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The lighthouse stood at the edge of the world, a silent sentinel against the relentless sea. It had weathered decades of storms, its stone battered and cracked by time, salt, and wind. Aiden had always hated it. The waves crashed violently against the jagged rocks below, the salty air stinging his skin, the endless horizon stretching out like a reminder of something he could never return to.
Once, long ago, he had loved it. Loved the late-night climbs up the cliffs with Ashlyn, their laughter echoing under a sky full of stars, the world soft and full of possibilities. Those nights had been their secret, a place where dreams had felt infinite, where they had talked about everything and nothing all at once. But that was before. Before the fire. Before the silence. Before she left.
Three years had passed since Ashlyn disappeared. Three years of unanswered questions, of wondering why, of trying to piece together the puzzle of her absence. She had vanished without a trace—no note, no goodbye, no explanation. Just gone. Aiden had searched for her, of course, at first. But when the search turned up nothing, the anger had set in. She had chosen to leave. She had chosen to leave him. To leave everything they had shared.
He could still feel the ache of that night—the crushing weight of realization when he stood in the wreckage of their lives, the fire’s smoke still heavy in the air, and understood that she wasn’t coming back.
Now, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple, he saw her. Standing at the base of the lighthouse, staring up at it as if it were something foreign, something she no longer recognized. Aiden’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected her to return. Not after everything.
She was real. She was here.
His voice cracked, rough from years of silence. “Hey,” he called.
Ashlyn didn’t flinch, didn’t even look startled. She simply turned her head, her eyes briefly meeting his before she turned her gaze back to the lighthouse, her face unreadable.
“Aiden,” she said softly. Her voice was familiar but distant, as though time and pain had carved a coldness into it he had never known.
Aiden’s chest tightened, a lump forming in his throat. “What are you doing here, Ash? After everything—after all this time?”
She took a slow breath, gripping the wrought-iron railing of the lighthouse as though it were the only thing keeping her grounded. “I inherited this place,” she said, her words coming out like a confession. “It’s mine now.”
Aiden blinked, his mind scrambling to catch up. “Inherited?” His laugh was bitter. “What, did your parents leave it to you? After all this time?” He took a few steps closer, unable to keep the edge from his voice. “You just come back like it’s nothing?”
Ashlyn didn’t look at him, her eyes locked on the lighthouse, her expression unreadable.
“You think I wanted to come back?” Her voice was low, but it held something he couldn’t quite place. “You think I came back for you?”
Aiden’s heart squeezed. He had always known she had left because of something—something that had torn them apart—but hearing it, hearing her say it out loud, cut deeper than anything else. The words were colder than the sea breeze that whipped around them.
He took another step forward, trying to make sense of the storm inside him. Anger, hurt, confusion—all of it swirling around, impossible to contain. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” he asked, his voice trembling. “Why didn’t you tell me why?”
“I didn’t know how,” she interrupted, her shoulders stiffening as if bracing for the impact of the words she knew would come next. “I didn’t know how to tell you, Aiden. I didn’t know how to tell you that I couldn’t be here anymore—that I couldn’t be that person for you. Not after… not after what happened.”
Aiden’s heart thudded painfully against his chest. “What happened?” he whispered, stepping closer, needing to understand.
Ashlyn finally looked at him. Her eyes, once filled with warmth, were now clouded with a sorrow so deep it almost consumed her. She swallowed hard before speaking, her voice barely a breath. “The fire,” she whispered, as if the word itself held the weight of the world. “I wasn’t strong enough, Aiden. I couldn’t save them.”
The words hit him like a tidal wave. The fire. The one that had destroyed the nearby village, the one that had taken so much from them both. Aiden had been there, fighting to save what he could, but the flames had been too much, too fast. The fire had taken her family. Her parents. Her world.
“I…” Aiden’s voice faltered. His knees felt weak, the weight of everything pressing down on him. “I thought you left because you couldn’t handle it. You just…” He swallowed hard, trying to make sense of it. “I thought you couldn’t bear to stay here after everything.”
Ashlyn took a deep breath, stepping back toward the lighthouse as if its cold, silent stone could somehow shield her from the pain. “I couldn’t,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “But not for the reason you think. I left because I couldn’t bear to watch you mourn them. I couldn’t stand seeing you hurt because of me. I thought you’d be better off without me, Aiden. I thought…” Her words broke, and she wiped a tear from her cheek, the pain in her eyes too raw to ignore.
Aiden stepped forward, his chest aching. “You think I’d be better off without you? After everything we shared? After everything we went through?”
Ashlyn didn’t answer right away. She just stared at the lighthouse, her fingers trembling as they gripped the iron railing. The silence stretched between them, a gulf that seemed impossible to cross.
Finally, she spoke, her voice low and strained. “I couldn’t be the person you needed me to be. I wasn’t strong enough. Not for you. Not for me.”
Her words hit him like a physical blow. The air between them seemed to crackle with the weight of unspoken regret. He could feel the distance between them, the years of pain, the years of silence. It felt like there was no bridge strong enough to close that gap.
But then, as if something inside him finally gave way, Aiden took another step closer, his hand trembling as he reached out and cupped her cheek gently, just like he had done so many times before. “You think you have to be strong for me? For us?” His voice was softer now, stripped of anger, stripped of the years of resentment. “I needed you, Ash. Not some perfect version of you. Just you.”
Ashlyn’s eyes flickered as she looked up at him, something fragile and unspoken passing between them. Her breath caught in her throat as she leaned into his touch, her hand rising to rest on his, pressing it closer to her skin. For a moment, neither of them moved. The world seemed to stop, the waves crashing against the rocks below, the wind whispering in the trees—the only sound the rhythm of their breathing.
“I was so scared,” Ashlyn confessed, her voice barely a whisper. “I was scared of losing you… of losing myself.”
Aiden’s heart twisted in his chest. He had been scared too—scared of the hole she had left in his life, scared of the love that had never really gone away, buried beneath all the anger, all the pain. But now, with her here, standing before him, everything that had been broken seemed, for the first time, like it could be healed.
“I don’t want to lose you, Ash,” he whispered, his forehead resting gently against hers. “Not again.”
Ashlyn’s fingers tightened around his, and she leaned into him, her body trembling slightly as she allowed herself to feel his warmth, the steady beat of his heart beneath his chest. For the first time in three years, she let herself feel the connection between them.
“Then don’t let me go again,” she whispered, her voice breaking as she spoke.
Aiden closed his eyes, feeling the weight of her words sink deep into him. His emotions surged—fear, hope, love, all mixed together in a way he could barely comprehend. But as he held her, as he whispered that he wouldn’t let her go, he knew—he knew that for the first time in years, he believed it.
The storm that had raged between them, inside of them, was over. And for the first time, it felt like there was peace. There was nothing left but the quiet—the quiet between them, the quiet that would carry them forward, as long as they didn’t let go.
They didn’t.