Selene's POV
By the time we reached Paris, the sun had begun to dip below the horizon, painting the clouds with amber and lilac. Our cab pulled into the familiar lane, and a wave of home swept through me. As much as I missed the mountains, this place—this bustling house, these people—this was home.
Ayra and I were already texting our families.
> We're coming! Everyone meet at our place. We brought back stories... and something for each of you.
Antonio smiled at the screen as he sent a voice message to his mom. Eliot was on a call with someone too, his expression soft.
He caught my look and said quietly, "My parents are coming too. They really want to meet you all."
Ayra squeezed his hand. "They'll love it. We're a bit chaotic but definitely memorable."
——————A Full House——————
When we stepped into the house, the warmth hit me like a hug. Mom was lighting candles in the hallway. Dad stood beside her with a camera in hand, already taking blurry photos.
"Welcome back, girls," Mom breathed, pulling me into her arms. "You've come back glowing."
Behind us, Melinda embraced Ayra tightly, her eyes shining with a mother's silent gratitude.
Soon the doorbell chimed again—and this time, it was Antonio with his parents and sisters. Devina brought homemade biscotti. Mira and Amara had handwritten notes folded into tiny paper cranes.
Eliot's family arrived shortly after: his mother, Everett—regal with silver-streaked hair and a graceful posture—and his father, Jacques, warm-eyed and effortlessly kind.Also his younger sister Elise with shy eyes.They brought a bouquet of fresh lilies and chocolates wrapped in forest-green silk.
Eliot introduced them shyly. "Mom, Dad... this is everyone."
Everett smiled at Melinda first. "Ayra speaks of you with such affection. It's a pleasure."
Melinda nodded with her usual composed warmth. "Thank you for raising a gentleman. He makes my daughter smile."
That single sentence broke the ice, and everyone melted into greetings and light conversation.
Unpacking Joy
Soon, the living room was a festival of laughter and unwrapping gifts.
Antonio handed Devina a scarf dyed in the pale hues of a Himalayan dawn. "Because you're always the calm in chaos," he whispered.
Mr. Reyes unwrapped a carved wooden timepiece. "For all the time you gave me, Dad," Antonio said.
Amara shrieked over her new gemstone bracelet. Mira clutched her handwoven journal with misty eyes.
Ayra gave Eliot's mother a prayer wheel with golden etchings. "For clarity," she said softly. "For wishes spun into the universe."
Eliot handed Melinda a brass locket. "For the stories you'll still tell Ayra... and maybe us someday."
Melinda didn't speak—she just touched the locket and nodded.
Also Eliot handed a necklace and bracelet to Elise.
When I handed my mother a silver necklace shaped like mountain ridges, her fingers trembled. "To remind you I climbed high. But always came home to you."
My dad opened his flask and gave me a half-smile. "It says strength, doesn't it? Like your mother."
Everett and Jacques received a hand-drawn map of the route we took, marked with quotes Ayra and Eliot scribbled during their walks. "So you can see the world through your son's eyes," Ayra said.
Stories That Stitched Us Together
As the moon rose higher, our voices filled the living room. Eliot recounted getting lost in the mist. Antonio teased me for overpacking scarves. Mira and Amara started a slideshow on the TV of our trip, and laughter erupted at every awkward selfie.
Antonio and I snuck into the kitchen at one point, sharing a spoonful of leftover dessert and a slow smile. Ayra leaned into Eliot as he whispered something into her ear that made her blush and swat his arm.
Everett glanced across the room and said quietly, "They're happy, aren't they?"
Melinda smiled, tucking a curl behind her ear. "They're healing. That's even better."
And as the night wore on, I watched all our families—once fragmented by time, space, and pain—sit together like pieces of a once-scattered puzzle, now slowly coming together.
No one said it out loud.
But we all felt it: something had shifted.
There was a certain thrill in sneaking out of a crowded room—even if the people inside were family, even if the house was our own. Antonio's fingers brushed mine under the table, a quiet signal. I caught the corner of his smirk, and without a word, I excused myself to "check the kettle."
Seconds later, he followed.
We barely reached the hallway before he tugged me gently by the wrist, leading me toward the balcony, our secret escape during these gatherings. The cool night air greeted us as I slipped through the glass door, Antonio right behind me. But before I could lean into the railing or rest my head on his shoulder, a soft voice caught my attention.
"I don't think I've ever liked silence this much," Ayra murmured.
I froze. Antonio and I exchanged wide-eyed glances.
There, in the corner of the balcony, just hidden enough by the shadows of the wind chimes and potted plants, were Ayra and Eliot. They hadn't seen us—yet. Ayra's head rested on Eliot's shoulder, their hands gently tangled together, their faces soft with unspoken things.
I didn't move. Didn't want to disturb it. But a sudden breeze pushed the balcony door behind us with a small creak.
Ayra looked up, startled. Her eyes met mine. Then Eliot turned.
"Oh my God," Ayra whispered, a slow smile creeping up her face. "You two again?"
Antonio chuckled behind me. "Seems like we've got competition for favorite balcony couple."
I laughed, stepping forward. "We came out here first last time."
Eliot gave us a sheepish grin. "We needed air."
Ayra lifted a brow, teasing. "That's what we all say."
The four of us stood in amused silence for a moment before the laughter slipped out naturally, quietly. The kind that fills spaces with more than sound—with comfort, with a little mischief, and with love.
And in that brief, starlit moment, the balcony felt less like an escape—and more like a memory in the making.