It was a clear night.
For the first time in weeks, the stars weren't hiding behind clouds. They scattered across the sky like shattered glass, and the city below seemed to pause to admire them.
It was the perfect night for a double date.
Marc picked Penelope up first. He wore a charcoal-gray blazer over a black turtleneck, his hair brushed back, but still rebelliously falling over one brow. Penelope stepped out in a midnight blue dress, simple yet stunning. The kind of beauty that didn't ask for attention—only deserved it.
"You're glowing," Marc whispered.
"You're overdressed," she teased.
They both laughed.
Across town, Scott was pacing in front of Veronica's door like a man about to face judgment. When she finally opened it, his words died in his throat.
She wore red. Bold. Brazen. The kind of red that dares the world to ignore her.
"Wow," he said, genuinely breathless.
"You better not mess this up," she replied, smirking. "Or I swear I'll make a playlist called Boys Who Wasted My Lipstick."
They met up at a rooftop restaurant downtown, where candles flickered on every table and a live jazz band played in the corner.
It was almost too perfect.
Marc and Scott exchanged a look—two men bound not by blood, but by their connection to Penelope. And as they sat at the table together, it was impossible not to notice how different they were.
Marc, with his quiet intensity.
Scott, with his effortless charm.
Penelope, sandwiched between them, couldn't stop comparing them in her mind—even if she had already chosen.
Veronica, on the other hand, looked entirely at ease. She sipped her wine like royalty and leaned toward Scott with every chance she got.
Halfway through the meal, the conversation turned playful.
"So, Veronica," Marc said with a smirk, "how does it feel dating someone who thought he was in love with your best friend?"
Veronica raised a brow. "Like sitting next to a lit candle. Pretty… but I'm not leaning too close yet."
Scott winced.
Penelope laughed—until Marc's hand gently found hers under the table.
His fingers were calloused, warm. Steady.
"I need to tell you something," he murmured.
She turned to him, the smile fading slightly from her lips. "What is it?"
"I lied," Marc said quietly, eyes locked on hers. "Back then, I said I didn't know who you were when we met again. But I did. I came to that café because I saw your name in the alumni newsletter. I've been following your life from afar for years. Your articles, your scholarships, even your heartbreaks."
Penelope's breath caught.
"I didn't know how to approach you without sounding insane. But I had to try. Because every part of me knew… you were the one I've been waiting for."
She stared at him, stunned.
"And if that makes me a coward, then fine," he added, his voice husky. "But I'd rather be a coward in love than a hero who never tried."
Penelope didn't speak.
She leaned in.
And kissed him.
This kiss wasn't urgent, or messy, or full of questions.
It was quiet. Anchoring. Like two puzzle pieces finally finding their fit.
Scott looked away.
And Veronica noticed.
She leaned close and whispered, "Still think about her?"
He paused. "No. I'm just realizing… I never knew her at all."
Veronica's face softened. "Then you're lucky. Because I'm right here. And I'm tired of boys chasing shadows when they could hold someone real."
Scott smiled faintly. "You know, you act all tough—"
"Don't ruin the moment, Rivers."
He chuckled and reached for her hand. This time, she didn't pull away.
---
Later That Night…
Penelope and Marc walked the empty streets, the city alive in silence.
She looked up at the moon. "Do you ever wonder why people leave?"
"All the time," Marc replied.
"And why others stay?"
He stopped walking. "Because some hearts don't give up. No matter how long it takes."
She smiled. "I think I'm ready to stop running."
Marc pulled her close. "Then let me be your finish line."
---
Across Town...
Veronica sat on her windowsill, hugging her knees, staring at her phone.
A text from Scott blinked on the screen.
> "I think I'm falling in love with you. Slowly. And it's terrifying."
She didn't reply.
Not because she didn't feel the same—but because for once, she wanted to enjoy the feeling without needing to label it.
She looked at the stars, whispered to the wind, "Maybe this time… it'll last."
---