Beneath the Same Stars

It was always the stars.

Every night, Ella would sit by the window of her tiny apartment in Brooklyn, cup of chamomile in hand, and gaze up at the sky. The city’s lights blurred the view, but she searched for the same three stars she always did — the ones arranged in a crooked triangle. Liam used to call them “our stars,” back when they’d lie on the old dock in their hometown of Blue Ridge and trace constellations with their fingers.

That dock felt like another lifetime now. It had been almost two years since Liam left for Europe — a photography fellowship he couldn’t turn down. He had asked her to come. She had asked him to stay. Neither could, and so they didn’t.

Their love wasn’t broken. Just paused.

They still spoke sometimes — birthdays, holidays, moments when the silence became unbearable. But real life filled the spaces between those calls. Ella was now a high school literature teacher. Liam was traveling between Italy and Spain, chasing golden light and forgotten places. The space between them grew, not just in miles but in habits and routines. Yet, every night, without fail, she looked at the stars.

And unbeknownst to her, so did he.


---

Across the ocean, in a quiet hilltop village near Florence, Liam leaned back on his terrace, camera resting beside him, eyes fixed on the night sky. He couldn’t see them tonight — the clouds were thick — but he imagined them anyway: the triangle of stars, slightly crooked. Ella always said it looked like a lopsided heart.

He missed her laugh. Missed the way she would read him poetry without warning. Missed the smell of cinnamon on her skin after baking in the fall. He missed her in a way that wasn’t loud or dramatic — just constant. Like a soft background hum in his life.

He had taken hundreds of photos over the past two years, many of them technically brilliant. But the ones that meant the most — the ones he didn’t share online or with galleries — were of empty park benches, windows lit from within, people staring out at the night. Moments that echoed the quiet loneliness he carried.

That night, he picked up his old sketchbook. He hadn’t drawn in months, but suddenly he was scribbling the outline of a dock, two figures lying on their backs, hands nearly touching. He didn’t stop until the sky turned grey.


---

Back in Brooklyn, a small white envelope arrived in Ella’s mailbox on a rainy Wednesday. No return address. Just her name in neat, familiar handwriting. Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened it.

Inside was a photograph — a black and white image of a little girl on a swing beneath a night sky. But in the corner, carefully handwritten, were the words:
“Beneath the same stars.”

She sat on the steps, soaked through, and cried.

It was Liam’s way of saying he hadn’t forgotten. That he still looked up. That somehow, even through silence, they were still connected.

She turned the photo over. A date. A time. And a location.

“June 22. 8:00 PM. The dock.”

Her breath caught. The dock. The one in Blue Ridge. Their place.

She didn’t hesitate.


---

The evening sun warmed Ella’s skin as she stepped onto the worn wooden boards of the old dock. The lake stretched wide, still and quiet. Trees swayed gently in the breeze, and dragonflies darted over the water’s surface. It looked exactly the same — except for the man standing at the edge.

Liam turned slowly.

For a moment, neither of them moved. There were no dramatic runs, no cries, no rushed explanations. Just a long, quiet look — one that held two years of distance, unspoken thoughts, and enduring love.

“You came,” he said softly.

“You called,” she replied.

He smiled, that same crooked smile she remembered from every summer night of their youth.

“I didn’t know if you’d want to,” he said. “After all this time.”

Ella stepped closer, looking up at the sky. The stars were just beginning to appear, and there they were — the three in their familiar, crooked triangle.

“I looked at them every night,” she said. “Even when I didn’t want to.”

They sat down together, legs hanging over the edge of the dock, just like before.

“I kept thinking,” Liam said, “no matter where we were, we were still under the same sky. It helped. It made the world feel smaller.”

Ella nodded. “It made me feel less alone.”

There was a long silence — the kind that only exists between people who know each other deeply.

Then Liam reached into his bag and pulled out a small notebook. Inside were photos, drawings, letters he never sent.

“I never stopped loving you, El,” he said. “I just didn’t know how to hold on without holding you.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Me too.”

And beneath those same stars — after years of distance, doubt, and the quiet ache of missing someone deeply — two souls who never really left each other found their way back.


---

The stars hadn’t changed. But they had.

And that was okay.

Because sometimes love doesn’t need constant contact. Sometimes it just needs two hearts willing to look up, night after night, beneath the same stars.