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After that, we settled into something neither of us had a name for, but that felt, for the first time, like the right shape.

I spent my days at the university — clubs, classes, a new rhythm. Julian picked me up sometimes after class. My classmates were wide-eyed at the husband who showed up in the parking lot, and I let them be surprised.

I knew something they didn't: we had come within an inch of missing each other. Twice. In two different lives.

One evening I was sitting on Julian's lap, racing to lock in my elective courses before the registration window closed.

His fingers traced lazy patterns along my side.

"A marriage certificate counts toward your graduation credits," he said. "Technically, that's one elective you don't have to take."

"I know. I still want to finish early."

He pressed his face against the back of my neck, unhappy.

"There's another way to get out of a course requirement."

I already knew where this was going.

"Julian, I'm barely nineteen—"

"But I'm afraid to sleep alone."

"You spent years sleeping next to my ashes. Don't tell me you're scared of the dark."

He looked at me. Serious, for once.

"I'm scared of waking up and you being gone."

Something tightened in my chest.

I took his hands and held them still.

"I'm not going anywhere," I said. "I promise. I won't leave you, Julian. Not ever."