The room stayed quiet.

For a few seconds neither of them spoke, the silence stretching between them like a bridge neither was quite ready to cross, heavy with the weight of everything Luna had carried alone for months. The only sound came from the faint hum of the air conditioner pushing cool air through the vents and the distant ticking of a clock somewhere in the house, each tick marking time that seemed to move both too slowly and too fast, as if the universe itself was holding its breath waiting for what came next. Dayo sat beside Luna, his shoulders tense with the readiness of a man who had spent years protecting what mattered most to him, still worried, still waiting, his entire body angled toward her as if prepared to absorb whatever blow she was about to deliver, his eyes searching her face for clues she had not yet given.

Luna looked at him for a long moment, studying the lines of concern etched across his face, the way his jaw had set itself into something rigid and defensive, the furrow between his brows that appeared whenever he feared something was wrong with her or Jennifer. She saw all of this and felt, beneath her own nervousness, a rush of love so fierce it nearly stole her voice. Before she could stop herself, before she could remember the careful speech she had rehearsed, a small laugh escaped her not at him, but at the absurdity of how thoroughly he had misunderstood her seriousness, how quickly he had leaped to catastrophe.

"You know..." she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, carrying the weight of someone who had rehearsed this conversation a hundred times in her head, who had lain awake at night practicing these words while Jennifer slept in the next room. "Sometimes I wonder if you’re capable of reacting normally."

Dayo frowned, the expression transforming his face from worried protector to confused husband in an instant, his brows drawing together as he tried to process whether he should be offended or relieved. "What does that mean?"

"It means I said there was something bothering me and you immediately looked like the world was ending." Luna reached out and touched his cheek, her palm warm against the tension she found there. "Dayo, if I told you I burned dinner, you would probably check if the house was on fire."

Dayo frowned deeper, not with anger but with the genuine confusion of someone who had never learned to moderate his protective instincts, who had spent so many years guarding against loss that his default setting had become worst-case scenario. "Because you said it seriously."

"I always say things seriously."

"No." Dayo shook his head, catching her hand against his cheek and holding it there. "No, you don’t. You tell Jennifer stories with voices for every character. You sing while you fold laundry. You make up songs about the vegetables when you’re cooking. You are not always serious, Luna. So when you are—when you sit on the edge of the bed with no book, no phone, no distraction, and you tell me something is bothering you I know it matters. And when something matters to you, it matters to me. Completely. Immediately. Without moderation."

Luna stared at him, her prepared defences crumbling beneath the sincerity of his words, her throat tightening with emotion she had not expected to feel. "Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I suppose I do say things seriously sometimes."

Dayo’s eyes softened, the worry still present but joined now by something gentler. "So tell me. Whatever it is, tell me. Not because I’m demanding it, but because I want to carry it with you. That’s what I’m here for, Luna. Not just for the easy moments. For this. For the hard conversations. For the things that keep you awake at night."

Luna rolled her eyes, the gesture automatic and familiar, something she had done a thousand times across the years of their marriage, but this time it was softened by the smile she could not suppress. Despite herself, despite the nervousness that had been coiling in her stomach for days, she felt the corners of her mouth lifting. The tension in the room eased slightly, the pressure releasing like air escaping from a sealed container. Only slightly, because what she wanted to say still remained, still sat heavy on her tongue, still demanded to be spoken.

She took another breath, deeper this time, filling her lungs with the courage she had been gathering. Then another. Finally she looked directly at him, meeting his eyes with an openness that made her feel stripped bare, vulnerable in a way that terrified her but also, strangely, freed her.

"What would you think..." she began, then paused, the words catching in her throat like they had every time she practiced this moment in front of mirrors and empty rooms, every time she had started this conversation in her head only to abandon it halfway through. "...if I wanted to go back?"

Dayo blinked, the question landing in his consciousness like a stone dropped into still water, the ripples spreading outward as he worked to understand what she was truly asking. "Back where?"

Luna stared at him, her expression unchanging, waiting for understanding to arrive, giving him the space to reach the destination on his own.

He stared back, his mind working through possibilities, discarding them one by one. Back to her hometown? Back to a previous job? Back to a version of herself she had left behind? Then realization hit, sudden and complete, washing over his face like dawn breaking, his eyes widening with comprehension that quickly transformed into something else entirely.

"Oh."

