Being with him does something to me I didn’t know I needed. The tightness in my chest eases. My shoulders drop, a fraction at first, then more, until I realize how much I’d been carrying without noticing.
He slipped into my days without asking—into the spaces I didn’t even know were waiting to be filled. A cup of hot chocolateset beside me without a word. A laugh I can pick out without looking. A presence I’ve started to expect.
I didn’t notice when it happened.
Only now—when I imagine him gone—do I feel the space he’s taken up, sudden and undeniable, pressing against my chest.
“I need to say something,” I add, the words coming out quickly.
He nods. Waits. He doesn’t rush me. Doesn’t interrupt. He just stays.
“I—” The word sticks. I push past it anyway. “You’re really important to me.”
His expression softens, but he stays silent, letting me finish.
“You matter. A lot.” The confession rushes out of me. “You have always been here. Always felt safe.” My fingers curl into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms. “I don’t want to lose that.”
My chest tightens, the next part harder to get through. “I’ve never—” I stop, shake my head, start again. “I’ve never gotten to do things on my own.”
The words keep coming. “I went from my father’s house to Julian’s. From one set of rules to another. From being someone’s daughter to being someone’s wife.” My voice wobbles, but I don’t stop. Icannotstop. “I was barely an adult. I didn’t get to choose anything.”
Kieran’s jaw tightens. His hands curl into fists at his sides. He looks away, his gaze dropping to the floor. When he looks back at me, his eyes soften again.
“And now,” I say, my hands coming together in front of me, fingers pressing lightly against each other. “Now I’m starting to choose. I’m building something that’s mine. I’m learning how to sit with myself… how to want things, how to say them out loud.” A faint smile slips through. “I want more of that.”
I hold his eyes. “I want to be with myself.” I straighten, shoulders settling into place. “Before I try to be with anyone else.”
The silence after is thick. Waiting. It stretches between us, holding everything I’ve just laid bare—the fear, the wanting, the fear of wanting.
I wait.
For the disappointment. For the shift. For the beginning of losing him.
Instead, hesmiles.
Open. Unrestrained. The smile reaches his eyes. It softens his whole face. Pride lighting it.
“Good,” he says.
“Good?” I repeat, thrown.
He sees it—how quickly my mind went somewhere else, how I was already preparing for loss.
“Do I make you uncomfortable now?” he asks.
I shake my head immediately. “No. You don’t.”
“Okay.” He studies me for a second, making sure I mean it. “Do you like sitting here with me every day?”
“Yes.” It comes out without hesitation. There’s no space between the question and the answer.
He nods, a sense of resolve forming in his expression. “And do you want to keep doing that? Spending these fifteen minutes together?”
I nod slowly. “Yes.”
He shrugs lightly. “Then nothing’s changing.”
I stare at him, trying to understand.
