THREE MONTHS LATER
Lena's POV
The campus is beautiful in early autumn, leaves just starting to turn gold at the edges, and I'm walking back to my apartment with my phone pressed to my ear and Priya's voice filling the space between heartbeats.
She's in University of East Anglia now, studying Art History halfway across the world, and the distance feels like a physical ache some days.
"I still can't believe you left me," I say, only half-joking. "Why did you have to be so far away? I hate you for that."
Priya's laugh crackles through the phone, warm and familiar and painfully distant. "I told you it's because of Mom. How many times do I need to say that?" Her voice softens with affection and apology. "Don't worry, I'll be back to New York for my Masters degree. Now do you forgive me?"
"No, I won't believe you until you're here," I say stubbornly, even though I know I'm being unreasonable. "Besides, three years is a long time."
"I'm sorry," she says, and she keeps apologizing until I can't help but laugh, the tension breaking between us like it always does.
We slip into easier conversation, joking about her terrible British roommate and my boring professors, and eventually she asks the question on a topic I've been meaning to talk about.
"So what about your roommates? Weren't they supposed to be there by now?"
I glance up at my apartment building, still a few minutes away. "I haven't seen any of them yet," I admit. "The place has been all mine for the past few weeks."
"Maybe you're lucky," Priya says, and I can hear the grin in her voice. "Having a whole flat to yourself in New York? That's practically a miracle."
"Maybe," I say noncommittally, and before she can push further, I change the subject. "How's the weather there?"
But Priya's not easily distracted. "Wait, what about Evan and Noah?" she asks, and I can hear the curiosity underneath the casual tone. "Have you seen them yet?"
My smile comes automatically, unbidden, at the mention of their names. "We call each other once in a while," I say carefully, "but I haven't heard from them since graduation night."
"What? Why?" The shock in her voice is immediate and genuine.
I shrug even though she can't see me. "I guess we're just giving each other the space that we need."
The words sound reasonable when I say them out loud, but they don't quite capture the complicated truth of three months of sporadic texts and carefully maintained distance.
"Lena—" Priya starts, but I'm already at my apartment building, already grateful for the excuse to cut this conversation short.
"I think my roommates are here now," I interrupt, staring at the boxes stacked on the verandah outside my door. "I can see boxes everywhere."
"Oh, that's great!" Priya says, and I can hear her accepting the subject change even if she doesn't like it. "Well, go meet them. Tell me all about it later."
"I'll call you later, love," I say, already fishing for my keys.
"Love you," she replies, and then she's gone, leaving me alone in the hallway with mysterious boxes and a flutter of anticipation I can't quite name.
I disconnect the call and push open my apartment door, and immediately I freeze. Flower petals are scattered across the floor—red roses, white lilies, creating a path that leads deeper into my apartment.
My heart starts pounding before my brain can catch up, and I follow the trail with mounting curiosity and confusion.
The petals lead me to my bedroom door, and when I push it open, my breath catches. More petals cover my bed, arranged in the shape of a heart, and in the center sits a single white envelope.
My hands are shaking slightly as I pick it up, turning it over to see my name written in elegant script across the front.
I open it carefully, pulling out a single sheet of cream paper, and begin to read.
"Letter to Lena," it starts, and my heart skips a beat.
"I loved you before the hotel. I loved you when you corrected the teacher. When you defended that freshman. When you raised your hand even though people rolled their eyes. I loved the person you are when no one's watching. The person you were before I complicated everything. If you never feel that way about me, I'll survive. But I need you to know it's real. It was always real."
At the bottom, in that same elegant script, is a name: Evan Mercer.
I gasp, the letter trembling in my hands, and that's when I hear voices from outside my bedroom. My first thought is the new neighbors, the roommates whose boxes are cluttering the verandah, but something in the quality of the laughter makes me pause.
I walk back to the living room on unsteady legs, and there on my coffee table is a bouquet of sunflowers which I must have missed on my way in.
It's my favorite, though I don't remember ever telling anyone that—wrapped in brown paper with a small gift box beside it.
Attached to the flowers is a note, and when I pick it up, I see the name written in bold, familiar handwriting: Noah Mercer.
Tears pool in my eyes, hot and sudden, and I'm racing to my front door before I can think about what I'm doing. I yank it open so fast I nearly fall, and then I'm stumbling directly into them.
They're standing in my doorway, both of them, with huge smiles on their faces and boxes at their feet.
"Hi neighbor," they say in perfect unison, and the joy in their voices breaks something open in my chest.
I stare at them, my brain struggling to process what I'm seeing.
"You two are my neighbors?" The question comes out breathless, disbelieving.
They nod, still grinning like this is the best surprise they've ever pulled off, and I don't even think.
I just jump into their arms, relief and happiness and three months of missing them crashing over me all at once.
"Thank you," I whisper against someone's shoulder, and I keep repeating it as tears stream down my face. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."
They guide me back inside, their arms still around me, and the moment the door closes behind us I'm turning to Evan.
I grab his face and kiss him hard, pouring three months of silence and longing into it, and he responds immediately, his hands coming up to cup my jaw.
When we break apart, I turn to Noah, and he's already reaching for me. This kiss is different—slower, deeper, like he's trying to tell me something words can't capture.
When we finally separate, all three of us are breathing hard, and I realize I'm crying again.
"Thank you," I say one more time, looking between them, and everything I can't articulate is wrapped up in those two words.
Noah doesn't answer with words. Instead, he grabs my hand and pulls me toward the bedroom, and Evan follows close behind.
We stumble through the doorway together, laughing and kissing and shedding clothes, and when we finally come together on my petal-covered bed, it's passionate and tender and absolutely perfect.
This is what I chose. This is what I wanted. And as I lie between them afterward, their hands in mine, their breathing slowly evening out, I know with absolute certainty that I made the right decision.
THE END.