Six months passed.

The air in Seattle shifted from icy gray to soft spring. Elena returned to her studies slowly, one class at a time. People forgot, or pretended to. Life moved on, but part of her still sat frozen in that office, in that hotel room, in all the moments that unraveled her.

Then, one Friday night, she wandered into a downtown art gallery with Maya. It was a small opening - new artists, soft jazz, free wine. Elena almost didn't go. But something about the quiet promise of beauty pulled her in.

She didn't see him at first.

It wasn't until she turned toward a large painting in the back corner - something abstract and aching, full of layered blues and broken lines - that she caught the familiar shape of his silhouette.

Daniel.

Her breath left her in a rush. He looked older. Tired. But when he turned and saw her, the world narrowed to a single point. His eyes widened - then softened.

They didn't speak right away. Just stared.

And then he smiled.

Not a perfect smile. Not a safe one.

But a real one.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she whispered.

And just like that, the silence broke.