choosing each other. Even from far away."
---
By the time Sunny got home, her limbs felt like they were made of sandbags. Her body ached, her eyes stung, and all she wanted was to melt into the nearest soft surface.
She tossed her keys on the counter, slipped out of her shoes with a wobble, and barely made it to the couch before collapsing face-first into a pillow. Exhausted didn't even begin to cover it.
She stared blankly at the ceiling, heart still heavy… but not crushed. Not like before.
Amelia's words echoed faintly — about distance, and how love could stretch, and how people who mattered would always find their way back to each other.
It helped.
So did the tea. And the tears. And Nico's drowsy wisdom about how real love didn't break, it just waited.
Sunny hugged the pillow tighter. Maybe she had been a little over-emotional earlier. Maybe the lack of sleep wasn't helping. They had stayed up all night before Zane left — watching dumb videos, laughing about nothing, sharing the silence.
Her chest softened.
She missed him. Already.
Not in a desperate way. Not in a heart-shattering, gasping-for-air way. Just... in the kind of way where every quiet moment felt like an echo of him.
She rolled onto her side and reached for her phone. No overthinking. No walls.
Just one message.
She typed:
"Thinking of you. 💫"
She stared at it for a second — then hit send.
It was simple. Soft. A thread stretching across miles.
She smiled faintly as she set the phone down and curled into the couch cushions, letting herself finally drift off.
---
The train rocked gently, a rhythmic sway like a lullaby. Outside the window, the world blurred into streaks of moonlight and shadow. Most of the cabin had gone quiet — passengers dozing off, necks tilted against headrests, occasional murmurs rising and falling like waves.
Zane was slumped back in his seat, hoodie pulled halfway over his face, earbuds still in even though the music had stopped an hour ago.
He'd fallen asleep with his phone in hand.
A faint ding lit up the screen.
Thinking of you.
Even asleep, his thumb twitched — like his body somehow knew. A flicker of a smile tugged at his lips.
And in his dreams... she was there.
Not in a flashy way — not in a whirlwind of lights and concerts — but in the quiet moments. Curled up on a couch beside him, laughing at something he said. Singing softly in the kitchen. Sitting cross-legged on the floor with glitter on her cheeks and stars in her hair.
She never left.
Not really.
Even now, across miles and miles, she lived in his every breath.