Ai-oon has decided.
She’s not sure how long waiting is supposed to feel—the stretch of days, the flicker of nights—but one thing pounds clear in her chest: she can’t hold off any longer. Time, slippery and relentless, has carried her to this moment.
It’s been good. Great, even. Bumpy, like a highway full of potholes and a sky full of stars, where every twist reminds her she’s alive. She’s had to relearn what it means to orbit Metavee without lies tangled like vines around them. Ai-oon has wrestled with the fears, the jagged memories, the bruises that don’t fade but teach her how to stay upright. She’s had to brace herself for those moments—when old memories crash in like waves, when truths crack the ground beneath their feet and they have to rebuild, brick by brick, heartbeat by heartbeat.
Everything—all the hurt, the wild laughter, the messy, untamed love—has led her here. And now, Ai-oon is ready. Her heart burns, bursts, blazes with the thought of being on one knee, asking Metavee to be hers forever. She’s faced long, halting conversations with Metavee’s parents—especially her dad, who suddenly seems to be clinging to this fresh resolve to be better. Family is a fragile thing, she knows, and something about him still makes her worry—but when he gave her that small, hesitant smile, it carried the unspoken truth: “I don’t understand this, but I won’t stand in your way.”
And maybe, that’s enough.
She’s told Ton, and Ploy, too—Ploy, who she once envied with a sharp, jealous ache, and who, in turn, sat her down and gave her the words she didn’t want but needed after she and Metavee found their way back. Ploy’s voice still hums in her mind sometimes: “I will never fully understand why you left her, but I trust May’s faith in you. So, I’ll trust you, too. Don’t make me regret it. People would kill to be loved the way Metavee loves you.”
The words cut, deep and unforgiving, because they were true. They stirred ghosts Ai-oon had fought in silence, old battles she’d hoped to leave buried, but she understood. She gets it now—where Ploy was coming from, the weight of what Metavee gave her.
And this time, she’s grounded. Steadfast. She’s done running, done holding back. There’s no more reason to delay, no more chains of doubt or guilt keeping her tethered. She can love Metavee now, fully and ferociously, without the shadow of others’ pain dimming their light.
“Earth to Ai-oon.”
The words pull Ai-oon back, a tether yanking her from her wandering thoughts. There’s a chuckle in the air, soft and familiar, grounding her like the first rays of sunlight breaking through the night. Ai-oon’s eyes focus, her gaze meeting the rich brown depths that have held her through storms and silences. Metavee’s thumb brushes her cheek, gentle and knowing, and it feels like her soul is being cradled.
Ai-oon smiles, because how could she not? To be loved like this, tender and fierce, by the woman who owns her heart.
“I lost you there for a second. Where did you go?” May’s voice dances with teasing warmth.
Ai-oon laughs, shakes her head, and leans in to press a kiss to the bare slope of Metavee’s shoulder. She doesn’t answer with words; she doesn’t need to. Everything she feels flows through that kiss, a quiet confession of gratitude and love.
This is their rhythm, their dance, their days wrapped in simplicity and quiet joy. May always rises before six, her mornings drawn to the early light. Before she leaves for work, she wakes Ai-oon with a kiss—a whisper of love before seven. She’ll ask Khun Nid to prepare breakfast and sometimes, in her endearing attempts to impress, she’ll try to fib that she made it herself. Ai-oon always sees through it, but sometimes she lets May win, because her joy is contagious.
By midday, Ai-oon finds herself in the garden or lounging by the pool, pen in hand, head full of stories. She’s lost in the haze of caffeine-fueled creativity, though it’s a habit Metavee often chides her for. On other days, she’ll slip out, hop on her bike, and tuck herself into a corner of a cafe, letting the hum of strangers’ lives flow around her as she writes. Before heading home, she makes her usual stop at her grandmother’s, arms full of hot soup that never fails to make the old woman’s eyes light up.
