The morning after the graduation ceremony dawned clear and cool, the kind of pristine spring day that felt like a gift. Adrian woke early, the pale light filtering through the blinds painting stripes across Amelia's sleeping form. He watched the gentle rise and fall of her shoulder, the peaceful expression on her face, and felt a surge of gratitude so vast it was almost painful. They had built a fortress of quiet around their lives, a bastion against the chaos that had once defined them.
He slipped out of bed and moved through the silent apartment, his bare feet silent on the polished wood floor. In the living room, the remnants of last night's salon were tidy evidence of their full life: empty wine glasses clustered on a tray, a forgotten charcoal sketch by one of the campus artists left on the coffee table, a well-thumbed volume of poetry bookmarked beside Amelia's chair. This was the texture of their peace.