Another second passed, then another, the silence stretching between them while Dayo processed what she had actually asked, while Luna braced herself for the reaction she had imagined a hundred times. And suddenly—Dayo laughed. A real laugh, not the polite chuckle he used in interviews or the small amused sound he made when something mildly surprised him. A genuine laugh, the kind that came from deep in his chest, rich and full and completely unexpected, the sound of relief and joy and something almost like triumph mixed together.

Luna froze, her eyes widening with disbelief that quickly transformed into something approaching offense, her hand withdrawing from his cheek as she straightened her posture. "You’re laughing?"

Dayo covered his face with one hand, his shoulders shaking with the force of his amusement, still laughing, and somehow that confused her more than any argument would have. For days she had been preparing herself, rehearsing in quiet moments while Jennifer napped or while Dayo was at the studio. Preparing explanations for why she needed this, why she missed it, why she thought she could balance motherhood and music without sacrificing either. Preparing reasons that would convince him she had thought this through, that she wasn’t being impulsive, that she understood the challenges ahead. Preparing counterarguments for every objection she imagined he might raise, every concern about timing, about Jennifer, about the demands of an industry that had nearly consumed them both.

She had imagined resistance, the careful measured pushback of a man who had seen what the industry could do to people. Concern, the worried furrowing of his brow as he calculated the costs. Warnings, the gentle reminders of what they had both survived. Pushback, the rational arguments about why now might not be the right time, why they should wait, why Jennifer needed her mother present and undivided.

She had imagined him explaining how difficult the industry was, how exhausting it could be to maintain relevance while raising a child, how demanding it could become now that they had Jennifer and their priorities had shifted so dramatically. She had imagined many things, constructed elaborate scenarios in her mind where she would have to fight for her dream against the man she loved most.

This wasn’t one of them.

"Dayo." Her voice came out sharper than intended, edged with the frustration of someone whose careful preparations had been rendered unnecessary.

He was still laughing, the sound muffled behind his hand, his body shaking with an amusement she could not comprehend.

"Dayo!" She reached out and pulled his hand away from his face, forcing him to look at her. "I am trying to tell you something important and you are laughing at me?"

"Sorry."

"No you’re not." She crossed her arms, her expression hardening. "You are not sorry. You are sitting there laughing while I have been terrified of this conversation for weeks."

Dayo tried to compose himself, pressing his lips together, but the smile kept breaking through. "I’m trying to be sorry."

"You are literally laughing at me."

That only made him laugh harder, the absurdity of the situation overwhelming whatever self-control he might have attempted, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made her want to hit him and kiss him simultaneously.

Luna grabbed a pillow from behind her and hit him with it, not hard, just enough to register her protest, the soft thud of fabric against his shoulder barely interrupting his amusement. "Take me seriously."

"I am taking you seriously." He caught the pillow before she could strike again, holding it between them like a shield. "Luna, I swear to you, I am taking you more seriously than you know."

"No you’re not."

"I am."

"You laughed!"

"Because I’ve been waiting for this conversation for months." He released the pillow and reached for her hands, his fingers wrapping around hers with gentle insistence. "Luna, look at me. Really look at me."

That stopped her completely.

The pillow froze halfway through another attack, suspended in the air between them like a question mark.

"What?"

Dayo shook his head, still smiling, but now there was something else beneath the smile, something deeper and more vulnerable. Then he leaned back against the headboard, settling into the pillows with the ease of a man who had finally reached a destination he had been traveling toward for a very long time, pulling her with him so they sat side by side, their shoulders touching.

"You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to bring this up."

Now it was Luna’s turn to blink, her confusion genuine and complete. "What?"

"I’ve been waiting."

"For what?"

"For this." He gestured between them with his free hand, tracing the space that held their conversation, their history, their future. "The conversation. The moment when you would tell me that you still want it. That you haven’t given up. That the fire is still there."

Luna looked genuinely confused, her mind struggling to process information that contradicted everything she had prepared for. "You were?"

"Of course."

She stared at him, trying to determine if he was joking, searching his face for the telltale signs of teasing that she had learned to read over years of marriage. But his eyes were steady, his grip on her hands firm and warm, his breathing calm. He wasn’t joking. The realization slowly settled over her face, transforming confusion into something softer, more vulnerable, her shoulders dropping as tension she hadn’t known she was carrying began to release.

"You wanted me to bring this up?"

"Very much." He squeezed her fingers, his thumb tracing circles against her palm. "I wanted it so badly that I was afraid to mention it myself. I didn’t want you to think I was pushing you. I didn’t want you to feel pressured, or guilty, or like you owed anyone anything. This had to come from you, Luna. It had to be your choice, your timing, your desire. Otherwise it wouldn’t mean what it needs to mean."

Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again as words failed her, her thoughts scattering like birds startled from a tree. "Why?"

Dayo looked at her like the answer should have been obvious, like he was explaining something simple to someone who had somehow missed what was plain before her eyes. "Because you love music." He said it simply, as if stating a fundamental law of the universe. "Because I married a woman who sang before she spoke, who wrote melodies in her sleep, who couldn’t walk past a piano without touching it. Because I watched you light up on stage in ways you never lit up anywhere else, not because you were performing, but because you were alive. Because that woman the one who loved music with her whole soul is still inside you, and I have been watching her quiet down month after month, and it has been breaking my heart."

Luna became quiet, the statement landing with the force of truth she had been avoiding, her eyes stinging with tears she refused to let fall.

"You miss it." He said it not as a question but as a fact, his voice gentle but certain.

She looked away, toward the window where the night pressed against the glass, unable to meet his eyes while he spoke her hidden feelings aloud.

He continued, each word gentle but insistent, dismantling the walls she had built around her desires. "You’ve missed it for months. I have watched you. I have seen you stop yourself from humming. I have seen you close the piano lid instead of opening it. I have seen you change the radio station when your own songs came on, not because you were embarrassed, but because hearing them hurt. I know you, Luna. I know what you sacrifice when you think no one is watching."

Silence stretched between them, filled with the weight of admission she hadn’t yet made.

"You still write songs." He said it softly, almost reverently.

More silence, thicker now, heavy with secrets exposed.

"You still hum melodies while cooking." He smiled, the expression fond and knowing. "Last Tuesday, while you were making jollof rice, you stopped yourself three times. Three times, Luna. I counted. You would start, realize what you were doing, and force yourself silent. As if enjoying your own music was somehow wrong."

Luna looked offended, the automatic defense of someone caught in the act of something they thought they had hidden. "I do not."

"You absolutely do."

"I don’t."

"You literally wrote half a chorus while making breakfast two weeks ago." Dayo’s voice carried no accusation, only warmth. "I was in the doorway watching you. You had Jennifer in her high chair, you were stirring pap, and you were singing under your breath about morning light and new beginnings. It was beautiful, Luna. It was you. And then you stopped, like you had caught yourself doing something forbidden, and you didn’t sing again for three days."

Luna immediately looked guilty, the expression telling him everything he needed to know, confirming observations he had been making for months without ever mentioning them. Her shoulders slumped, the fight leaving her.

Dayo laughed again, a softer laugh this time, gentle and understanding rather than mocking. Then he reached over and took her hand, his fingers threading through hers with the familiarity of years. "You thought I didn’t notice?"

Her voice became smaller, the vulnerability she had been hiding finally breaking through. "A little."

"Luna." He squeezed her fingers, the pressure warm and grounding. "I notice everything when it comes to you. The way your mood shifts when you hear a song you wish you’d written. The way your fingers tap rhythms against your thigh when we’re in traffic. The way you look at my studio when you think I’m not watching, like someone looking through a window at a party they weren’t invited to. I notice, Luna. I have always noticed. I just didn’t know how to give you permission to want it again."

For a moment she couldn’t find words, because there was no teasing in his voice, no joke hidden beneath the surface, no performance for an audience that didn’t exist. Just honesty, pure and uncomplicated, the kind that had always existed between them when the world wasn’t watching.

He continued quietly, his thumb brushing gently against the back of her hand. "I didn’t bring it up because I didn’t want you thinking I was pressuring you. I know what I am, Luna. I know that when I want something, I pursue it with everything I have. And I didn’t want my want to become your obligation. You just had Jennifer. You were adjusting. You were learning how to be a mother, and you were doing it beautifully, and I didn’t want to complicate that with my own desires for your happiness."

He paused, his voice dropping lower, becoming almost a whisper. "You sacrificed a lot. Your body. Your time. Your energy. Your dreams, or so you thought. And I watched you make those sacrifices without complaint, without resentment, with a grace that humbled me. So I wanted the decision to be yours. I wanted you to come to me not because I suggested it, but because you were ready. Because you wanted it more than you feared it."

The room became still again, different this time, warmer, lighter, the air between them transformed by understanding.

Luna swallowed, her throat tight with emotion she hadn’t expected to feel. "Really?"

"Really."