Evenings belong to their reunion. Ai-oon usually arrives home just before seven to find Metavee waiting, rising from the sofa with a book in hand, her face breaking into a smile that feels like home. But not every day is so kind. When May is buried under the weight of cases, she’ll come home late—ten o’clock, or worse, just before midnight. Ai-oon hates those nights. She hates the exhaustion etched into Metavee’s face, the way her steps drag. And yet, even then, May’s expression softens the moment she sees Ai-oon, her eyes lighting up just enough to remind them both why they endure.
“I’m home,” May would tell her every time, even when Ai-oon has already seen her walking through the door.
Home.
Because that’s what it is. Home. Domestic and blissful, filled with soft edges and warm corners, a world they’ve carved out of chaos and made their own.
“Are you thinking about your novel again?” May’s voice, quiet and amused, cuts through Ai-oon’s drifting thoughts.
Metavee shifts, her head propped lazily on her arm, her eyes a little drowsy but still alight with that familiar spark that never fails to pull Ai-oon closer.
“I’m thinking about you.”
May rolls her eyes, a playful grin tugging at her lips. Ai-oon barely registers the pinch to her exposed waist before she flinches, laughing, and pulls the blanket up to cover their bare bodies.
“Charmer.”
“That’s what you get for dating me.”
“Dating? Ai, I think we passed that point a year ago,” May retorts, her tone light and teasing.
“Fine, that’s what you get for being my girlfriend.”
May’s cheeks flush the faintest shade of pink, and Ai-oon’s heart swells. Without thinking, her hand reaches for May’s waist, pulling her closer, fingertips brushing against soft skin. May groans in protest, but it’s half-hearted; she gives in easily, her body folding into Ai-oon’s embrace.
Chest to chest, breaths mingling in the still air, tangled in sheets that still carry the warmth of their shared love. May’s face tucks into the curve of Ai-oon’s neck, and every exhale sends shivers racing down her spine.
Weeks, months, years—Metavee’s touch still leaves her trembling, her presence still electric.
“Can you make it to my book signing next week?” The question slips out, sudden and unguarded.
May leans back, her eyes narrowing slightly, brows drawing together in a curious frown.
“You have a book signing next week?”
“Yeah, Thursday, 4 PM. Why?”
May’s gaze lingers, thoughtful, searching. Ai-oon doesn’t miss the way her lips press together, as if she’s working through an unspoken calculation. She knows that look; it’s the look of Metavee juggling a hundred things at once in her head, trying to make room for one more.
“I haven’t seen any posters for it outside the publishing house. What’s up with that?”
“Oh, I wanted it to be private,” Ai-oon says, her smile soft and teasing. “Just a small thing—a few people from the pub, some friends. You can bring yours too, if you feel like it.”
May quirks an eyebrow, leaning her head just enough to signal her disbelief. “And why private, exactly?”
Ai-oon curses internally. Of course, May wouldn’t let it slide. That lawyer’s radar of hers, always tuned in, always probing. Ai-oon feels the lie balancing precariously on the edge of her tongue, the whole plan teetering with it.
“It’s… my most personal book yet,” she says, carefully, testing each word as it leaves her mouth. “Kind of a memoir. That’s why.”
May’s gaze lingers, steady, peeling back the layers Ai-oon didn’t even realize she was wearing. But then, with a slow nod, she lets it go, the tension in the air dissolving just enough.
“And where’s it happening?” May asks, her voice softer now, her head settling against Ai-oon’s chest. Her fingers trace slow, wandering patterns along Ai-oon’s skin, just above her hip, grounding them both in the moment.
“I haven’t locked it down yet,” Ai-oon hedges, her voice quieter now. “But since it’s personal, I was thinking… the planetarium. You know, because part of the book is about you. About us.”
The silence that follows feels heavy, stretching long enough for doubt to creep in. Did she say too much? Give away the surprise? But then May’s fingers resume their lazy paths, a silent reassurance.
