Chapter 156 Chapter 156

Chapter 156 Chapter 156
Emily's POV

The city didn't smell like home. Every place had its own rhythm. Its own sounds. Its own morning routine. Westview had always woken up slowly. Students carrying backpacks. Coffee shops opening before sunrise. Football players jogging across campus. Professors walking with briefcases tucked beneath one arm. This city woke up running. Car horns echoed between tall buildings before seven in the morning. People hurried across intersections with coffee balanced in one hand and phones in the other. Cyclists weaved through traffic like they were part of it. The river reflected the rising sun between rows of glass buildings, making everything feel brighter than it should've that early.

I stood beside our apartment window with a mug of coffee warming my hands. Our apartment. The words still felt new. Not the college apartment. Not the place where we learned how to become us. A different one. Smaller. Higher up. Modern. Boxes still lined the living room walls. Half our kitchen lived inside unopened cardboard containers.

One dining chair was missing because it hadn't been delivered yet. The sofa leaned awkwardly against the wall while we waited for maintenance to finish installing shelves. Nothing looked finished. And somehow...That felt appropriate. Behind me, I heard slow footsteps. Then a yawn. Then another. I smiled before turning around.

Noah shuffled into the kitchen wearing gray sweatpants and an old Westview T-shirt he'd refused to throw away. His hair pointed in three different directions. He looked exhausted. And ridiculously handsome. Annoying combination. He blinked slowly. "Why are mornings legal?"

I laughed. "You have rookie orientation."

"I know."

He opened the cupboard. "Where are the bowls?"

"I packed them."

"I know that."

"So..."

He stared into the empty cupboard dramatically. "Where did you pack them?"

I thought for a second. Then pointed towards three identical boxes. "One of those."

He looked at the boxes. Then looked at me."Helpful."

"I try."

He sighed before crouching beside them. The first contained books. The second contained blankets. The third, finally held dishes. He pulled out a cereal bowl like he'd discovered buried treasure. "I win."

"You found breakfast."

"Exactly."

Watching him celebrate basic household success made me laugh far harder than it should have. Maybe adulthood really was just getting excited about finding your kitchen equipment.

My first morning at the internship felt strangely similar to my first day at university. Everything was unfamiliar. Everyone looked like they knew exactly where they were going. Meanwhile... I spent five minutes trying to figure out how the office coffee machine worked. The building itself was beautiful. Glass walls. Natural light. Open workspaces. Conference rooms with names inspired by rivers. My orientation group consisted of twelve interns from different universities across the country. Some spoke confidently. Some barely spoke at all. I floated somewhere in between. Trying to appear calm. Trying not to overthink every sentence.

Our supervisor, Dr. Patel, welcomed us with a warm smile. "Congratulations."

She looked around the room. "You were selected because somebody believed you'd contribute something valuable. My job is making sure you believe that too." I wrote the sentence down immediately.

At almost the exact same time, according to Noah's messages, he was sitting through NFL rookie orientation. My phone vibrated during lunch.

Noah: Survived first meeting.

I smiled then typed back.

Me: Me too.

Three dots appeared.

Noah: They have playbooks thicker than textbooks.

I laughed quietly. My coworker beside me looked over. "Good news?"

I looked down at my phone. Then smiled. "My boyfriend just discovered professional football involves reading."

She laughed. "I imagine that came as a shock."

"You have no idea."

Another message arrived.

Noah: Coach used the phrase "adult expectations" seven times.

I replied.

Me: Welcome to adulthood.

His response came instantly.

Noah: I would like a refund.

The first week disappeared faster than I expected. Monday became Tuesday. Tuesday became Thursday. Somehow Friday arrived before either of us figured out where we kept the extra batteries. Or the scissors. Or why one kitchen drawer refused to close. Real life wasn't cinematic. Nobody played background music while unpacking. Nobody applauded after finishing laundry. No dramatic montages existed for grocery shopping after ten-hour workdays. Instead, there were calendars. Shared reminders. Meal planning. Text messages that simply said, running late Or don't wait for dinner Sometimes Noah left before I woke up. Sometimes I came home after he had already fallen asleep on the sofa.

College had spoiled us. Back then, our schedules naturally overlapped. Now... We had to create time instead of accidentally finding it. And surprisingly, that wasn't depressing. It was intentional. One Wednesday evening I walked through the apartment door just after eight. My shoulders ached. My brain felt completely full. I dropped my bag beside the sofa. Immediately noticed a note stuck to the refrigerator. Dinner in the oven. Don't overwork- N.

I smiled despite my exhaustion. The oven held pasta, it was still warm. He had already left for evening training. I stood quietly in the kitchen. Looking at the note. It wasn't elaborate. It wasn't romantic. It wasn't social-media worthy. It was better. It was thoughtful.

That weekend finally arrived. No meetings. No orientation. No presentations. No practice until Monday. No alarms. No deadlines. Just...Saturday. We slept later than intended. A luxury. Then spent the morning assembling furniture. Which quickly reminded us why professionals deserved every cent they charged. "This shelf is backwards."

"No, it isn't."

"Emily."

"It isn't."

Five minutes later. "It's backwards."

"I know."

"You knew?"

"I wanted you to experience personal growth."

He laughed so hard he nearly dropped the screwdriver. "You've become mean."

"I've become observant."

Eventually, after only minor emotional damage, the bookshelf stood upright. Mostly, Noah stepped back proudly. "I built that."

I looked closely. "It leans."

"It has character."

"It has gravity issues."

"I prefer optimistic."

I shook my head, smiling. "It will hold books."

"It will hold some books."

We laughed together. And suddenly, the apartment didn't feel unfinished anymore. It felt lived in.

The afternoon faded into evening. After dinner, Noah looked at me from across the couch. "Walk?"

I didn't even hesitate. "Yeah."

We followed the riverside path just as the city lights began reflecting across the water. People jogged past. Couples sat on benches. Children chased pigeons near the bridge. Everything felt alive. Different from Westview. Different from campus. Different from anything we had known. The breeze carried the scent of water. Like coming home. Neither of us hurried.

For the first time all week, there was nowhere we had to be. Only where we already were. I looked across the river. At the skyline. At our new city. Then over at him. He looked tired. So did I. There were faint shadows beneath his eyes. Mine probably matched. Adult life wasn't easier. If anything, it demanded more. More planning. More patience. More communication. More choosing. But somehow, it also felt more honest. Because every day we kept showing up. Not because it was effortless. Because it mattered. I laughed quietly.

Noah glanced towards me. "What?"

I smiled. Then looked back across the water. "We finally made it."

He was quiet for a moment. Long enough that I wondered if he'd heard me. Then he smiled. That same quiet smile that had become my favorite. He gently squeezed my hand. "No. We're finally living it."

The words settled softly between us. I looked ahead. The river kept moving. The city kept breathing. Our lives kept changing. There would be difficult days. Long nights. Missed dinners. Career decisions. New cities. Unexpected setbacks. Victories we couldn't imagine yet. Losses we couldn't predict. Life wasn't waiting for us to catch up anymore. It had already begun. And somewhere between football fields, hospital rooms, internship applications, draft nights, empty apartments, and riverside walks...I realized something. We had spent so much of our story trying to reach the future. Only to discover...The future looked remarkably ordinary. It looked like tired smiles after long workdays. Sticky notes on refrigerators. Shared calendars. Late-night grocery runs. Holding hands while crossing unfamiliar streets. Choosing each other when life became busy instead of convenient. Love hadn't brought us to the finish line. Love had simply taught us how to walk beside each other after the race was over. And somehow...That felt even better than the dream we had imagined.