Roman and Julienne's heart desire
Chapter 79: But I’m afraid it’ll fade one day

Chapter 79: But I’m afraid it’ll fade one day

Earlier That Morning – Miranda’s Room

It had been a month.

A whole month since the storm broke loose—since the university halls echoed with whispers and timelines exploded with Julie’s name.

And yet...

Miranda wasn’t searching for it. Not today.

She had been scrolling through her phone in bed, half-distracted, looking for something to entertain her—news, memes, anything.

But there it was again.

A re-edited clip. A soft caption beneath it:

"Some people survive fire. She wore it."

The comment section wasn’t wild like before. The likes were fewer now. But it was still there.

Still circulating.

Still reminding people.

Miranda’s jaw tightened as her thumb paused on the screen.

It wasn’t that she meant to keep finding Julie. The world just wouldn’t stop reminding her.

She stared at the image—Julie walking through campus like some heroine returned from war, her head high, her silence interpreted as strength.

And the worst part?

The image was good.

So good, in fact, that when Miranda had first seen it weeks ago—when it had gone viral—she hadn’t been mad.

Not at first.

She had smiled.

Whoever made it... they understood power.

They had carved Julie’s face into the public’s imagination with cinematic perfection—and Miranda had loved it.

She had even whispered a quiet, wicked little prayer of thanks to the faceless editor who created it.

But now?

Now, it lingered like a ghost she couldn’t bury.

She tossed her phone aside with more force than necessary and leaned back against her pillows.

Julie had won the narrative.

Miranda didn’t need to be told it.

She felt it in every glance, every softened whisper, every time someone dared mention Julie without venom.

She wasn’t planning anything today.

She wasn’t even thinking about Julie... not really.

But when the name appeared again—casual, passing, like background air—her stomach twisted.

She wasn’t obsessed.

She was just angry that the world had moved on.

Without her.

****

Her phone buzzed once on the desk.

She glanced over.

Roman [4:28 PM]: "I’m outside."

Julie’s breath caught—not because he was early, but because every time his name popped up, something in her chest still fluttered like it hadn’t gotten the memo that she belonged to him now.

She quickly grabbed her tote, slung it over her shoulder, and tapped back:

Julie: "You said 4:45."

Roman: "That was before I remembered I don’t like the feeling of missing you."

Julie’s smile was involuntary.

Julie: "One second."

Roman: "I’ll wait."

She paused at the mirror near Ava’s desk. Her lips were slightly dry.

She dabbed on a faint rose gloss, tucked a loose curl behind her ear, and tried not to look too much like she’d just spent the last three minutes preparing to walk out a door.

She failed, of course. The girl was glowing. Whether from fresh air or affection. (We know. It’s Roman.)

Roman leaned against the side of his black sedan, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone. He looked like he belonged to some designer ad campaign—the kind that whispered elegance, danger, and get in, loser, we’re leaving your trauma behind.

A few students passed by, slowing down just enough to get a proper look at him. One girl nudged her friend and muttered something like, "That’s him. The one who showed up during the meeting. The billionaire guy."

Roman didn’t react. His eyes were fixed on the glass entrance door, watching.

And then—there she was.

Julie stepped out, blinking a little at the brightness of the sun. The moment their eyes met, his stance shifted—subtle but immediate. The lean straightened. The weight in his shoulders eased.

Julie approached, her steps slow and fluid, the strap of her bag pressed to her shoulder.

Roman opened the passenger door wordlessly.

Julie blinked. "No hello?"

"I’ve used up all my words today thinking about you."

Julie scoffed, sliding in. "That’s cheesy."

Roman smirked, shutting the door once she was seated. "I know. But it works."

He circled the front of the car and got into the driver’s seat.

As they pulled off campus, Julie caught sight of a few students turning to watch them. Not maliciously. Just curious. Fascinated.

"People still stare," she said softly.

"They always will," Roman replied. "Might as well give them something worth remembering."

Julie glanced at him. "And what exactly are we giving them?"

Roman turned to her at a red light, eyes steady. "The image of a girl who never broke... and the man who makes sure no one ever tries again."

Julie looked away, trying not to smile too much.

The ride was calm. The soft hum of the car’s engine. The faint instrumental music playing from the stereo.

The occasional scent of gardenia from her lotion whenever she shifted in her seat.

Julie tilted her head. "You really didn’t have to pick me today."

Roman glanced sideways. "I didn’t have to do a lot of things. Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to."

She smiled down at her hands. "I think I’m getting used to you showing up."

Roman raised a brow. "Getting used to it?"