“The planetarium, huh?” May’s voice is almost a whisper, thoughtful, like she’s holding the idea in her hands and turning it over. “I like that.”
Ai-oon exhales, relief blooming like a quiet sunrise.
“I’ll clear up my Thursday,” May says, her tone easy, but the promise in it as steady as the earth beneath them. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
Ai-oon can’t help the grin that spreads across her face, her heart swelling. She leans down, her lips brushing the top of May’s head, lingering there as if sealing a secret between them.
“Thanks,” she murmurs, her voice low and warm. “It means everything.”
To her surprise, May shifts, climbing on top of her with that mischievous smile that’s equal parts tease and trouble. Ai-oon’s breath catches for a second before laughter spills out, a reflex she can’t help around this woman.
“May, what are you doing?”
“You,” comes the reply, effortless, devastating.
Jesus.
This woman, the one now hovering over her, commanding every inch of Ai-oon’s universe, will be her undoing—and what a glorious demise that promises to be.
“Metavee,” she warns, her voice low, her use of May’s first name a rare occurrence, but one that doesn’t carry the weight it should.
May just grins wider, shameless and unstoppable. “Think of this as your reward for finishing another book.”
“If you keep this up,” Ai-oon says, her hands instinctively finding May’s waist, her fingers tracing the soft curve there, every goosebump under her touch a small victory, “you’ll have me finishing a book every week.”
Ai-oon’s thumb brushes over May’s lower lip—her favorite. She always comes back to it, that perfect, maddening curve. May smirks, tilting her head just so, her teeth grazing Ai-oon’s thumb in a playful bite before she releases it with a soft pop, leaning in closer.
“A novel a week? Slow,” May murmurs, her voice silk and smoke, her lips now ghosting over Ai-oon’s, “you can do better.”
Ai-oon smiles, helpless and lost in her orbit, surrendering without a fight. Her hands tighten ever so slightly on May’s waist, holding her steady even as the rest of the world tilts away.
The proposal can wait. For now.
This Metavee can’t.
----
“Does this look right?”
Ai-oon steps back, tilting her head, arms crossed as she surveys the flowers she just arranged near the stage. Pang, her best friend and the mastermind she roped into helping for this grand gesture, gives her a look before yanking her gently by the arm and pushing her into an empty chair.
“Sit. Breathe. We’ve got this,” Pang says, her tone half-reassuring, half-exasperated.
“I’m proposing to May. Of course I’m stressed,” Ai-oon retorts, running a hand through her hair like that’ll tame the chaos in her head.
“Ai, listen. Even if you trip and fall flat on your face, she’s still saying yes,” Pang shoots back, folding her arms and giving her a no-nonsense glare. “You know she loves you enough to forgive all your quirks.”
“What’s going on here?”
Jan, Pang’s girlfriend and resident chaos-bringer, strides in carrying another vase of flowers, fresh-cut from Pang’s farm. She’s got that breezy confidence that somehow makes Ai-oon both calmer and more nervous.
“My best friend’s losing it, as usual,” Pang answers, not even looking up from her work.
“Aww,” Jan teases, setting the vase down with exaggerated care, “That’s normal. She’s proposing to May.”
“Thank you,” Ai-oon says, drawing out the words like a performer hamming up their final bow.
It earns her a swift, playful kick to the shin from Pang.
“Seriously, Ai,” Pang says, crouching to eye her level, “just be yourself, okay? That’s what she loves about you.”
“Is she on her way?” Jan asks, plopping down into a chair and stretching like she’s just wrapped up a marathon.
Ai-oon checks her phone, the last message from Metavee still lighting up the screen. “Yeah, she just left her office. About five minutes ago.”
Pang straightens, all business now. “Alright, less than an hour. Let’s move, Ingsamak. This proposal’s not setting itself up.”
Thank the heavens for the heavy Bangkok traffic, holding Metavee at bay for just a little longer.