A smile slowly appeared on her face, the kind that started small at the corners of her mouth before growing, spreading across her features like light filling a darkened room. Then she laughed, a quiet laugh, more relieved than amused, the sound of someone who had been carrying a weight they hadn’t realized was crushing them until it was lifted. "Do you know how many speeches I prepared?"

Dayo groaned, the sound theatrical and exaggerated. "Oh God."

"I had points." She held up her fingers, counting them off. "Point one: Jennifer is old enough for a nanny. Point two: I can work from home when I’m not recording. Point three: I miss it more than I expected. Point four—"

"PowerPoint points?"

"I almost made a presentation." She laughed, the sound escaping despite herself. "I had slides, Dayo. I had a timeline. I had a budget estimate for childcare during studio hours. I was going to be so rational, so prepared, so convincing."

He immediately started laughing again, the image of Luna standing before him with slides and bullet points too absurd to resist. "A presentation?"

"With graphs." She hit him with the pillow a second time, the impact softer this time, lacking real force, her laughter mixing with his. "Stop laughing."

"No."

"I am serious."

"I know."

"You are impossible."

"And yet here we are." He caught the pillow and pulled her closer, his arm wrapping around her shoulders. "Here we are, Luna. No presentation needed. No graphs. No budget estimates. Just you, telling me what you want, and me, telling you that I have been hoping you would say it."

She shook her head, but she was smiling now, the nervousness that had been sitting inside her chest all day, all week, all the months since Jennifer’s birth, disappearing. Melting away like ice beneath warm sun, leaving behind something clean and hopeful.

Eventually she leaned against his shoulder, her body fitting against his with the familiarity of years, the comfort of two people who had learned each other’s shapes. "So..."

"So?"

"What if I really want to come back?" She tilted her head to look up at him, her expression serious despite the warmth between them. "What if I’m not just curious, or nostalgic, or having a moment? What if I really want this, Dayo? Not as a hobby. Not as something I dabble in when I have time. But as my life again, alongside being Jennifer’s mother?"

Dayo looked down at her, his expression shifting from amused to something more serious, more focused, his eyes studying her face as if memorizing her features. "What do you mean what if?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

"No." He shook his head slowly. "No, I don’t think I do. Because you’re asking me what I think about a hypothetical, and I don’t deal in hypotheticals, Luna. Not with you. Not with this. So let me be clear: if you want to return, then return. Not ’what if.’ Not ’maybe.’ Not ’let’s see how it goes.’ If you want this, claim it. Own it. Don’t hedge your bets with me."

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I want this." The words came out stronger than she expected, as if saying them aloud gave them weight and substance. "I want to come back, Dayo. Fully. Completely. Not as a guest feature on your songs, not as someone who sings lullabies at home. As an artist. As Luna. As myself."

Dayo smiled, the expression spreading across his face like sunrise, warm and certain. "Then welcome back."

Just like that.

No hesitation.

No conditions.

No warnings.

No speeches about the difficulties ahead.

Luna stared at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the caveat that must surely follow. "That’s it?"

"That’s it." He shrugged, the gesture simple and unburdened. "What else should I say?"

"I don’t know." She searched his face, looking for the catch she was certain existed. "Maybe... maybe you should tell me it’s going to be hard? That the industry has changed? That I’ll have to rebuild my audience? That people might not remember me, or might not care? That balancing motherhood and music will require sacrifices I haven’t considered?"

"Would any of that stop you?"

She paused, considering. "No."

"Then why would I say it?" He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch gentle. "Luna, you don’t need me to warn you about things you already know. You don’t need me to list obstacles so you can prove you’re ready to overcome them. You need me to believe in you, and I do. I have always believed in you. Even when you stopped believing in yourself."

Another laugh escaped her, surprised and delighted, but beneath it was something deeper, something grateful. Then she became thoughtful, her expression shifting as the reality of his acceptance settled into her understanding. "I missed it."

"I know."

"I really missed it."

"I know."

She looked down at her hands, at their joined fingers, studying the way his larger hand enveloped hers. "I love being Jennifer’s mother."

Dayo nodded, the movement small but certain. "I know."

"I wouldn’t change anything."

"I know."

"But..." She took a slow breath, the admission requiring more courage than she had expected. "I miss singing."

