Chapter 34 – The Garden That Grew from Ashes
The city was quieter now.
Not silent—but softer. As though it, too, had been holding its breath for years and finally let it go.
Bea and Nova walked hand-in-hand through streets that once haunted them. They passed the old station where Bea had first hidden from Lucien's spies, the cracked alley where Nova had taken her first hit defending her, the café where they once watched the world through fogged windows.
Everything was different now.
Or maybe they were.
Bea looked up at the dusk sky. "We should plant something," she said softly.
Nova turned. "Here? In the city?"
Bea nodded. "Right in the middle of where it all burned."
Nova smiled, that slow, crooked grin that always meant she was already building something in her mind. "Then let's plant something that never dies."
They chose the old lot behind the abandoned library—a place overgrown with vines, forgotten by time, fenced off like a memory no one wanted to remember. But it was theirs now.
They cleared it together.
Pulled weeds, removed rusted wire, broke down the rotting fence piece by piece. Bea's hands bled. Nova's shoulders ached. They didn't care.
"This is where our roots will go," Bea whispered.
The garden began with seeds—literal and symbolic. Lavender for peace. Jasmine for love. Marigolds for memory. And something wild and untamed—red poppies for resistance.
Each plant had a story. Each row a vow.
At night, they wrote. Nova's fingers moved quickly across keys, crafting the words of survivors, the testimony of truth. Bea added poems between the lines—gentle verses to hold the pain in something beautiful.
By day, they built. By night, they healed.
Sometimes Bea would wake in sweat, choking on past screams. Nova would hold her until the tremors eased, whispering, "We're safe now. You're here. I'm here."
And some nights Nova would sit by the window, her scars aching from cold and memory. Bea would come behind her, wrapping arms around her waist, humming softly until the shadows faded.
The garden grew.
And so did they.
---
A few weeks later, something happened that changed everything again.
Bea received a message—an invitation.
"TEDx: Speak your truth. Tell your story. Let the world know how gardens grow from ashes."
She stared at it for a long time.
"I don't know if I'm ready," she whispered.
Nova sat beside her, thumb tracing the back of her hand. "Babe… You don't have to be ready. You just have to be real."
Bea nodded. And cried.
But she accepted.
---
The day of the talk arrived. The theater was packed. Cameras flashed. Lights buzzed.
Bea stepped onto the stage—not as a victim. Not as a broken girl.
But as the storm that survived the fire.
She looked into the crowd. Somewhere, Nova was watching, hands clasped over her heart.
Bea took a breath.
"I used to think healing was quiet. That I had to do it alone, in the dark, away from eyes and noise and reminders. But healing is messy. Loud. Honest. It's letting someone hold your shaking hands while you speak the names of your pain out loud."
The room stilled.
She continued.
"I'm here because someone loved me enough to stay. Someone wrote with me. Bled with me. Dug their hands in the dirt beside mine. Together, we built a garden where there used to be a graveyard."
Pictures of the garden flashed behind her.
Flowers blooming between cracks. Kids painting signs. Survivors gathered in a circle, laughing, crying, living.
"I'm Bea. And this is Nova's story too. This is your story. It belongs to anyone who was told to shut up, sit still, and forget."
Applause. Standing ovation. Floods of tears.
But Bea didn't smile for the crowd.
She looked at the camera.
She smiled for Nova.
---
That night, they returned to the garden.
Under moonlight, Nova wrapped her arms around Bea from behind, pressing a kiss to her neck.
"You were brilliant."
Bea tilted her head back against Nova's shoulder. "You made me brave."
Nova shook her head. "No, Bea. You made yourself seen. I just loved you the way you deserved all along."
A soft breeze rustled the flowers.
Bea turned, forehead resting against Nova's.
"Will you marry me?"
Nova blinked. Froze. Laughed. Cried.
"Yes. God, yes."
They didn't have a ring. Just a garden. Just a promise.
And that was everything.