When she finally steps in, a bouquet in hand, Ai-oon sees her pause, her eyes sweeping over the auditorium of the Bangkok Planetarium. There’s a flicker of surprise there, maybe even wonder, as she takes in the explosion of flowers, the sweeping curtains. Pang probably went too far, leaning into her flair for the dramatic, but Ai-oon doesn’t regret it. Not when she catches the soft smile blooming on May’s face, her gaze landing squarely on her, melting everything else into the backdrop.
Inside, the room hums with people who know them—May’s friends, a couple of workmates, Ploy, Ton. Ai-oon’s circle is there too: her close friends, three colleagues, her grandmother, and Oab-oom.
Oab-oom, who’s been doing better these days, stitching herself back together in quiet, deliberate ways. Breaking the news to her had been like stepping into a storm, but when Oab-oom told her not to worry—that everything that happened, happened because of choices made and no one person could shoulder the blame—Ai-oon felt the universe click into place. All the scattered pieces lined up, leading here, to this night, this moment.
May and Oab-oom share a glance—a polite smile, a nod that’s almost imperceptible. Their exchanges remain brief, shaped by lingering history and the distance of time. Oab-oom is away most days now, absorbed in her work, healing in her own way. And somehow, that’s enough. They’re learning to coexist in a universe where Ai-oon’s love for May no longer carves out pain in Oab-oom’s chest.
That quiet understanding is written in the fleeting way their eyes meet. Things have settled, maybe not perfectly, but well enough. Ai-oon sees it, feels it in the air like the first deep breath after rain.
May crosses the room, her steps unhurried, her gaze lingering just long enough to take everything in. Then, she stops in front of Ai-oon, holding out the bouquet.
“Congratulations, my love.”
That endearment, the softness of it, sets Ai-oon’s heart stumbling, her cheeks warming under the weight of it. She catches the teasing snickers drifting from the sidelines—Pim, Pang, or Jan, maybe all of them—but she doesn’t care.
Ai-oon mutters a quiet thank you, her voice barely rising above the hum of the room, and leans into May’s embrace. Her arms loop around her like she’s anchoring herself to this moment. Eyes closed, she lets the noise blur into a distant hum, the pounding in her chest slowing for just a breath. For a fleeting second, it’s just them—no crowd, no plans, no promises waiting to be made.
“You weren’t kidding when you said it’s private,” May says, her voice light but edged with curiosity.
Ai-oon pulls back, reluctantly, her gaze dipping away as May’s eyes sweep the small crowd. Metavee waves a hand at the familiar faces scattered throughout, a warm, casual gesture.
“Like I said, it’s personal,” Ai-oon replies, her voice steady, even as the lie wavers in her throat. She gulps, telling herself it won’t be a lie for much longer.
May tilts her head, studying Ai-oon with a look that’s too soft, too knowing, like she’s reading the words Ai-oon hasn’t dared to say yet. But she doesn’t press. Instead, she smiles, the kind that reaches her eyes, and reaches out to pinch Ai-oon’s cheek. “You’re cute when you’re nervous, you know that?”
Ai-oon swats at her hand, laughing quietly, warmth rising in her cheeks.
May chuckles and tucks both hands into the pockets of her striped trousers, the motion easy, familiar, disarming. “I’m gonna grab a seat before you blush yourself into oblivion.”
She moves away, weaving through the small crowd to settle beside Ton in the third row. The auditorium is dim, stars and planets flickering across the ceiling in slow, hypnotic patterns. Ai-oon’s gaze follows her, lingering on the way May tilts her head back, her attention caught by the display. She wonders if May’s thinking of the first time they met here—if she remembers it as clearly as Ai-oon does. The thought stirs something deep in her chest, a quiet ache, half sweet and half restless.
Pang and Jan start passing out copies of A Dance of Two Bodies, the cover art a soft illustration of Pluto and Charon. Ai-oon watches May take her copy, her hands brushing over the glossy surface. When she sees the warm smile spreading across May’s face, something inside her eases, happiness unfurling quietly, steadily.
