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BACK IN THE KITCHEN :

"She can't do this." Babe's voice broke into the silence, half-way between rage and terror. "She simply can't do this."

"P'Babe, don't get upset," Charlie said softly.

"Get upset?" Babe snarled, whirling to confront him. His voice grew louder, shuddering with rage. "How can I not get upset when my daughter is out there risking her life like this? You know why we never wanted her involved in that world, Charlie. You know why!"

Charlie sighed, the weight of it heavy. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

Maz leaned forward. “It’s true, Dad. Racing’s too dangerous for someone as impulsive as Lia. You’ve seen her—she doesn’t think, she just… goes.”

Atlas nodded in agreement, arms crossed. He didn’t even need to add anything—his silence spoke volumes.

Charlie looked at them all, shoulders sagging under the tension. “Alright,” he said finally. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. Right now, everyone needs sleep.”

The three of them started to argue, but the sharp look Charlie shot across the room was enough to silence them. Reluctantly, they backed down.

IN LIA'S ROOM :

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Lia's  POV :

The moment I woke up, yesterday’s disaster came crashing back into my head. My stomach twisted as I dragged myself out of bed, washed my face, and forced myself to get dressed. No use stalling — I’d have to face them eventually.

The kitchen was empty. Too empty. On the counter sat a single folded note in Papa’s neat handwriting:

“We had to go to the garage. Eat breakfast and come there.”

I groaned under my breath. That meant everyone was gathered. That meant I was walking straight into the fire pit.

Still, I pushed down some toast, gulped my coffee, and made the drive over to the X-Hunters’ garage. My hands clenched the wheel tighter the closer I got.

The garage felt wrong. Too quiet. Normally there was noise — Maz’s music, Jeff teasing the mechanics, the buzz of tools. Today it was like someone had shut the whole place down.

I asked one of the younger guys, “Where is everyone?”

He just pointed to Lung Alan’s office and muttered, “In there.”

My stomach knotted.

When I pushed the door open, they were all inside. Papa sat near the desk, calm as ever, but I could see the tightness in his shoulders. Kim, Kenta and Jeff leaned against the wall like they didn’t want to get too close to the fire. North hunched with his hood up, eyes flicking between everyone. Babe stood stiff, arms folded, anger practically radiating off him. Maz and Atlas mirrored him, both tense, both glaring at me the second I walked in. And Alan and Sonic at the couch.

“Uh… hi,” I said weakly.

“Sit,” Maz snapped.

I sat.

Alan didn’t waste time. “You’ve been racing.”

I opened my mouth, but he cut me off. “Don’t bother lying. We know.”

I clenched my hands on my lap. “…So what if I have?”

“So what if—” Babe’s voice rose before he caught himself, his jaw tightening. “Lia, do you have any idea how reckless you are out there? You don’t think, you just act. One mistake and you’re—” He broke off, shaking his head, like he couldn’t even say it out loud.

“I can handle myself,” I shot back, louder than I meant.

“You can’t,” Maz barked. “You’ve always been impulsive. Always rushing headfirst into things without thinking. Racing isn’t a game, Lia. It’s not about guts, it’s about control. And you don’t have it.”

That stung worse than I expected.

Papa finally spoke, his tone calm but firm. “She’s got the talent. I’ve seen it. What she needs isn’t us shutting her down, it’s us guiding her.”

Babe turned on him instantly. “Guiding her? Charlie, she could get herself killed!”

“Then teach her,” Papa shot back. “So she doesn’t.”

The room went tense again.

“She’s not ready,” Sonic muttered.

“She’ll never be ready if you smother her,” Kenta said evenly.

Jeff added with a little shrug, “Kid’s fast. You can either help her or watch her sneak around you forever.”

Maz glared at him, then at me. “You think this is a joke? You’re proving our point right now — acting without thinking.”

“I’m proving I love it,” I snapped. My throat felt tight, but I forced the words out. “I’m going to race. Whether you like it or not.”

No one spoke after that.

Babe looked furious, Maz frustrated, Atlas disappointed. Papa just rubbed a hand over his face and didn’t say anything more. I just grumbled and stormed out.

And that was it. No one gave in. No one agreed. The fight just… sat there, hanging heavy between us.

NO ONE'S POV :

"That went well" Jeff muttered, Charlie let out a big long frustrated sigh before he went behind Lia. "Go back to what you all were doing"Alan said "We'll deal with this later". Everyone nodded and left except for Jeff "You know none of us can stop her right?"Jeff asked "She is just like Babe when he raced". Alan sighed "Thats the problem kid"

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Lia's PoV :

It had been a week since that meeting and now all of it felt wrong.

We were all packed into the kitchen table. Ordinarily, I would have slid into the chair next to Babe, snatching his coffee just for fun. But today, I was across from the table, nearer to Papa, nearer to the folks who hadn't yelled at me.

"Want some toast?" Papa asked softly, pushing a plate my way.

Thanks, Pa," I whispered, grabbing it without glancing at anyone else.

I could sense Babe's gaze on me, weighing, anticipating I'd ask him instead like I always did. I didn't.

The room hummed with morning gossip, Maz discussing the garage, Atlas scrolling through his phone. But every time they attempted to include me, I provided brief responses. Brief. Polite. That's all.

And each time, I noticed their faces drop a bit.

Later at the Garage

I was propping myself against the car I had worked on, when Maz strolled over.

"You've set the suspension wrong," he stated, crouching next to me. "Let me...."

"I got this," I interrupted him.

He frowned. "Lia, just let me help...."

"I don't want your help." I had come off too hard. It was too harsh. But I didn't take it back.

Maz stood, jaw set. He muttered something under his breath and walked away.

Atlas also gave me those same wounded looks when I outsprinted him past the workshop and his jokes went unanswered. 

Alan had once tried to corner me too with a "Kid, you hungry? There is food in the break room."

I shook my head. "I'm good."

He dropped it, but the way he returned to his paperwork spoke volumes.

LATER THAT NIGHT:

Coughing woke me up before dawn. My throat burned, my chest rattled, and every bone in my body ached. I sat on the edge of my bed, shivering, staring at the soft glow slipping through the curtains. For a moment, I thought about curling back under the covers and pretending it wasn't happening-pretending that I didn't need anyone.

But my legs carried me down the hall before I could change my mind.

I stopped outside Babe and Charlie's room, hugging the blanket around my shoulders. The door creaked when I pushed it open, and both of them stirred at once years of being light sleepers had trained them well.

