Elira never liked Friday mornings. They always felt like an impatient race to the weekend. But today, the air around her seemed different.
Heavier. Expectant.
She adjusted her blouse in the restroom mirror and let out a slow breath. Three weeks had passed since that rooftop moment—the almost-kiss, the emotional unraveling, the quiet truth they still hadn't said aloud.
Since then, Alexander had kept his distance again—but it wasn't the same cold silence he'd mastered for twenty years. This one was aware. It watched her. It lingered. It wanted to speak but didn't know how.
She could feel it in the way his eyes followed her when he thought she wasn't looking. In how he sometimes passed by her department without reason. In the way he asked Jacob odd questions like, "Do you think… people can come back?"
Every day, he walked closer to remembering her. Every night, she dreamed of the day he'd finally say her name again—with love, not grief.
But in the meantime, she waited.
And loved.
Quietly.
---
At 9:00 AM sharp, Alexander arrived at his office. His expression was unreadable as always, but his chest felt tight. He hadn't slept again.
He'd spent the night revisiting old journals—pages Solana had written in her last months. Reading her words, he realized something terrifying:
Elira spoke like her. Thought like her.
Not just the memories… but the soul.
It was becoming harder to ignore.
Jacob entered with a folder and coffee.
"Sir," he said, placing them on the desk. "The Japan investors pushed their call to next week. And HR is waiting for your decision on the annual gala venue."
Alexander waved him off distractedly. "Have Elira Caelum come up at noon."
Jacob paused. "For what purpose?"
Alexander met his gaze. "Lunch."
Jacob blinked. "Lunch?"
Alexander said nothing else.
Jacob blinked again.
Then left.
---
Elira nearly dropped her pen when the message arrived.
From: Office of the CEO
Subject: Lunch Invitation
"Please report to the executive floor by 12:00 noon. Bring nothing. Casual dress suggested."
"Girl," Yssa said, peering over her shoulder. "Did the boss just ask you out?"
Elira flushed. "It's just lunch."
"Oh honey," Yssa smirked. "A CEO does not ask for a private lunch in casual dress unless it's not just lunch."
"I'm sure it's professional."
"Sure you are." Yssa winked and fanned her with a notepad. "Don't forget deodorant. And maybe bring a backup heart."
---
At precisely noon, Elira stepped into the CEO's private elevator.
Her hands trembled slightly, but she held her head high. She wore a simple cream blouse tucked into navy slacks—professional but soft. Alexander liked soft.
When the elevator doors opened, she was surprised to find the executive suite completely empty—except for him.
He stood by the glass wall, jacket off, sleeves rolled to his elbows, staring at the skyline.
She cleared her throat gently. "Sir?"
He turned.
And for the first time… he smiled.
"Call me Alexander today."
Her breath caught.
He motioned toward the small, elegant table set by the window. A catered lunch was already arranged—salmon, salad, fresh fruit, and tea.
She walked over slowly. Sat across from him.
He sat after.
"I wasn't sure you'd say yes," he admitted.
"I wasn't sure it was real," she replied.
He chuckled—a low, rough sound.
"It still doesn't feel real," he murmured.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, the quiet between them strangely warm.
Then he looked at her again, more directly than ever before.
"I've been thinking a lot about what you said. About being born the day she died. About… remembering things no one should."
Elira set her fork down.
"You could've told anyone. But you told me. You risked sounding insane."
"Because it mattered," she said. "Because you matter."
His eyes softened.
"I don't know what's happening," he said quietly. "But when I'm around you… I feel like I'm losing control."
"Maybe you're gaining it," she said.
"Control?"
"No. Yourself."
He stared at her.
Then, with a tremble in his voice: "You look at me like I'm still your husband."
She didn't look away. "Because you are."
A long pause.
"I'm afraid," he whispered.
"I'm not."
Another pause.
He reached across the table slowly and touched her hand.
And didn't pull away.
---
The weekend came fast.
On Sunday afternoon, Elira visited a quiet art gallery downtown. She used to come here when she needed to breathe. When the world felt too heavy.
She didn't expect to find Alexander already there—standing before a painting of a river at dusk.
He looked surprised. "You come here?"
She nodded. "Often."
"I used to come here with her. Solana."
Elira smiled softly. "I know."
They walked in silence for a while, side by side, letting the paintings speak for them.
Then he said, "I want to take you somewhere. Tomorrow night."
She turned to him. "Where?"
"Somewhere only Solana ever saw."
Her heart fluttered.
---
Monday evening came faster than expected. Elira wore a navy blue dress, simple but elegant. She met Alexander in the underground parking area, where his sleek black car waited.
He didn't say where they were going.
He only drove.
Out of the city. Into the hills.
Until they reached a quiet cliffside cabin.
Elira gasped softly. "This is…"
"Our old place," he said. "We used to come here when things got overwhelming."
He walked ahead, unlocked the door, and let her step inside first.
Dust floated in shafts of golden light. The furniture was covered, but everything remained the same—photos on the wall, mugs in the kitchen, an old guitar in the corner.
She touched the piano.
He watched her from the doorway.
"She used to play that," he said.
She sat and played a soft melody—one he hadn't heard since before she got sick.
His heart shattered.
He walked over slowly and sat beside her.
"You know every piece of her."
Elira nodded. "Because I am her."
He turned toward her.
"This is insane."
"I know."
"But I want it to be true."
"It is."
He cupped her face. "Then prove it."
She leaned forward.
And kissed him.
Soft. Deep. Remembered.
His arms wrapped around her like a memory. Her fingers clutched his shirt like she was afraid he'd vanish again.
When they pulled apart, his forehead rested against hers.
"I never stopped loving you," he whispered.
"Then don't start over," she whispered back. "Just continue."
---
That night, they didn't speak much.
They just sat on the porch, hand in hand, watching the stars rise.
For the first time in decades, Alexander felt peace.
But that peace wasn't without fear.
Because love—real love—demands risk.
And if she was who he feared she was…
He had everything to lose again.
End of Chapter 5