Ai-oon takes a deep breath, stepping up onto the stage. Her hands are damp, and she wipes them subtly against her skirt before flipping the book open to a page she’s marked a dozen times.
“About a year ago,” she begins, her voice finding its footing, “I started writing down thoughts whenever I felt strongly about things. This book is... well, it’s pieces of that. Some of my most personal moments—what I see when I look at life, and friends, and love.”
Her voice wavers for just a second, and she pushes through, glancing briefly at May in the crowd.
“It’s not quite poetry, but it’s a little more than prose—somewhere in between, I guess,” she adds with a nervous laugh, tucking her hair behind her ear.
Her chest tightens as the weight of the moment presses down, her palms slick with sweat. She grips the edges of the podium and takes another deep breath, grounding herself in the steady rhythm of her own heartbeat. She glances at May again, and there, in the softness of her smile, Ai-oon finds the strength to keep going.
To the crowd of familiar faces, she reads, the words tumbling out, raw and real.
May 12th
Today I went to see my grandmother. She’s been smiling more lately. I remember I used to tell her, “Quit sulking, grandma, it makes you look old,” half-joking, half-hoping I could coax a smile from her, because that smile of hers— it was something I could never forget.
But today, she pulled me close, looked me in the eyes with that knowing kind of gaze and said, “You smile a lot these days, Ai.”
A knot forms in Ai-oon’s throat, the weight of those words heavy, like a song from long ago stirring in her chest.
It was the first time my grandmother ever said that. I didn’t need to ask anyone why. Even she could see it. Even the most worn-out soul could read the change in my face. No need for answers. No need for words. Just the knowing.
One day, I’ll hand this book to the love of my life, and she’ll read it, and she’ll know. Why Ai-oon Ingsamak’s a little bit different these days, in a good way.
One day, she’ll know— and maybe that day is now.
Ai-oon lifts her eyes, and in that moment, Metavee’s gaze meets hers, steady and silent.
The book snaps shut, and Ai-oon takes a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket, unfolding it slowly, like she’s not sure if she should read it aloud or keep it to herself. One last look at May, and it hits her, those tears forming in May’s eyes—the realization settling in.
May is catching on, little by little, like dawn breaking through the fog. And Ai-oon, she feels it—she could stick to the words she’s written, play it safe, but that feeling in her chest is louder than any sentence on paper.
She follows that feeling.
A soft laugh escapes her, like a secret shared only with the wind, and she goes on.
“You know, I… I wrote something to help me through today. Pang said it might help,” Ai-oon says, showing May the folded paper before tucking it back into her pocket.
She steps down from the stage, moving toward Metavee, the distance between them shrinking with every step, like they’re the only two people left in the room.
“May, we both know if you start crying, I’ll cry too,” Ai-oon says, trying to crack a smile, earning a few chuckles from their friends.
May smiles, soft and tender, and Ai-oon, in that moment, feels something shift in her chest, a quiet surety.
“You’re going to hate how cliché this sounds,” Ai-oon begins, her voice soft and quiet, “but sometimes, in the middle of the night, I wake up and wonder what I did to deserve you. You’re everything I’m not, May.” She pauses, the words almost too much to say. “You’re the smartest in the class, and I’m just here trying to keep up. You’ve got the world at your feet, and I’ve got little more than what’s inside me. You’re so put together… while I’m still trying to figure it all out.”
Her left hand fidgets with the box inside her pocket, the temptation to pull it out almost unbearable as her words pour out.
“When I went to Korat last month, without you knowing, you can ask Ploy and Ton how nervous I was walking in to meet your parents again. I was scared… scared because I don’t have much to offer but myself. And I thought, what parent would want their daughter to spend her life with someone like me? And then I remembered what you told me long ago. ‘Don’t let yourself become smaller again.’”