Pa was the first to blink awake, rubbing his eyes. Babe shot upright almost immediately, already half out of bed; his face was carved with worry in the dim light. 

I should've felt guilty. I should've looked at him. 

Instead, the word slipped out, small and hoarse. "Pa." 

Charlie was on his feet in a heartbeat, crossing the room to scoop me up as if I was still little. And the minute his arms closed around me, I melted against him, too tired to hold myself up anymore. He took me to his side of the bed, tucked me under the blanket, and murmured softly as he rubbed circles on my back.

Babe’s POV:

The cough split the darkness like a knife. Hard, ragged, too rough for someone who'd always been in my reach. I was already scrambling to sit up, hand felt out blindly for the glass of water on the bedside table. Habit. Years of being her go to person when she was ill or frightened or depressed.

For an instant, just a moment, I hoped she'd call for me. Like always.

But then it arrived, weakened and muffled: "Pa."

The word hurt more than any punch I ever took.

Charlie acted in a heartbeat, no deliberation, no hesitation. He was by her side, holding her against him before I'd even placed the glass on the counter. She wrapped herself around him like he was the only solid thing she'd ever known, her hands knotting in his shirt.

And me? I stood there.

I sat there, observing from the wrong side of the bed. The water glass dripping in my hand, becoming warm and useless. My heart pounding too loud in my chest.

It wasn't that she'd had someone. It was that she hadn't had me.

The past week flashed before me, how she'd gone out of her way not to talk to me in the garage, how she'd sat wedged between Jeff and Kenta at lunch, how she'd laughed with North but never in my direction. She had excluded me, cleanly and intentionally, and tonight only reinforced the evidence.

She didn't shut him out. Just me.

Charlie whispered something in her hair, and she nodded, small and tired, already sleeping against him. My hands shook with the glass, but I didn't shift. Couldn't. The space between us was a matter of feet, but it might as well have been a canyon.

My daughter had finally given me up.

And for the first time in years, I had no idea how to make it right.

Chapter Text

Sooo… my Uni starts tomorrow so my updates will be slower after about a week or two.

I am not going to abandon this, but possibly not update as quickly as before. Thanks for the understanding.

Also @Belewyn thank you for your continuous support. Seeing your all’s kudos and comments makes my day!!

Chapter Text

LIA'S POV :

IN UNIVERSITY:

Campus café tables were already spilling into the courtyard by the time Lia arrived. The late-morning sun turned every glass window into a sheet of white, and the whole place hummed with the messy rhythm of students between classes.

“Lia!” Mina waved from a corner booth where a tangle of bags and half-finished drinks marked territory. Jun was half-lying across the bench, earbuds in, while Sam fed a bite of croissant to their girlfriend Ray, who retaliated by smearing jam on his cheek.

“Fashionably late,” Mina teased as Lia squeezed in beside her.

“Traffic hates me,” Lia said, stealing a fry from Mina’s plate before her bag even hit the floor.

Across the table, Theo and Harper were locked in an argument about which of their music theory professors secretly hated them most, while Kai and Yumi were swapping earbuds to compare playlists. No one cared about keeping track of who belonged to which faculty art, engineering, medicine, business it all blurred together in the easy chaos of their friendship.

“Are we still skipping the next lecture for bubble tea?” Jun asked without opening his eyes.

“Obviously,” Mina said. “But we’re pretending it’s a ‘study session,’ okay? I need an excuse when my advisor asks.”

Lia laughed, tipping back in her chair until the sun caught the edge of her drink. Conversations bounced around the table weekend plans, assignment deadlines, a running joke about Theo’s disastrous cooking attempt last night. The noise, the laughter, the comfortable tangle of arms reaching for snacks it all settled around her like a second skin.

IN DR.ASPARA OFFICE :

Lia was halfway through stealing another fry when her phone buzzed across the table.
Dr. Apsara – Advisor flashed on the screen.

Mina leaned over to peek. “Ooo, official business. Answer before she shows up here and drags you out by the ear.”

Lia groaned but swiped anyway. “Hello, Ajarn.”

“Lia,” Dr. Apsara’s warm, lilting voice carried a crisp edge of urgency. “Good, you picked up. Can you come to my office this afternoon? It’s about the Étoile Siam exchange.”

Lia blinked. “The what?”

“The Étoile Siam,” her advisor repeated, letting the French syllables roll. “A joint fashion residency between Paris and Bangkok. They want one representative from each partner university. And ” a small pause for effect “the committee has their eyes on you.”

Lia sat up straighter despite herself. “Me?”

“Yes, you. Bring your latest portfolio. Three p.m. sharp. Don’t be late.” The line clicked off before Lia could protest.

Across the table, everyone was watching with varying degrees of curiosity.

“Spill,” Jun said, finally pulling out an earbud.

“Some…fashion thing,” Lia muttered, trying to sound casual as she dropped her phone face down. “Paris, Bangkok, I don’t know.”

Ray whistled. “That doesn’t sound like just some fashion thing.”

Mina’s grin was immediate and wicked. “If you get to live in Paris for a semester and don’t bring me back at least three croissants and one French girlfriend, we’re fighting.”

Lia rolled her eyes, but the flutter in her chest betrayed her. The Étoile Siam. Even the name felt like it belonged on the cover of a glossy magazine.

Jun nudged her with a lazy smile. “Guess you’re buying the next round of bubble tea, Paris Girl.”

Lia laughed, shaking her head as the conversation swirled back to weekend plans, but her mind was already spinning with sketches and runways she hadn’t dared imagine before.

WITH HER FRIENDS :

Lia barely made it out of the faculty building before her phone blew up—three missed calls, seven LINE messages, all from the same group chat. By the time she reached the courtyard, her friends were waiting, sprawled across the benches like they’d been camped there for hours.

“There she is!” Mei shot up, waving her arms dramatically. “Paris girl!”

Lia froze. “How do you even....”

“Dr. Apsara’s assistant posted a story about the exchange,” Jay cut in, smirking. “Guess whose name was tagged?”

Groans and cheers erupted all at once. “You’re impossible,” Lia muttered, though her lips betrayed a smile.

“Impossible would be if you thought you could leave without feeding us,” Hana said, hands on her hips. “We require snacks. Preferably expensive ones.”

“It’s just Paris,” Lia protested. “It’s not like I got crowned queen of Europe.”