The words felt strangely emotional, more emotional than she expected, carrying years of suppressed longing in four simple syllables. "I miss the studio—the way the sound wraps around you like a cocoon, the way you can hear your own heartbeat in the silence between takes. I miss writing, the moment when a melody arrives fully formed and you race to capture it before it disappears. I miss performing, the exchange of energy between stage and crowd, the way a thousand voices singing your words back to you feels like the world confirming you exist. I miss creating something and hearing people connect with it, hearing them say ’this song was mine during the hardest time’ or ’this melody saved me.’"

Her voice softened further, becoming almost a whisper. "I miss that feeling, Dayo. The feeling that what I do matters beyond our walls. That it reaches people. That it changes something in them. I thought motherhood would replace that, and it does, in ways I never expected. But it’s different. It’s not less, but it’s different. And I need both. I need Jennifer, and I need the music. I need to be her mother, and I need to be Luna."

Dayo listened quietly, not interrupting, not rushing her toward conclusion, not offering solutions before she had finished speaking. Just listening, present and patient, the way he had always listened when something mattered, his thumb tracing slow circles against her hand.

"I thought it would go away." She laughed weakly, the sound self-deprecating. "I thought if I ignored it long enough, if I poured everything into Jennifer, the wanting would fade. That I would wake up one day and not feel the absence."

She paused, her voice dropping. "It didn’t."

"No."

"It got worse."

"That sounds about right." Dayo’s voice was gentle, carrying no judgment. "The things we love don’t disappear because we ignore them, Luna. They just wait. Patiently. Until we’re ready to look at them again."

Luna smiled, the expression small but genuine. Then leaned her head fully against his shoulder, her weight settling against him. "I think your post made it worse." 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

"Oh?"

She nodded, the movement transmitted through her head against his shoulder. "When I saw everything happening online. The excitement. The reactions. The anticipation." She smiled, the expression hidden against his shirt but audible in her voice. "I remembered."

"Remembered what?"

"Why I fell in love with music in the first place." She lifted her head to meet his eyes, her own shining with emotion. "Not the fame, not the accolades, not the charts. The connection. The way a song can make someone feel seen, understood, less alone. The way your words reached thousands of people tonight and made them call themselves family. I used to do that, Dayo. I used to reach people. And I want to again."

That answer made Dayo smile, a genuine one that reached his eyes, because he understood better than anyone what she meant. He had felt that same spark, that same irresistible pull, the moment he had posted those words and watched the world respond. He knew exactly what it meant to remember why you had chosen this life.

Eventually Luna looked up, her chin resting against his shoulder, her eyes meeting his. "So."

"So?"

"What now?" She searched his face, looking for the plan she knew he must have already formed. "I don’t have a label, Dayo. I walked away from my old contract when I got pregnant. I don’t have management, I don’t have a team, I don’t have anything set up. I would be starting from scratch, and the industry doesn’t wait for people who take breaks. I need to figure out distribution, marketing, branding—"

Dayo held up a hand, stopping her mid-sentence. "Luna."

"What?"

"Stop."

She blinked, confused by the interruption. "Stop what?"

"Stop listing obstacles. Stop planning your own obstacles before they exist." He turned to face her fully, his expression serious now, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. "You said you want to come back. You said you want to do this. So let me tell you what happens now."

He took her other hand, so he held both of hers, his grip firm and warm. "You come to JD Records. Not as my wife. Not as a favor. As an artist. As Luna. We sign you properly, professionally, the same way we would sign anyone with your talent and your history. We build your team—marketing, branding, A&R, the full structure. We plan your return, not as a comeback, because you never left the hearts of people who loved you, but as a reintroduction. A reminder of who you are and what you do."

Luna stared at him, her mind struggling to process what he was offering. "Dayo, I can’t just—"

"You can." He cut her off gently but firmly. "And you will. Not because I’m your husband and I own the label. Because you’re talented, Luna. Because you deserve a platform that respects your artistry. Because JD Records is built on excellence, and you are excellent. This isn’t charity. This isn’t nepotism. This is me recognizing what has always been true: you belong on stage, and you belong with us."

She opened her mouth to respond, to protest, to say something about independence or pride or not wanting to be seen as riding his coattails. But before she could speak, before the words could form, Dayo pressed a finger against her lips.

"Don’t." His voice was soft but commanding. "Don’t say you’ll think about it. Don’t say you need time to consider. Don’t say you’re not sure if it’s right, or if people will talk, or if you’re worthy." He removed his finger, his eyes searching hers. "I know you, Luna. I know that look. You’re about to retreat into practicality, into caution, into the safe space of ’maybe’ and ’let me think about it.’ And I’m telling you now: don’t. Don’t think about it. Don’t weigh pros and cons. Don’t consult your fears. Just say yes. Say yes because you want this. Say yes because you deserve this. Say yes because I have been waiting months to give you this, and I am not letting you talk yourself out of it."

