Time moved faster than I expected.
The months after New York didn’t arrive loudly. They didn’t announce themselves with big moments or dramatic shifts. They came quietly, one day folding into the next, until I woke up one morning and realized my life no longer felt like something I was just surviving.
It felt like something I was living.
Nova became my constant again—not in the way we used to be, when everything was tangled and intense, but in a steadier way that felt earned.
We talked every day.
Sometimes it was long video calls that lasted until one of us fell asleep mid-sentence. Other times it was quick voice notes sent while brushing teeth or walking to class. There were days she’d send me ten messages in a row, all unrelated, and days where she’d just send a single “You alive?”