“Paris,” Mei repeated, dragging out the syllables like it was made of gold. “Fashion capital. Croissants. Eiffel Tower. Romance. You’re basically living the dream.”

Jay leaned back, lacing his hands behind his head. “And as your loyal friends, it’s our duty to make you broke before you get there.”

The group laughed. Someone chanted, “Treat! Treat! Treat!” until the whole bench joined in.

Lia rolled her eyes but felt her cheeks heating. “Fine,” she said, throwing her hands up in defeat. “One dinner. But you vultures are not ordering lobster.”

“Too late,” Hana grinned. “We already picked the place.”

Lia groaned, but secretly, her chest felt light. Their teasing, their noise it grounded her in the best way. Even with Paris on the horizon, right now she was just Lia, cornered by her ridiculous friends.


DINNER :

The restaurant buzzed with clinking glasses and low music, but their table was pure chaos. Plates of grilled pork skewers and spicy som tam were barely set down before chopsticks were darting across the table like weapons.

“Paris Lia,” Jay declared as soon as everyone settled, raising his water glass like a toast. “May you return to us fluent in French and too fashionable to tolerate our broke student lives.”

“Cheers to that,” Hana said, clinking her glass against his. “And may you bring us back designer keychains we can sell online.”

“Or pastries,” Mei added. “Preferably ones that won’t survive the flight so you have to hand-deliver them.”

Lia groaned, sinking into her chair as laughter rippled around the table. “You guys are acting like I’m leaving tomorrow. There’s still a whole process acceptance paperwork, interviews, visa stuff. Plus, I need my family’s okay.”

Jay waggled his brows. “And which part is scarier: French bureaucracy or Lung Babe’s death stare?”

“Definitely Dad,” Lia muttered before catching herself, earning a round of curious looks. “I mean my parents. Obviously.”

Mei leaned in with a mock-serious whisper. “Paris versus parents. That’s like… equal-level nightmare fuel.”

“Exactly,” Lia said, stabbing at her rice. “So maybe save the celebrations until I survive both.”

“Too late,” Hana shot back. “We’re pre-celebrating. Manifesting. The universe likes confidence.”

Someone poured Lia another drink. Jay, half teasing and half soft, nudged her shoulder. “Even if it takes months, you’re still our Paris girl. Don’t think we’re letting you back out.”

The table quieted for a heartbeat, their smiles softening into something warmer. Mei reached across to steal a piece of grilled pork and added, “We’ll miss you, you know. Even if it’s just for a year.”

Lia blinked, the sudden knot in her chest catching her off guard. “I’m not gone yet,” she said, trying for lightness. “And when I do leave, you all better still be here when I come back.”

Jay grinned, but his voice was gentle. “Deal. Just don’t forget us when you’re eating croissants under the Eiffel Tower.”

Lia rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her friends’ faces made her throat tighten. She wasn’t in Paris yet, but tonight felt like a goodbye waiting to happen and for the first time, it didn’t scare her as much as it should.

Chapter Text

The condo was dark when Lia slipped her shoes off at the door, the faint smell of engine oil and brewed coffee clinging to the air like always. Everyone was either asleep or at the garage except for the one person she was hoping to catch first.

She found Charlie in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, half-hidden behind a mug of late-night tea. His eyes flicked up as she padded in.

“You’re late,” he said, but his voice was soft, almost amused.

Lia perched on the counter, hugging her knees. “Dinner with the gang,” she said, then hesitated. Her heart kicked up, the words threatening to trip over each other.

Charlie waited, the way he always did patient, steady.

“Pa,” she began, lowering her voice, “my advisor offered me… something. A fashion exchange. A full year in Paris.”

Charlie’s brows rose, surprise flashing before it melted into a slow, warm smile. “Paris, huh? That’s big, chicky.”

“I haven’t said yes,” she rushed out. “There’s an acceptance process, and I need well, I need everyone to be okay with it. Especially Ma.”

Charlie set his mug down, leaning his elbows on the counter. “You want my opinion?”

“Yes.”

“I think it’s perfect for you,” he said without hesitation. “But you’re right, Babe will worry. That’s his job. Our job. Doesn’t mean he won’t be proud.”

The knot in Lia’s chest loosened a little. “Thanks, Pa.”

He reached over, squeezing her hand. “We’ll talk to him. But first North should hear this. He’s got Paris experience.”

WITH NORTH :

North was sprawled across the living room sofa, laptop open and a half-eaten bag of chips balanced on his chest. He looked up as Lia dropped onto the armrest.

“What’s up, speed demon?”

“I might be going to Paris for a year,” she said in a rush.

North blinked, then tilted his head with a lazy grin. “Paris, huh? Nice. If you need someone to brush up your French before you go, I’m available. First lesson’s free, but after that I charge in pastries.”

Her eyes widened. “How do you even..”

He waved a chip lazily. “Word gets around in the design department. Plus, I worked there for a while, remember? I can give you the real insider tips like which bakeries won’t rip you off and how not to get side-eyed by the metro guards.”

“Lung,” she cut in, laughing despite herself “Focus.”

He sobered, studying her. “Babe know yet?”

“Not yet. Pa’s on board, though.”

North nodded slowly. “Okay. Start with Babe before Maz and Atlas. They’ll freak out less if it comes from you first.”

Lia groaned. “Easier said than done.”

AT THEIR HOUSE :

The condo smelled like stir-fried basil and roasted garlic comfort food, which was ironic, considering Lia could feel the tension brewing before she even sat down. Charlie had cooked, Babe had set the table, and her brothers were already half-bickering over side dishes.

Halfway through the meal, when everyone was settled and reaching for seconds, Lia took her shot.

“I have something to tell you,” she said, setting her chopsticks down. Her voice carried just enough to make the table pause.

Babe looked up first, sharp-eyed and suspicious. “What now?”

“My advisor recommended me for a year-long fashion exchange in Paris,” Lia said, keeping her words quick, before nerves could choke them. “It’s a full program. I want to go.”

The room froze.

“A year?” Maz asked, stunned.

Atlas whistled under his breath. “That’s… huge.”

But Babe’s reaction hit like a starter gun. His chair scraped back with a harsh screech.
“Absolutely not.” His voice was loud enough to make the glasses tremble. “You think you can just drop this on us after everything? First racing behind our backs, now running halfway across the world?!”

