CHAPTER 31: His World in Her Hands
Eli's fingers hovered over the keys, but they didn't move.
Ava sat beside him, her breath quiet, her gaze not on the piano—but on him. Watching. Waiting.
"Do you remember how it starts?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
She didn't answer right away. She let the silence speak, let it stretch and settle. Then, gently, she reached out and guided his hand to the first key.
A soft note broke the quiet.
It trembled.
So did he.
She played the next one, slower this time, letting her fingers touch his—not to teach him the melody, but to remind him that she was still there.
That they were still here.
Eli closed his eyes.
He let her guide him—just like he used to guide her. Their hands moved together, not quite in sync, but trying. And in that broken rhythm, something fragile stirred.
"I used to hear this in my dreams," she said, her voice breaking a little. "Even before I knew it was real. Even before I remembered you."
He didn't speak. He couldn't. Because in that moment, her words filled in all the blank spaces he had never dared to ask about.
She had remembered him. Somehow, deep down.
Maybe love never really forgets.
Ava paused. Her fingers lingered on the final chord.
"I'm not asking you to forget what happened," she said softly. "But please don't shut me out again. Not when we've come this far."
Eli turned his head, facing her. Sightless eyes, but filled with something new. Not anger. Not fear.
Just ache.
"I'm afraid," he admitted. "Not of you. But of hoping again."
Ava swallowed. "Then be afraid. But don't do it alone."
His jaw clenched. His hands trembled.
Then—slowly—he took her hand in his.
And that was it.
No dramatic kiss. No sweeping declarations. Just two people sitting at a piano, holding onto the only truth they had left:
Each other.