Julie shrugged. "It’s nice."

Roman leaned slightly closer as they reached a quieter road. "Just nice?"

Julie gave him a sidelong glance. "Are you fishing for compliments?"

"I’m gathering evidence," he said. "You called me nice. I want to record that."

She burst into laughter. "You’re ridiculous."

He grinned, and for a moment, the world outside the windows seemed far away. No whispers.

No rumors. Just them—and the slow build of a love that neither of them had asked for, but both were slowly surrendering to.

The car eased into a gated courtyard laced with creeping ivy and strands of soft golden lights. A small engraved plaque read:

The Glass Garden — A Quiet Place for the Loud-Hearted.

Julie raised a brow as Roman parked. "This doesn’t look like a normal restaurant."

Roman unbuckled his seatbelt. "It’s not."

She tilted her head. "And what does that mean?"

He gave her a knowing look. "It means... it has walls that don’t listen."

Julie blinked, then smiled faintly. "So you’re taking me to a secret lair."

Roman stepped out. "Something like that."

By the time he opened her door, her smile had deepened. She slipped her hand into his, letting him help her out as if this was routine.

Maybe it was becoming one.

A valet in a neat black suit approached, and Roman handed over the keys without pause. He didn’t look around, didn’t check the crowd—his attention stayed fixed on her.

Julie glanced toward the lantern-lit entrance. The restaurant looked more like an indoor greenhouse than a dining space.

The walls were tall glass panes, surrounded by climbing wisteria and lit from within by warm amber lights.

A stone path led them through a brief garden archway into the lobby.

She glanced up at him as they walked. "You’ve brought people here before?"

Roman looked down at her. "No."

Julie blinked. "Never?"

His voice was cool and certain. "Never."

Inside, they were led to a private table on the upper terrace—tucked behind sheer curtains, overlooking a courtyard pool where lilies floated in silence.

As they sat, Julie looked around, soaking in the glow. "I feel like I should whisper."

Roman smirked, draping a napkin over his lap. "Then whisper."

She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice just to amuse him. "This is the kind of place where people fall in love by accident."

Roman paused, looking at her across the table. "Or on purpose."

Julie’s heart skipped.

Before she could answer, the hostess returned with menus and soft jasmine tea.

Julie lifted the delicate teacup, inhaling the floral scent. "So... what made you choose this place?"

Roman rested his elbows on the table, fingers laced together. "Because it’s quiet. You breathe easier when things are still."

Julie tilted her head. "You notice everything, don’t you?"

Roman gave a half-shrug. "Only when it matters."

She sipped slowly, hiding her blush behind the cup. "Do I matter?"

His response was instant. "Every minute."

The air between them settled—heavier now, more tender.

The waiter returned. Roman ordered without glancing at the menu.

Julie blinked. "Wait. You just... picked my food."

"You like seafood pasta when you’re not overthinking. You order chicken when you’re stressed."

Julie gave him a look. "And you know this... how?"

He smirked slightly. "I watch you."

Julie laughed lightly, then shook her head. "That sounds like something a dangerous man would say."

Roman leaned forward, eyes intense but calm. "Good thing I am one."

She didn’t flinch.

She didn’t need to.

Because deep down, she knew—Roman wasn’t dangerous to her. He was dangerous for her. For anyone who thought she could be harmed again.

The waiter arrive with hand full of plates and the aroma wafting in the air.

Plates of delicate pasta with roasted shrimp, handmade bread rolls, and lemon-touched butter sat between them like art.

Julie took a bite and blinked. "This... this is heaven."

Roman’s lips curved. "I told you."

She shook her head. "You always do that. Show up. Fix things. Feed me."

"I like seeing you fed," he said simply. "And quiet. And happy."

Julie swallowed, then looked up. "Do you ever do things just for yourself?"

Roman’s gaze didn’t waver. "This is for me."

She blinked. "What is?"

"You. Sitting across from me. Talking. Laughing. Letting me look at you like this."

Julie’s heart clenched. "You don’t need to say things like that."

"But I want to," Roman said.

There was a moment of quiet between them.

Then she said softly, "I used to think love was supposed to feel like begging."

Roman’s jaw tightened slightly. "It isn’t."

Julie looked down at her hands. "But I didn’t know that until you."

He reached across the table and covered her hand with his.

"Then I’ll remind you every day," he said.

"But I’m afraid it’ll fade one day," Julie suddenly said, her eyes on him—not accusing, but quietly searching, as if the words were a question in disguise.

Roman didn’t hesitate. "As long as I’m breathing, it won’t fade. It’ll only grow."