Something inside Ai-oon breaks as she recalls that moment, the weight of it so sharp it almost takes her breath away. She remembers the way she rested her head on May’s lap, her words sinking in like raindrops into the earth:
A delivery girl by day, a writer by night. She even finds time to care for her blind girlfriend. Tell me, how can she be bad?
Ai-oon looks down, her heart heavy as tears start to form, but they don’t fall—not yet. She trembles, but it’s only when May stands and wraps her arms around her that Ai-oon finds her feet again.
Her compass. Her rock. The solid ground that holds her together when everything else seems to fall apart.
Ai-oon glances at her twin. Oab-oom, tears streaming down her face, smiles through them, a smile so full of love and understanding. She nods, and Ai-oon feels the pull of fate, of everything that’s led her to this moment.
Her twin who, despite everything, had been the force that pulled Ai-oon back into Metavee’s orbit, like the gravity that never lets go.
It all clicks into place now. All of it—the mess, the chaos, the slow unfolding of everything that had been waiting to happen.
“I love you, May,” Ai-oon says, the words hanging in the air, the noise of the world slipping away as she stares into May’s tearful eyes. “Maybe I don’t need to ask myself what I did to deserve you. I just need to be grateful.”
Before this, Ai-oon never really understood why people cried during proposals.
But now, she understands.
It’s the weight of it all—the pain, the struggles, the quiet moments and the loud ones, the days soaked in laughter and soaked in tears, the good days and the bad—it’s all come together now, like a song that’s been building toward this note. The culmination of everything that was ever worth waiting for.
Kneeling, Ai-oon pulls the box from her pocket, opening it slowly, the stone of the engagement ring catching the light, its sparkle weaving through the blur of her tears, like a promise too big to say with words.
“Spend the rest of your life with me, May,” Ai-oon says, and she knows, deep in her bones, she didn’t need to ask.
May sobs, nodding, unable to find the words, and Ai-oon almost laughs at herself, her heart caught in her throat. She can barely see May through the tears, but her hands shake as she slides the ring onto May’s finger. A squeeze from May steadies her, and Ai-oon mouths a ‘thank you.’
Thank you for saying yes.
Thank you for holding me steady.
Metavee pulls Ai-oon to her feet, her touch steady and warm, like she’s always known how to anchor Ai-oon. Their lips meet in a tender kiss, soft and slow, and for a moment, everything else falls away. The cheers around them disappear, fading into quiet. There’s nothing but the feel of each other, the simple press of lips, the warmth shared in the stillness.
In that kiss, everything they’ve been through, all the moments that brought them here, seem to fall into place. The air around them feels still, like a promise held in the silence, and all that remains is the echo of their love, soft but undeniable.
---
That same night, stepping out of the shower, Ai-oon notices the quiet. Metavee isn’t in their room as usual. She grabs her phone, padding softly through the house, and checks the living room—still nothing. It’s only when she steps outside, the warm evening air wrapping around her, that she spots Metavee by the pool, her feet skimming the water’s surface, ripples dancing outward in lazy circles.
Metavee, sensing her presence, turns and smiles—soft, warm, inviting. She gestures with a tilt of her head.
“Hey, come here.”
The air between them feels slow—not heavy, not sad. Just… unhurried. Peaceful in a way Ai-oon only notices when she takes the time to stop and breathe. She wonders if it’s always been this way. Maybe time has moved too fast, or maybe it’s been so calm she forgot to keep track.
She folds her pajama bottoms up to her knees and slips into the seat beside Metavee. The pool water is warm, licking gently at her feet, and Ai-oon smiles, letting herself soak in the stillness.
“You weren’t in the room when I came out of the shower,” she says, starting a conversation like tossing a pebble into the water.
Sometimes, moments like this—coming into an empty room or waking up alone—send a flicker of doubt through her. Does it stir anything in Metavee? She thinks it might, but far less now than before. Every time she notices it, she makes sure to hold Metavee close, tighter than ever, as if to say, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. She’s stayed long enough to prove it.