Lia stiffened. “It’s not running away. It’s school. A once-in-a-lifetime chance.”

“You’re impulsive enough on a track now you want to be impulsive in another country?” Babe’s tone cracked like a whip. “No. We’ve already had this fight, Lia. You don’t get to risk yourself like that.”

Charlie reached for his husband’s arm, calm but firm. “Babe...”

“No, Charlie.” Babe’s glare didn’t leave Lia. “First she sneaks out to race, now this? She doesn’t get to decide everything on her own.”

Something inside Lia snapped. She pushed her chair back, voice sharp enough to slice through the room.
“You can’t control everything! You won’t let me race. You won’t let me take this. What’s next do I need your permission to breathe?”

Babe’s eyes widened, but she barreled on.
“Either you accept that I’m racing or you let me go to Paris. You don’t get to take away both. You don’t get to lock me in just because you’re scared.”

The table went dead silent. Maz and Atlas exchanged uneasy glances.

Charlie exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Babe...”

But Babe was still staring at Lia, his jaw tight, anger and worry warring behind his eyes.

Finally, he slammed his chopsticks down. “We’ll talk later,” he said, voice low but still burning. “This isn’t over.”

Lia stood, heart pounding but unyielding. “It’s not your choice to end, Dad.” She spat out the last word.

She grabbed her water glass, downed what was left, and walked out before anyone could stop her.

Behind her, the table remained frozen, the argument hanging heavy in the air.

Chapter Text

Lia slipped into William and Sing’s condo just as the evening heat began to fade, the sound of overlapping voices spilling out before she even closed the door. The card game at the kitchen island had grown into a full-blown cousin takeover, Jun perched cross-legged on the counter dealing cards, William leaning against the fridge like a smug referee, Sing sprawled across the couch. Hill, Christ, and Art were scattered around with snacks and drinks, half-playing, half-arguing about the rules.

Jun spotted her first. “Finally! The mystery cousin arrives.”

Hill leaned back dramatically. “She ignores the group chat all day and then just… shows up? Suspicious.”

Christ pushed his glasses up with a grin. “Highly suspicious.”

Art pointed a chip at her. “Bet she’s hiding a new tattoo or a secret boyfriend.”

Sing squinted. “Or both.”

“I brought snacks,” Lia said, lifting a paper bag like a shield.

“That’s a bribe,” William said flatly. “Spit it out.”

Lia set the bag down and perched on the counter beside Jun, heart hammering. “Okay, fine. Dr. Apsara, my advisor, called me in today. She… nominated me for something called the Étoile Siam Exchange.”

Blank stares circled the room.

Jun tilted his head. “The what now? Sounds like a perfume.”

Hill frowned. “Étoile as in star? Siam like… us? Is this a math thing or a fashion thing?”

Christ perked up. “Is it some science fellowship? Please tell me it’s science.”

“It’s—” Lia laughed nervously. “It’s a full-year fashion exchange program. Paris. The whole year. Maybe longer if I extend.”

The condo exploded.

“PARIS?!” Jun nearly knocked over the deck of cards. “As in actual Paris?”

“A year?” Sing almost dropped his stolen chips. “Like twelve real months of croissants and expensive coffee?”

Hill slapped the table. “That’s insane. In the best way.”

Art whistled. “From zero to runway in Paris. Respect.”

Jennie grabbed Lia’s arms, eyes huge. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?!”

“I just found out today!” Lia protested, laughing despite the sudden swarm of voices. “And it’s not official yet. There’s an acceptance procedure. My parents have to sign off.”

That slowed them down.

Sings’s grin softened into something more careful. “Okay, but… you sure this isn’t just you escaping? After everything with Lung Babe's and racing...it kinda sounds like a clean exit.”

William nodded slightly. “It’s incredible, Lia, but Paris won’t magically fix the stuff waiting here.”

Christ chewed his lip. “We just don’t want you running on fumes. And who else knows?”

Jun’s grip gentled. “Exactly. We’ll cheer for you either way. Just… don’t disappear on us.”

Lia looked down at the countertop, words sticking for a beat. “It’s not about disappearing. I just… need something that’s mine. No bans. No arguments. Just… me. My whole family knows, and so does Lung North”

The cousins fell quiet.

Then Art broke the silence with a crooked grin. “Well, if anyone deserves a year of buttery pastries and ridiculously well-dressed strangers, it’s you.”

Sing nudged her shoulder. “But you better send pictures. Daily. And don’t even think about ghosting us for some French boy.”

Jun squeezed her arms again, smiling through the worry. “We’ll help soften the parental units. But promise you’ll think it through, okay?”

Lia exhaled, a shaky laugh escaping. “Trust me. I’ve never wanted something this badly.”

Hill raised his soda can like a toast. “To Paris—or wherever this takes you. But only if it’s what you want.”

Everyone clinked cans and cups, the teasing and laughter rushing back in like a tide.

Chapter Text

Late Night — Charlie & Babe’s Room

The house had long gone still. The only sound was the ceiling fan whirring above and the occasional bark of a stray dog outside.

Charlie sat at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the printed letter from the Étoile Siam Exchange. The paper had been folded and refolded so many times it was starting to tear at the creases.

Behind him, Babe was pacing. Barefoot, still in his T-shirt and sweatpants, hands moving as if he was mid-argument with a ghost.

“I’m not signing this,” Babe said finally, voice low but firm. “Not after everything that’s happened. She’s barely out of one mess, now she wants to run halfway across the world?”

Charlie rubbed his temple. “She’s not running. She’s...”

“She’s escaping,” Babe cut in, turning sharply. “Because she doesn’t want to deal with the consequences here. The racing, the fights, the family, she wants to leave it all behind. And you’re just going to let her?”

“She’s twenty, Babe,” Charlie said, tone quiet but grounding. “Not twelve. We can’t keep holding her back every time she wants something.”

Babe’s jaw tightened. “You didn’t see her last month. The way she looked at me when I told her to stop racing, like I was the enemy. I’m her father, Charlie. It’s my job to protect her.”

Charlie finally looked up, eyes soft but unyielding. “Protecting her doesn’t mean caging her.”

“That’s not what I’m doing...”

“It is,” Charlie interrupted gently. “You’re scared, and I get it. But you’re not trying to protect her from danger anymore. You’re trying to protect her from growing up.”

