Hearing him diagnose his own nerves makes me smile. Paul’s learning how to deal. Even better, he’s learning how to be happy.

How to be loved.

Two days after I got my admission letter to the Ruskin School of Fine Art, he accepted Cambridge University’s postdoc offer. Oxford’s very close to Cambridge, which means we’ll be able to see each other every weekend. But we’ll still have our own college experiences, our own chances to explore and grow up.

Above all, we have our chance to create our shared destiny, together.

The Firebird was built one equation at a time. My paintings are the result of countless small brushstrokes, each one shaded with a different blend of colors, each one with a single, deliberate purpose. Every moment, every day, we are all making something—whether it’s science or art, a relationship or a destiny—building it choice by choice, moment by moment. Our decisions shape other people’s worlds as well as our own. We are all the center of our own universe, and all of us in someone else’s orbit. It’s a paradox, but sometimes paradoxes are where truth begins.

My father would point out that the Beatles told us all of this decades ago. They once sang that in the end, the love we take is equal to the love we make. No, we can never be in complete control of our fates—we’re all vulnerable to accidents, to cruelty, and to the random misfortune of life. But I try to think about how much of it is up to us. We decide what emotions serve as our building blocks, which feelings we’ll use to shape our universe.

So Paul and I are creating a world, side by side, day by day. We have no idea what our future holds, only that we are making it together.

And we’re going to make it beautiful.

The jet engines whirr louder as our plane taxis down the runway. I glance back toward the airport, where I imagine Mom and Dad are still wiping away tears. Paul grips my hand so tightly that I wonder if he’s phobic. “You aren’t afraid of flying, are you?”

“No. I’m familiar with both safety statistics and the laws of aerodynamics.” At first I think Paul has gone back into Spock mode, but then he smiles with so much warmth that it’s like stepping into sunlight. “I just wanted to hold on to you.”

I squeeze his hand back just as hard. “I’m not letting go.”

The plane accelerates, pressing us both back into our seats so firmly that we laugh. As we rush forward, faster and faster, we lift off from the ground and claim the sky.