“You were taking too long,” Metavee teases, her voice light.
“Those pollens,” Ai-oon replies, shaking her head. “I could feel them sticking to my hair. Pang definitely overdid it with the flowers, didn’t she?”
Metavee laughs, a sound as easy as the night. Ai-oon watches her—her profile turned toward the water, the quiet stillness in her gaze. There’s something on her mind, Ai-oon can feel it. Is it about the engagement? Worry flutters in the back of her mind.
But before Ai-oon can ask, Metavee reaches over, her hand resting on Ai-oon’s thigh, the touch grounding her like an unspoken assurance: It’s not about that.
“Would you be mad,” Metavee begins, her voice softer now, “if I told you I knew you were proposing today?”
Ai-oon’s world stutters, her thoughts spinning back over the last few days. Did she give herself away? A flicker of doubt surfaces, but then there’s Metavee’s small smile—a smile that says more than words. Ai-oon lets herself breathe again, the worry settling, replaced by the quiet certainty that, somehow, Metavee always knows.
“What?” Ai-oon asks, caught off guard, her brow furrowing just slightly.
Metavee’s smile softens, then widens a little, holding a quiet warmth Ai-oon knows all too well.
“I was debating whether to tell you,” Metavee starts, her voice steady but laced with something fragile. “A couple of days ago, my legal team… we had our first loss.”
The smile falters, just for a moment, but Metavee pulls it back quickly, bravery rising to the surface like Ai-oon always knew it would. That’s who she is—strong, steady, never letting the cracks show for too long.
“You weren’t there when I got home, so I went looking for you,” Metavee continues. “I walked into your office, and there you were. You were holding the ring. Did you know that?”
Ai-oon’s breath catches. Memories rush in all at once.
Of course.
Of course, Metavee had seen it.
“You were on the phone,” Metavee says, her voice quieter now, as though recalling something distant. “I think you were talking to Pang, describing the ring. Asking what flowers might match it.”
Ai-oon reaches for her hand, fingers lacing together in an instinctive gesture, grounding herself in the one person she knows she wants to hold onto forever.
And suddenly, it all makes sense—the quiet fire in Metavee lately, the faint shadows behind her smiles. But even so, she kept showing up. Always showing up, face steady, never letting on how heavy it must have been.
“You should have told me,” Ai-oon says softly.
Metavee shakes her head, the gesture resolute. “If I’d told you, you would’ve moved it. You would’ve postponed everything. Because you’re a good person, Ai.”
“May, I—”
“I’m telling you now,” Metavee interrupts gently, “because I’m grateful. Because sometimes I still get scared— scared of what’s coming next. But at the end of the day, you’re here. And that’s all I’ve ever needed. All I ever searched for when I thought I’d lost you.”
Ai-oon reaches up, brushing away the tears threatening to slip from the corners of Metavee’s eyes. She presses a kiss to the top of her head, a quiet vow to chase away all the worries still lingering in her mind.
“All of it, May. I’m here for all of it,” Ai-oon says, her voice a whisper.
“I love you,” Metavee murmurs, her words trembling with honesty.
“I love you, too,” Ai-oon answers, her tone steady as she moves closer. “You can lean on me, May. We’ll go back inside when it gets better.”
Metavee smiles at the words, familiar as an old song, and Ai-oon feels the weight of her quiet pain she may be nursing from a loss.
But much like she’d promised long ago, sitting by this same pool and telling May she could lean on her, Ai-oon silently vows she’ll do it again. Over and over, as many times as it takes.
Like so many times before, Metavee closes her eyes and lets her hand trace the curve of Ai-oon’s arm, her shoulder, until her head finds its place to rest.
The Pluto to May’s Charon. Close enough to hold each other steady, just enough to keep their orbits aligned.
Her life. Her direction.
As they sit there in the stillness, Ai-oon knows—they’re ready for whatever comes next.