Babe’s breath hitched. For a second, he had no comeback. He turned away, running a hand over his face, voice smaller when he spoke again. “You think I don’t know what the world’s like out there? Paris, alone, she’ll get hurt, Charlie. And we won’t even be there.”

Charlie rose, stepping closer. “And if we keep her here, we’ll hurt her ourselves. You know how she is. She’ll suffocate.”

Babe exhaled shakily, eyes darting to the folded letter in Charlie’s hands. “You really think she’s ready?”

Charlie smiled faintly. “No. But she’ll never be ready if we don’t let her try.”

The room fell quiet again. The kind of silence that wasn’t angry, just heavy with too much love pulling in opposite directions.

Finally, Babe sat beside him, staring at the letter. “You’re cruel when you make sense, you know that?”

Charlie chuckled softly. “I’ve been told.”

Babe sighed, leaning back against the headboard, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Fine. But if she calls crying in the middle of the night, you’re the one buying her a ticket home.”

Charlie folded the paper carefully, placing it on the nightstand. “Deal.”

For a moment, Babe didn’t say anything. Then, quietly, almost to himself, he added, “I just don’t want to lose her.”

Charlie reached for his hand, threading their fingers together. “You won’t. You raised her too well for that.”

Hallway Outside Their Room — Lia’s POV

The floorboards creaked softly under my bare feet as I padded down the hallway, half-asleep and craving water. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. I just hadn’t expected to hear my name drift through the half-closed door.

“…I’m not signing this,” Papa’s voice, sharp, tired, made me freeze. “Not after everything that’s happened. She’s barely out of one mess, now she wants to run halfway across the world?”

My breath caught.

I should’ve walked away. I should’ve gone back to my room. But I stayed, pressed against the cool wall, listening.

“She’s not running,” Charlie said, calm but firm. “She’s trying to find her place. You can’t keep holding her back, Babe.”

There was a pause, then the sound of pacing, that familiar rhythm when Papa was trying not to explode. “You didn’t see her last month. The way she looked at me when I told her to stop racing. Like I was the enemy.” His voice cracked slightly.

I didn’t wait to hear more. I turned away before I could. Before guilt and relief tangled too deep in my chest.

By the time I reached my room, my throat was tight. Charlie was fighting for me, again. And Papa… wasn’t.

I lay awake for a long time after that, staring at the ceiling.

The Last Night Before Paris

Lia hadn’t stopped smiling since morning. Not the bright, camera-ready kind, this one was softer, quieter. The kind that stayed even when no one was looking.

When her friends showed up that evening, the restaurant was already glowing, fairy lights stretched across the balcony, the scent of her favourite Thai dishes filling the air. “You didn’t tell us this was a proper party,” Mina said, eyes wide as she walked in with Jun and Sam carrying boxes of pastries.

“It’s just dinner,” Lia said, but the playlist, the cake, and the way everyone dressed up said otherwise.

Ray raised an eyebrow as he helped Theo set up the drinks. “Dinner, right. That’s why there’s champagne.”

“Sparkling juice,” Lia corrected, grinning. “Sam would kill me if I actually got you drunk tonight Ray.”

Theo, lounging on the couch with Harper, just lifted his glass. “You’re not wrong.”

The night spilled into laughter, photos, toasts, terrible singing when Mina tried to do karaoke. Ray cried halfway through his speech (“you’re my favourite walking hazard but now you’ll be a French one”), and Theo had to stuff a napkin in his hand before he got snot on her shoulder.

Lia laughed till her ribs hurt. She had no idea when she’d get to do this again, when she’d have all of them in one room, loud and chaotic and warm.

As the night stretched on, people began to leave. Harper hugged her tight. “Send photos, okay? And don’t forget us when you’re famous in Paris.”

“I could never,” Lia said. Her throat was starting to sting.

At the Airport — The Morning After

The airport was too bright, too big, too loud. Her suitcase wheels clicked against the floor as she walked toward the gate, trying to breathe past the tightness in her chest.

Charlie was the first to spot her. “There’s my girl,” he said, opening his arms. His smile was steady, even if his eyes weren’t.

Maz was behind him, pretending not to be emotional, sunglasses indoors, hands shoved deep in his hoodie. Atlas, on the other hand, was practically vibrating. “Bring me something cool from Paris!”

Lia laughed and ruffled his hair. “Only if you promise not to crash Babe’s car again.”

Babe was the last one to step forward. He looked calmer than she expected, but she could see the tension in his jaw, the fight it took to keep himself composed.

For a moment, they just looked at each other. No apologies, no explanations, just understanding.

He reached out, adjusted the strap of her bag, and said softly, “Don’t forget to eat properly. And text when you land.”

“I will,” Lia said, her voice barely a whisper. “Thank you.”

Charlie pulled them both into a hug before the silence could deepen. “She’s not disappearing, Babe. She’s just… expanding.”

Babe gave a quiet hum that might’ve been agreement. Or maybe just love, caught somewhere between pride and fear.

When the boarding call echoed through the speakers, Lia turned one last time. Her family stood there, Babe’s hand on Charlie’s shoulder, Maz pretending not to cry, Atlas waving both arms.

And she smiled. Because even if she was flying away, she wasn’t leaving them behind. Not really.

Chapter Text

Lia’s POV:

It had been almost two weeks since I’d arrived in Paris, and the city was finally starting to make sense—or maybe I was just getting used to the chaos. My French had improved enough to order coffee without panic, and I’d even made a few friends. Not quite the same energy as my Thai circle, but still good people.

Pa called every night—sometimes twice—and Ma only joined when Pa bullied him into it. It was our new version of home.

Now, on my second Saturday here, I was apparently being dragged out of my apartment by Emily.

“Lia, come on! We’re going to be late,” she yelled.

“Wait, I’m just finishing my makeup,” I said, dabbing on a touch of mascara and lip gloss before stepping out. “Do I really have to go?”

“Yes,” Emily said, grabbing her bag. “You’ve been in Paris for two weeks and haven’t met a single cute guy. Unacceptable.”

“I didn’t come here for that,” I muttered, but followed anyway.

The house was packed when we arrived—music pulsing, people dancing, a haze of perfume and cheap wine everywhere. Emily squealed as she spotted our friends.

“You came!” James shouted, already clinging to Jay and laughing too hard.

“You bullied me into it,” I said, laughing, taking the drink Emily shoved at me but only pretending to sip it.

We danced, talked, yelled over the music, and somewhere between one song and the next, I slipped outside for air. The chill was sharp against my skin, a welcome break from the noise.