Luna stared at him, her heart hammering against her ribs, her carefully constructed arguments dissolving beneath the force of his certainty. "Dayo..."

"Say yes, Luna." His voice dropped, becoming almost a whisper, intimate and urgent. "Not for me. For you. For the woman who sang before she spoke. For the artist who still writes choruses while making breakfast. For the mother who wants to show her daughter that dreams don’t end when responsibility begins. Say yes."

The room fell silent again, but this time the silence was different. It was charged, electric, filled with possibility and promise.

Luna swallowed, her throat tight, her eyes burning with tears she no longer tried to hide. "Yes."

The word came out small, tentative, but it was there.

Dayo’s smile returned, spreading across his face like light, warm and triumphant and utterly genuine. "Yes?"

"Yes." Stronger this time, more certain. "Yes, I’ll come to JD Records. Yes, I’ll let you help me. Yes, I’ll do this properly, professionally, completely. Yes to all of it, Dayo. Yes."

The excitement on her face became immediate, dangerously immediate, like a child receiving permission to enter a candy store after months of being told to wait. But beneath the excitement was something deeper, something settled and sure. She was not just accepting an opportunity. She was reclaiming herself.

"Oh my God." She laughed, the sound disbelieving and joyful. "I’m really doing this."

Dayo laughed with her, the sound warm and shared. "You’re really doing this."

She grabbed his arm, her fingers tight around his wrist. "You’ll help me? Really help me? Not just sign me and forget me, but actually be there? Write with me? Produce with me?"

"Yes to all of it." He pulled her into his arms, holding her close against his chest. "I’ll write your songs. I’ll produce your records. I’ll stand in the booth and watch you sing until you get the take exactly right, and I won’t complain once. I’ll fight with you over melodies and lyrics and arrangements, and I’ll love every minute of it. I’ll be there, Luna. Not because I have to. Because I want to. Because there is nothing I would rather do than make music with you."

She pulled back to look at him, her eyes wide and searching. "Even though you’re already working on your own album? Even though you have Beautiful Things coming out in two weeks? Even though you’re already stretched thin?"

"Especially then." He tucked her hair behind her ear again, his touch lingering. "Because the best artists know how to make room for what matters. And you matter, Luna. More than any release date. More than any campaign. More than any schedule. We will figure out the timing. We will make it work. But I am not letting you do this alone, and I am not letting you do this anywhere else. If you’re coming back, you’re coming back with me. All the way."

Luna’s eyes filled with tears that finally spilled over, tracking down her cheeks as she laughed and cried simultaneously. "You are impossible."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it’s true."

"And yet here we are." He wiped her tears with his thumb, his smile soft and fond. "Here we are, Luna. At the beginning of something."

She leaned her forehead against his, their breath mingling. "The beginning."

"The beginning."

They sat like that for a long moment, foreheads touching, hands intertwined, the world outside their window continuing its indifferent rotation while they held something precious and new between them.

Eventually Luna pulled back, her expression shifting from emotional to practical, the artist in her already beginning to plan. "So tell me what happens next. Not the label stuff—the music. What do we write first? Do we start fresh, or do I have old material we can revisit? Should we go for something that sounds like my previous work, or something completely different? What about—"

Dayo placed a finger against her lips, silencing her gently. "Tonight? Nothing happens tonight."

"But—"

"Tonight, we sleep." He pulled her down with him, settling them both against the pillows. "Tomorrow, I go to the office. I tell the team. We start building your return. And then, Luna, we begin. But tonight, we rest. We let this moment be enough."

She wanted to protest, to argue that they had lost enough time already, that every minute of delay was a minute stolen from her comeback. But his arms were warm around her, his heartbeat steady against her back, and the exhaustion of months of suppressed longing finally caught up with her. She closed her eyes.

"Dayo?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

He pressed a kiss against her hair. "For what?"

"For waiting. For noticing. For believing in me even when I stopped believing in myself."

He was quiet for a moment, his breathing even and calm. "Luna?"

"Yes?"

"Welcome back."

She smiled against her pillow, the words settling into her heart like a promise kept. And sometime during the night, their hands still intertwined, their bodies curved toward each other, they fell asleep.