Where the Past Finally Lets Go

Afternoon calm hung over the city, the sky lightly overcast as if everything had taken a break from noise and glitter. After coffee with Viktor, Liam and Sophie drove to her place, where she packed a few things. She didn’t need much. A couple of comfy shirts, her favorite jeans, leggings, a hoodie, a soft pajama set. Liam stood by the door with his hands in his pockets, watching her with that relaxed, barely-there smile he somehow reserved only for her.

When they arrived at his place and Sophie dropped her bag by the couch, Liam suggested, “Want to go to the movies?”

Sophie shot him a low, playful smile. “To watch the one we’re in?”

“Yeah. Slightly narcissistic,” he said. “But at least entertaining.”

“You’re narcissistic. I’m a professional,” she replied, grabbed her jacket, and pushed him toward the door.

Outside the theater, they noticed the looks from afar. Not intrusive, just curious. Whispering, phones lifting, people trying not to stare too obviously. Liam gently shifted Sophie behind his shoulder in that protective, borderline obvious but undeniably sweet gesture that always melted her a little.

“Let’s get inside before someone starts a livestream,” he muttered.

They found seats in the middle row. The world buzzed outside, but in here it was quiet, dim, comfortable. A pair of girls in the back squealed when they sat down, but Liam only waved, while Sophie pretended not to notice… with a small smile betraying her.

The movie started.

The first part of Riders of Destiny was easy: action, humor, chemistry.

But once the story shifted into the emotional core, Sophie felt her stomach tighten.

There they were on the screen—her and Liam. Memories flashed back. Hotel rooms, late-night conversations. Everything between them had been real, intense, hidden from the whole crew. And already dangerous.

Liam went still during this part. He didn’t like remembering how she could kiss him on camera one moment and then pull away the next moment, cold, distant, pushed into decisions someone else made for her.

Aleksander.

Sophie’s breath hitched at the scene where their characters’ eyes break. Liam noticed the tension in her face and quietly slipped his hand under the armrest, lacing his fingers with hers. Nothing dramatic. Just a quiet “I’m here, it’s okay.”

Sophie shifted her gaze toward him. She couldn’t see his eyes in the dark, but she knew he was watching her, not the film.

“It still hurts,” she whispered.

Liam nodded softly. “Me too.”

Onscreen, their characters finally confessed their love in the final scene. Grand, cinematic, staged. And still painfully real, because back then they had to hide their own.

When the credits rolled, the theater erupted in applause. Sophie had no idea whether it was for the film or because of their quiet presence. Phones were already pointed at them. Liam exhaled, stood up, helped Sophie to her feet, and leaned down toward her.

“Ready for chaos?”

“Not really,” she said. “But I have you.”

Once outside, escaping the gentle crowd asking for autographs and photos, they slipped into the cold street air that brought a breath of normalcy.

When they finally got far enough, Sophie murmured, “It was hard to watch. It was hard even at the world premiere. But this time you were next to me, and… it was different.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “But I wanted us to watch it again. Together, and without secrets.”

Sophie leaned into his arm. “And without Alexander.”

“Without Aleksander,” he echoed, firm and calm.

They walked along the sidewalk, almost ordinary, even if they could never fully be. Liam hooked his finger around hers and intertwined their hands.

“It’s fading,” he added. “The painful part. Slowly.”

Sophie smiled at him. “Yeah. Because now we have a future. Not just a past.”

And they kept walking. Together.

Completely together.

Evening at Liam’s place

The apartment was soaked in the warm glow of late evening, the kind that makes the world feel like it finally stopped rushing. Sophie curled against Liam on the couch, both still wrapped in the emotions stirred up by the movie. The ache from the second half of Riders of Destiny lingered quietly between them.

Liam suddenly straightened, as if something clicked. He looked at her with a nervousness she rarely saw on him.

“Stay here,” he muttered.

Sophie watched him disappear into the other room. She heard rustling, the soft click of case latches.

When he returned, he held his acoustic guitar. The same one he used when he first played the melody long before he ever imagined playing it to an audience. Now he stood before her, almost shy, which was practically unthinkable for him.

Sophie blinked. “What are you doing?”

Liam leaned against the couch, adjusted his fingers on the strings. “There’s something I need to play for you. Exactly the way I wrote it. Not for a stadium. Not for cameras. For you.”

Sophie’s breath caught.

He started playing Star I Can’t Reach.

No crowd. No lights. No roaring applause.

Just his voice, and her breath breaking as the melody filled the room.

He sounded softer than onstage. More vulnerable. Every verse felt pulled straight out of the time they were apart, when she had walked away and he was left writing words that were more scream than song.

Sophie covered her mouth with her hand. She had heard the song before, of course. But now, for the first time, she understood what had been hidden inside it. Every unspoken why. Every quiet ache. Every piece of longing she had forced herself to ignore.

When Liam played the last note, he simply looked at her. He didn’t need applause or answers.

Sophie rose slowly from the couch and stepped toward him. Her fingers brushed his on the strings. “I can’t believe you wrote this… because of me.” Her voice cracked. “And that you carried all of it alone.”

Liam shrugged lightly, but his eyes told the truth. “I didn’t really have a choice.”

Sophie laughed through her tears and kissed him. Soft. Real. Not cinematic. Not staged.

Just theirs.

The music faded, but the emotions didn’t.

And for the first time in a long time, the world felt—if only for a few minutes—like it was finally on their side.