Too Late 13

Chapter 13 

Switzerland had finally begun to feel like home. 

The days no longer felt heavy. My feet no longer dragged with the weight of memories. I had slipped into a rhythm-wake up to the mountain light, walk to class with my sketchpad in hand, sip coffee at my favorite spot on the corner of Rue des Arts. 

My fingers no longer trembled when I painted. The colors came naturally now, like breathing. My professor said my latest piece-“Unraveled Threads”-held so much raw emotion it nearly 

moved her to tears. 

I submitted it to a local art exhibit on a whim, not expecting anything. 

But it got in. The gallery buzzed with people the night of the opening. Strangers paused in front of my painting, whispering, leaning in. Someone even called it “brilliant.” I stood in the back heart thudding, unsure what to do with the praise. 

And beside me-steadfast as ever-was Joseph. 

He looked proud, smiling like he’d known all along I could do this. “Told you they’d love it,” he whispered. 

smiled back, cheeks flushed. “You always say that.” 

‘Because I’m always right.” 

We left the gallery that night wrapped in coats and laughter. The snow crunched beneath our boots as he led me down a cobblestone path toward a quiet, hidden bistro. 

Over pasta and wine, he held my hand across the table, his thumb brushing soft circles on my 

skin. 

‘Did you ever think,” he asked, voice low, “that you’d end up here?” 

‘Not in a million years,” I murmured, sipping from my glass. “But I’m glad I did.” 

Later, as we walked back under the stars, he stopped me near my door and leaned close. 

‘Still not tired of me yet?” 

laughed. “You wish.” 

His lips brushed against mine, soft and sure. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t stolen. It was chosen. Mutual. Honest. 

And when we pulled away, I didn’t feel guilty. 

I felt… free. 

We spent the next week tangled in our little bubble. Study sessions at the hospital lounge. Coffee breaks turned into kisses. He’d bring me pastries during class, and I’d sneak sketches of him while he read his medical reports. 

It was warm. 

And for once, I let myself believe I deserved it. 

That night, I fell asleep on the couch, sketchbook still on my lap, soft music playing in the background. 

Sometime past midnight, a sound jerked me awake. 

Glass. 

Shattering. 

I sat up straight, disoriented. The apartment was dark except for the flicker of the hallway lamp. 

Then-footsteps. 

My heart leapt to my throat. I grabbed my phone with shaking hands and scrambled behind the kitchen island, crouching low as panic tightened my chest. 

I dialed. 

“Joseph,” I whispered. “Someone’s in my apartment.” 

“Stay calm,” he said instantly. “Lock yourself somewhere. I’m on my way. Don’t hang up.” 

I crawled to the bathroom, locked the door, and tried to keep my breath steady. 

Then came the smell. 

Smoke. 

I pressed a hand to my mouth. 

The fire alarm blared a second later. 

‘Joseph-something’s wrong. I think-there’s a fire,” I coughed. 

‘I’m almost there. Hold on.” 

wrapped a towel around my face and cracked the door. Thick smoke curled from the living oom. My vision blurred as the air filled with heat. I couldn’t see the intruder anymore-but (new I couldn’t stay. 

stumbled out, covering my nose, trying to reach the door. But the flames were spreading fast eating the curtains, licking the ceiling. 

tripped on something hard-maybe the overturned coffee table-and fell to the floor. 

My lungs screamed. My eyes burned. 

I’m going to die here. 

And then- 

ALLISON!” 

Joseph’s voice tore through the haze. 

tried to respond, but only a choked sob escaped. 

Strong arms scooped me up. 

‘I’ve got you,” he breathed. 

The smoke swirled around us, the fire roaring louder now. He kicked through the weak points, forcing the door open as I buried my face into his shoulder. 

Outside, the night was piercingly cold. Fire trucks blazed down the street. Neighbors gathered. 

Sirens wailed. 

Joseph set me down gently on the curb, checking my pulse, brushing hair out of my face. 

“You’re okay,” he said, over and over. “You’re okay.”