Izzy & Noah ✔️

Seventy - one: Our Journey to Paris

It's a strange, almost unsettling feeling—because Luka is right there, hands on the wheel, just a few feet away from us.

Every now and then, his eyes flicker to the rearview mirror. I notice, but I don't let it distract me.

I press myself closer to Noah, anchoring myself to this moment.

This is finally our time.

For once, we're leaving everything behind—our worries, our responsibilities, the weight of London pressing on our shoulders. Here, in this city, we get to be just us.

And yet, a small, nervous thought creeps in. What will he think when he sees me as I really am? Not the version of me that exists in fleeting moments, but the whole, unfiltered truth.

I'm just an ordinary girl with a quiet life.

I don't go out partying until dawn. I'd rather spend my nights curled up with a book, lost in music, safe within my own walls.

Who am I, really?

It's a question I've been asking myself a lot lately. If I strip away the labels—if I'm not a nurse, not a daughter, not a partner—who is left?

I am Izzy. Simple, quiet, curious. Funny, sometimes witty, sometimes an absolute fool.

I lean my head against Noah's shoulder, letting his warmth settle me.

As expected, it's Friday afternoon, everyone is rushing in and out of town, the drive to the airport takes a little longer anyway, but I don't mind, and neither does Noah.

We've somehow calculated that even if it takes a little longer, we'll still make it to the plane in time.

The drive is quiet, the radio keeps playing. As we leave the city, the buildings disappear one by one.

But there's a certain nervous energy in the air, something unspoken that settled over me the moment I slid into the car.

I steal a glance at Noah, then lean in just enough so only he can hear me. "I love you."

His eyes soften as he turns toward me. "I love you too."

That's all I need.

This thing with Noah—it's real, it's right, it's everything. There's no doubt in my mind.

I glance down at my hand, at the engagement ring now resting on my finger. The metal is cool against my skin, but my heart is warm, steady. This is where I'm meant to be.

Butterflies stir in my stomach. Excitement. Nerves. The weight of a new chapter waiting to begin.

The car slows, pulling up to the airport.

We've arrived.

"We have arrived," Luka announces dully.

It's the first thing he's said since we left the institute. The entire drive, he was silent, his presence like a heavy shadow in the front seat. Then again, Luka's never been much of a talker.

Noah thanks him for the ride as we step out. The air feels cooler here, sharper. We pull our bags from the boot, the soft thud of it closing marking the finality of our departure. Luka doesn't say goodbye—just a nod, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. Then he's gone.

As we pass through the airport gates, I turn to Noah. "How come Luka volunteered to drive us?"

"Getting a taxi was a bit of a problem. But since I have my car in the garage, I figured why not? It's been sitting there for months."