“Too many people?”

I turned. A guy stood a few steps away, leaning against the wall like he belonged in every postcard Paris had ever made—dark hair, easy smile, eyes that felt too steady for a party like this.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “Needed to escape before my ears gave up.”

He chuckled. “Same. I’m Jett, by the way.”

“Lia.”

Something flickered in his eyes at my name—recognition, maybe, or curiosity—but it passed too quickly to read.

“Thai?” he asked.

I nodded. “You?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling like it surprised him too. “Didn’t expect to meet another Thai here. Bangkok?”

“Born and raised. You?”

“Chiang Mai,” he said. “Architecture. You?”

“Fashion design.”

“Explains the shoes,” he said with a teasing grin, and I laughed before I could stop myself.

We fell into conversation easily—about food we missed, how French coffee wasn’t the same, the nightmare of pronouncing street names. He was funny in a quiet, steady way, not trying to impress, just… present.

At one point, our hands brushed when we both reached for our drinks, and I felt it—a jolt that made my pulse skip.

He noticed too, but neither of us said anything.

Emily’s voice broke the spell, shouting for me from inside. Jett glanced toward the door, then back at me.

“Guess that’s your cue?”

“Yeah,” I said, though I didn’t really want to go.

He smiled, soft but sure. “See you around, Lia?”

“Yeah,” I said, returning it. “You will.”

And somehow, I knew I meant it.

Jett’s POV:

The party thinned out around two in the morning, but he barely noticed. He was still outside, half-listening to the muffled bass through the walls, half-lost replaying a laugh.

Lia.

He’d met dozens of people since moving to Paris. Students from all over the world — all smiles, small talk, and forgettable names. But this one stuck. Maybe it was her accent, the faint trace of Bangkok warmth under a French sky. Or maybe it was the way she looked at him — curious, unguarded, like she was seeing him and not the person everyone else thought they had to read through.

He didn’t even plan to go to that party. His friend Leo had practically dragged him there, insisting he “needed to socialize before turning into a hermit.” Jett had agreed only because he didn’t want another lecture about balance and burnout. Architecture left little space for either.

And yet — there she was.

Thai. In Paris. With a laugh that hit like sunlight after rain.

He rubbed the back of his neck, still feeling the ghost of where her hand had brushed his. It was nothing — a passing touch — but it had landed deeper than he wanted to admit.

“Yo, earth to Jett,” Leo called, stumbling out with a half-empty bottle. “You’re still here?”

“Yeah,” Jett muttered, glancing toward the spot where Lia had been standing earlier. “Just… needed air.”

Leo squinted. “Or a girl?”

Jett didn’t answer, which only made Leo grin wider.

“Ohh, so it is a girl.”

“Go sleep, Leo.”

“Fine, fine,” Leo laughed, wobbling away.

Jett exhaled, finally pulling out his phone. No messages. He didn’t have her number — hadn’t even thought to ask. He could probably find her through Emily; they seemed to know each other. But something in him resisted the idea of chasing too quickly.

Instead, he just leaned back against the wall and let the night hum around him.

He hadn’t felt this kind of spark in a long time. Not since before France.

Not since before everything.

And as the wind swept through the narrow Paris street, he couldn’t help but smile a little, whispering to himself:

“See you around, Lia.”

Chapter Text

Lia’s POV

Paris mornings were quieter than Bangkok ones — no shouting vendors, no motorbikes weaving through the street before dawn, just the soft hiss of the Seine wind and the smell of croissants that somehow made every corner feel like a postcard.

I’d gotten used to the rhythm — classes, cafés, long walks that ended in random thrift stores I didn’t need to buy from but did anyway. Still, every once in a while, my mind drifted back to him.

Jett.

We hadn’t exchanged numbers. Not even last names. Just two Thais standing outside a crowded house, sharing air like it was a secret.

It had been a week, maybe more, but I still caught myself scanning faces on the street — just in case.

“Someone’s in a mood,” Emily sang from across the kitchen, spooning cereal. “You look like you’re daydreaming about a boy.”

“I’m daydreaming about sleep,” I lied, scrolling through my phone.

“Uh-huh.” She smirked, not buying it for a second. “What was his name again? Jetpack? Jettstream?”

I threw a piece of bread at her. “Don’t you have class?”

“Not until eleven. Don’t you have a call with your family?”

I glanced at the time and sighed. Right.

videocall:
Papa answered first, the screen shaky as usual because he still hadn’t figured out how to hold a phone properly during video calls.

“Lia, pa’s chicky!” he grinned. “You look good! Paris looks good on you.”

“It’s freezing, pa,” I said, smiling despite myself.

Babe’s voice chimed in from behind, sharper, but softer than usual. “Did you eat? You look thinner.”

“Ma, I’m fine,” I said quickly. “Just busy.”

Maz and Atlas appeared in the background, pretending to be uninterested but clearly hovering.

“Bring us souvenirs,” Maz called.

“Good grades first,” Babe snapped automatically.

I laughed — it felt easy, like home. For the first time in a long while, no one mentioned racing, no one reminded me of all the reasons I shouldn’t have been on a track.

And for a fleeting second, I thought, Maybe this is what breathing freely feels like.

Jett’s POV

“Paris treating you well?” his father asked in that clipped, businesslike tone that made even casual questions sound like negotiations.

Jett straightened in his chair, laptop balanced on his desk. “It’s fine. Classes are good. Studio’s tough.”

“You’re keeping up with practice?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And the new simulator I sent?”

“Every night.”

His father nodded once — approval, or as close to it as he ever gave. “Good. Remember, this is your foundation year. You can’t afford distraction.”

Jett hesitated, eyes flicking to the window where rain streaked down the glass — Paris gray and washed-out. For a second, he saw her again — Lia — laughing softly in the cold, her breath turning to mist.

“No distractions,” he repeated, voice neutral.

“Good,” his father said. “I’ll expect a full report on your timings next week.”

The screen went black before Jett could say goodbye.

He exhaled and leaned back, letting his head hit the wall. The apartment was quiet, save for the hum of his computer and the faint echo of his thoughts.

No distractions.

Too late.

Because every time he closed his eyes, he saw her.

That smile. The unguarded warmth that didn’t belong in his family’s world — a world of precision, of legacy, of rules.

He didn’t even know her last name. Didn’t need to.

Somehow, she’d already lodged herself under his skin.

