The private jet waited in silence.
Sleek.
Untouchable.
A world that felt separate from everything else.
Leah walked beside Izana as they approached, her fingers loosely intertwined with his. The morning air carried a quiet stillness, but something lingered beneath it.
Something unspoken.
Neither of them rushed.
Neither of them spoke.
They didn't need to.
—
Inside—
The cabin welcomed them with soft lighting and quiet luxury. Everything was exactly where it should be. Perfectly arranged.
Controlled.
Leah moved toward the window seat, settling into it slowly. Her hand rested lightly against the armrest as her gaze drifted outside.
The runway stretched endlessly ahead.
Still.
Waiting.
Izana took the seat beside her.
Close.
Close enough that their shoulders brushed.
But instead of looking outside—
He looked at her.
Carefully.
Watching.
Leah felt it.
That quiet awareness he always carried when it came to her.
The engines began to hum beneath them.
Low.
Steady.
Filling the silence.
A few moments passed.
Then—
"You've been quiet."
Leah blinked softly.
Her gaze still fixed outside.
"…I told you. I was thinking."
"You still are."
His voice was calm.
Certain.
Leah exhaled quietly.
Her fingers shifting slightly in her lap.
"…About earlier."
A pause.
Izana didn't ask.
He already knew.
"The boy," he said.
Leah nodded faintly.
"…Zakk."
Silence settled again.
Leah swallowed slightly.
Then turned her head.
Looking at him now.
Really looking.
"You were… really good with him."
Izana didn't respond.
So she continued.
"The way you held him."
"The way you talked to him."
A small pause.
Her voice softened.
"You didn't hesitate."
Something flickered in his eyes.
Subtle.
But there.
Leah's fingers curled slightly.
Then—
"…You'd be a good father."
The words hung between them.
Quiet.
But heavy.
Izana didn't answer.
Not immediately.
His gaze shifted slightly.
His expression stilled.
Something deeper surfacing beneath the calm.
Leah felt it.
The shift.
"…Izana?" she asked softly.
A pause.
Then—
"I wasn't there."
His voice was low.
Controlled.
But heavier now.
Leah's breath caught.
"When it happened."
The words landed quietly.
But deeply.
"You went through that alone," he continued.
"And I didn't know."
Leah's chest tightened.
"And I should have."
"That's not—"
"I don't want to fail again."
This time—
His voice was firmer.
Still controlled.
But there was something underneath it now.
Something real.
Raw in a way he rarely allowed.
His gaze dropped slightly.
"I should have known," he added more quietly.
"I should have been there."
Leah didn't hesitate.
Her hand lifted immediately.
Gently cupping his cheek.
Turning his face back toward her.
"Look at me."
For a second—
He resisted.
Just slightly.
Then his eyes met hers.
Leah's gaze was steady.
Soft.
But unyielding.
"You didn't know," she said quietly.
"If you did… you would've been there."
He didn't respond.
But he didn't look away either.
"That wasn't your fault."
Her thumb brushed lightly against his cheek.
Slow.
Grounding.
"You didn't fail."
A small silence followed.
The tension in his expression didn't disappear.
But it shifted.
Less sharp.
Less heavy.
Leah's voice softened even more.
"…We can try again."
The words were gentle.
But certain.
Not fragile.
Not unsure.
Just honest.
Izana went completely still.
His eyes searched hers.
As if making sure she meant it.
Really meant it.
And when he found no hesitation—
Something in him eased.
A breath left him slowly.
"…I would like that."
His voice was quieter now.
Warmer.
And before she could respond—
He moved.
Slowly.
Carefully.
His hand slid lightly against her side as he leaned down.
Lower.
Until—
His head rested gently against her stomach.
Leah froze for a moment.
Surprised.
Her breath catching softly.
But she didn't pull away.
Didn't stop him.
Then—
His lips pressed softly against her through the fabric.
A gentle kiss.
Lingering.
Intentional.
Leah's fingers lifted instinctively.
Sliding into his hair.
Careful around the bandage.
Her touch softened as her hand settled there.
Slow.
Comforting.
Her chest tightened.
Because she understood.
That kiss wasn't just about hope.
It was about everything they lost.
And everything they still could have.
Izana stayed there for a moment longer.
Quiet.
Close.
"…I would like that," he repeated softly.
Leah's fingers moved gently through his hair again.
"…Me too," she whispered.
Silence wrapped around them again.
But this time—
It felt warmer.
Lighter.
Then—
Izana shifted slightly.
Lifting his head just enough to look at her.
"If we do…"
His voice was quieter now.
Thoughtful.
"I want a girl."
Leah blinked.
A small smile forming.
"…You're already deciding?"
"Yes."
She let out a soft laugh.
"…That's fast."
"It is efficient."
Leah shook her head slightly.
"…Why a girl?"
A small pause.
Then—
"With your eyes."
Leah's breath caught.
Her fingers stilled briefly.
"…That's not fair."
"It is accurate."
She smiled softly.
Then tilted her head slightly.
"…What if I want a boy?"
Izana's gaze flickered.
"…With your red eyes."
A hint of teasing touched her tone.
Izana watched her for a moment.
Then—
He sat up fully.
Still close.
Still steady.
"…Then we'll have both."
Leah blinked.
"…Both?"
"Yes."
A pause.
Then—
"We'll have two."
Leah stared at him.
Her cheeks warming slightly.
"…You're planning a lot."
"I am being thorough."
She laughed softly.
"…Of course you are."
Izana's hand found hers again.
Fingers intertwining naturally.
Familiar.
Comforting.
But different now.
Because this time—
There was something else between them.
Not just the present.
But the future.
The engines grew louder.
The jet beginning to move.
Slowly at first—
Then faster.
Leah leaned slightly into him.
Her shoulder resting against his.
Her head tilting gently toward him.
Izana's grip tightened just slightly.
Steady.
Grounded.
As the plane lifted—
The world below them faded.
Becoming smaller.
More distant.
But neither of them looked down.
Because for the first time—
They weren't focused on what they lost.
Only on what they could still have.
Together.
And this time—
There was something waiting for them.
Not fear.
Not failure.
But something stronger.
Something they both chose.
Hope.