And he hated — and loved — that he didn’t know why.

Chapter Text

Lia’s POV :

Paris in spring had this annoying habit of pretending it wasn’t freezing. The sun was bright, the sky was blue, and yet somehow the wind still sliced through my jacket like a knife.

I was walking out of the design faculty after a long critique session, balancing a sketch tube, my portfolio, and a cup of coffee that was already lukewarm. Emily had promised to meet me at a small exhibition downtown something her boyfriend’s photography club was hosting.

I was running late. Again.

“Excusez-moi,” I muttered as I squeezed through a crowd near the entrance, dodging backpacks and cigarette smoke.

And then, someone bumped into me, hard enough to knock the sketch pad out of my hand.

My coffee almost followed.

“Shit, ” I turned, ready to glare, and froze.

“Lia?”

The voice. The grin. The same dark eyes that had caught mine at that party.

“Jett?” I blinked, stunned for a second. “You....uh...you’re here?”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I could ask you the same thing. What are the odds?”

“Apparently, bad,” I said, holding up my now-splattered sketch pad.

He reached to take it before I could react. “Let me help.”

“You don’t have to, ”

“Too late,” he said easily, already brushing at the coffee stain on the paper sleeve.

The familiarity in his tone startled me, like we’d met more than once. Like there’d been something between us already.

Emily’s text pinged: Running late! Don’t kill me!

I looked up. “Actually, I was heading to an exhibition downtown”

“Photography?” he asked, eyes lighting.

I blinked. “Yeah… how?”

“My friend’s showing there. Was just on my way.”

“Seriously?”

He shrugged. “Guess Paris decided we should bump into each other twice.”

Jett’s POV :

She was even prettier in daylight.

That was his first thought, embarrassingly enough. He tried to act normal as they fell into step together, walking down the street toward the gallery. Lia talked with her hands, expressive and quick, and every now and then she threw her head back when she laughed — the kind of laugh that hit like a spark in the chest.

He hadn’t meant to ask her to walk together. It just… happened.

“So, fashion major?” he asked when she mentioned her critique session.

“Design,” she corrected. “Mostly clothes. Sometimes accessories when I’m stressed.”

“Accessories?”

“It’s therapy. You should try it.”

He chuckled. “I fix engines when I’m stressed.”

Her head tilted, curious. “Mechanic?”

“Kind of,” he said after a beat. “My family’s big on cars.”

That earned him a grin. “Same. I grew up around engines too. Oil, metal, grease, it’s like home.”

He blinked, startled. “Seriously?”

She nodded, sipping her coffee. “Guess we’re both a little bit addicted to noise.”

He smiled, trying not to read too much into that.

They reached the gallery, and the streetlight above flickered to life. He opened the door for her without thinking, and she stepped in, eyes wide at the photographs lining the walls, neon cities, rain-slick streets, still shots of movement frozen mid-breath.

She looked at everything like it was alive.

And for the first time in a long time, he forgot about pressure, about practice, about his father’s voice in his ear telling him focus, don’t get distracted.

Because if distraction looked like her, he didn’t mind it one bit.

Lia’s POV :

We stayed longer than we planned. Talked more than we probably should have.

He told me about tuning cars as a kid, about his mother’s favourite song that he couldn’t get out of his head, about loving the sound of engines but hating the politics around racing. I told him about fabric, colours, and how Paris was slowly teaching me patience.

Somewhere between laughing over cheap wine and teasing each other’s accents, I realised, I wasn’t thinking about home. About fights. About anything.

Just him.

When we finally stepped out, the city was glowing, streetlights reflecting off puddles from the afternoon rain.

“Same time next week?” he asked, almost shyly.

I smiled. “Maybe sooner.”

Lia’s POV :

When we finally stepped out, the sky had gone lavender with the last of the sunset, and Paris hummed around us quiet, alive.

We lingered by the steps of the gallery, neither of us really making the move to leave. Jett shifted his weight, eyes flicking from me to the street and back.

“So,” he said, voice light but uncertain in a way that didn’t fit the confident guy from earlier, “if I, say, wanted to keep bumping into you on purpose…”

I raised a brow, pretending to think. “You could just ask for my number instead of trusting Parisian fate.”

He laughed, that easy, honest sound that hit somewhere warm. “Alright, then. Can I have your number?”

I took his phone, fingers brushing his as I typed it in. “Only if you promise not to text me about car engines at two a.m.”

“No promises,” he said, grinning as he saved it. “But I’ll make sure it’s worth the notification.”

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. “Smooth, Jett.”

He pocketed the phone, stepping back just enough to meet my eyes. “Goodnight, Lia.”

“Goodnight,” I said softly.

When I finally turned to walk away, the city lights blurred in the corner of my vision, or maybe that was just the adrenaline still humming under my skin.

My phone buzzed before I even reached the corner.

Unknown Number: Made it three minutes without texting you. That counts as restraint, right?

I couldn’t stop the grin spreading across my face as I typed back:

Lia: Barely.

Jett’s POV :

I hadn’t stopped thinking about her since the gallery night.

Not in the can’t-focus, write-her-name-on-my-notes kind of way, more like she kept slipping into my thoughts uninvited. The way she’d smiled, a little guarded but real. The way her accent rolled through her words, familiar and far from home at the same time.

We’d been texting for a few days now. Nothing serious, quick back-and-fourths between classes, sarcasm mostly. Still, I caught myself checking my phone more often than I’d like to admit.

Lia: You’re impossible.
Me: That’s what all my teachers said.
Lia: I believe it.

I grinned every time.

Then out of nowhere, her message came that Friday afternoon:

Lia: You know any good circuits around Paris?

For a second, I just stared. Not the kind of question you expect from someone who looked like she belonged at an art exhibit.

Me: Depends. You planning to watch or race?
Lia: Do I look like the watching type?

That made me laugh, actually laugh, out loud, sitting in the middle of the garage with my friends pretending not to notice.

Me: Didn’t peg you for a racer.
Lia: Didn’t peg you for someone who stereotypes.

Touché.

I sent her a pin to one of the smaller circuits just outside the city — the kind only locals and street drivers knew about. No press, no trophies, just engines, asphalt, and pride.

Me: Tomorrow. 3 p.m. Don’t ghost.
Lia: Wouldn’t dream of it.

I should’ve known then I was in trouble.

.
.

.
.

She came.

And God, she looked like she belonged.

Black jeans, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back focused. Not the gallery girl I’d met, not the easy laugh from our texts. This was someone who knew what a wheel felt like under her palms.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show,” I said, tossing her a teasing smile.

“You really need to stop saying that,” she shot back, eyes narrowing. “Starting to sound like a dare.”

The others at the circuit gave her curious looks. New faces usually didn’t come alone. I shrugged it off, leading her to the pit lane. Her car was smaller than mine, older maybe, but tuned beautifully. One look under the hood told me she knew what she was doing.

“You sure you can handle this track?” I asked.

“Try me.”

That grin, yeah, I was in trouble.

.
.

Engines roared to life.

We rolled to the line. I gave her a nod through the windshield she returned it with that same grin, as if the world outside the track didn’t exist.

The flag dropped.

For the first few laps, we danced, trading leads, testing each other. She was sharp, taking corners late, brake-tapping through hairpins like muscle memory. Reckless, but controlled. Every move she made dared me to keep up.

By lap six, I realised I was grinning.

It wasn’t about winning, not really. It was that rare feeling when someone matched you, when their rhythm made sense with yours. She pushed, I pushed back. It was effortless chaos.

Then the final lap hit, and she flew through the last straight like lightning.

She beat me. Barely.
And I couldn’t even be mad.

.
.

When we pulled into the pit, her window rolled down first. Sweat on her temple, adrenaline still thrumming.

“Didn’t think you’d be this easy to beat,” she said, smug but breathless.

“Lucky lap,” I replied, leaning on my door.

“Sure,” she teased, unbuckling. “Keep telling yourself that.”

We both laughed. The kind that hits too easy after too much adrenaline.

“Coffee next time?” she said. “Loser buys.”

“Then I’ll make sure you’re broke.”

Her grin widened. “We’ll see.”

.
.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

I kept replaying the race — the way she handled the turns, how her focus never slipped. There was something familiar about it, like déjà vu. The same kind of recklessness I’d seen years ago, watching old race clips from Thailand. A driver that raced just like Pit Babe? Or someone trained to be just like him. But it couldn’t be.

Could it?

My phone buzzed.

Lia: Still sure you can beat me next time?

Me: I will beat you next time.

Lia: Big words, Jett.

Me: Big confidence, Lia.

I lay back, staring at the ceiling, a stupid grin tugging at my mouth.

Whatever this was, I didn’t want it to end yet.

Chapter Text

Lia's POV :
The next morning, sunlight poured through the wide Parisian windows, hitting the scattered design drafts on my table sketches, fabric samples, a half-eaten croissant. But my head wasn’t on any of it.

It was still back on the track.
On the heat, the noise, the rush of it the part of me that felt more alive than any runway ever could.

And on Jett.
That grin. The way he didn’t flinch when I passed him on the last straight. The way he loved it.

I sighed, grabbed my phone, and hit the video call icon before I could overthink it.

“Pa?”

Charlie’s face filled the screen hair messy, mug of coffee in hand. He looked both exhausted and ready to fight the world, like every morning.

“Lia, sweetheart! You’re up early. What time is it there?”

“Almost noon,” I said, smiling. “Late, actually.”

He hummed, setting his mug down. “What’s with that smile, hm? You sound suspiciously happy for someone who usually groans about early classes.”

I hesitated, twisting a pen between my fingers. “Pa… I went to the circuit yesterday.”

His eyebrows rose. “You what?”

“The small one outside the city. Just for fun.” I rushed the words out before he could stop me. “It’s safe. I wasn’t alone. And I won.”

Charlie went quiet, not angry quiet, just the kind where he’s trying to keep a straight face.

“You raced?”

“Yes,” I said, softer now. “And Pa… it felt good. It felt like me.”

There was a long pause. Then, to my utter surprise he smiled.

“Of course it did,” he said gently. “You were born in a garage, Lia. I’d be shocked if it didn’t feel like home.”

I blinked. “You’re not mad?”

He laughed quietly, rubbing his face. “Oh, I’m mad. Babe would murder both of us if he found out. But...” He sighed. “I’m proud of you too. You didn’t just go there for rebellion this time, did you?”

“No,” I admitted. “I went because I missed it. Because I can do it.”

Charlie nodded slowly, that look in his eyes, the one that always meant he understood before I even finished speaking.

“I’ll keep it between us,” he said finally. “But, Lia…”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t make me regret it. Be careful. And please don’t crash before you graduate.”

I grinned. “Can’t promise the first part, but the second? I’ll try.”

He laughed again, shaking his head. “You’re just like your Ma.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said, before the screen blinked and froze, his grin fading into static.

I set my phone down and exhaled.
He’d been proud.
And that, for once, didn’t feel like rebellion.
It felt like permission.

Jett's POV :

The call came just as he was locking up his helmet case.
Thailand country code. Private line.
He already knew.

He pressed accept.
“Hello?”

His father didn’t waste a second.
“I had someone watching you.”

Jett froze. “…At the track?”

“Don’t play dumb.” The voice was calm, too calm. “You raced unofficially. After I told you not to.”

He shut his eyes, exhaling slowly. “It was just a few laps...”

“You lost.”

The words hit harder than a slap.

His father didn’t raise his voice, he didn’t have to. “To a girl, Jett.” Each word deliberate, clipped, poisonous. “Do you know what that looks like?”

Jett’s jaw clenched. “She was...”

“Don’t excuse it.”
Now the anger cracked through, sharp and unfiltered. “I send you across the world to represent this family, and you embarrass us on a backroad track to impress....what? Some crowd? Some woman?”

Jett stared at the floor, pulse thudding in his temples.
“It wasn’t like that,” he said quietly.

“Then what was it?”

“…Racing.”

“Racing?” His father laughed once cold. “You call losing racing now?”

Jett bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. He’d grown up under these expectations , win, or don’t come home. He thought distance might dull it. It hadn’t.

“Maybe,” he said finally, voice steady but soft, “not everything has to be about winning.”

The silence on the other end was long and heavy. Then...

“You sound just like you used to do, like a loser.”

And the line went dead.

Jett stood there for a moment, the phone still in his hand, the city light spilling over the kitchen counter. His pulse slowed, but the sting in his chest didn’t.

He set the phone down carefully, almost like he was afraid to make a sound.
Then he leaned back against the counter, staring out the window, at Paris glowing like a promise he wasn’t sure he could ever keep.