That night, Amelia couldn't sleep.
She lay in her small, quiet bedroom, the sound of gentle rain brushing against her window. The sketch Ethan had given her sat on her bedside table, the faint pencil lines catching the soft glow of her lamp.
She kept glancing at it.
Her own face drawn with such care.
The flowers she planted.
The tenderness in every stroke.
No one had looked at her like that in years.
No one had bothered to capture her in a moment she hadn't even realized was worth capturing.
Amelia turned onto her side, pulling the blanket to her chest, her heart aching in a way that was both frightening and sweet.
She didn't know what tomorrow would bring.
Or what she could offer.
But she knew something inside her was changing—quietly, undeniably.
And she wasn't ready to run from it anymore.
---
The next morning arrived soft and cool, the scent of wet earth drifting through the air. Amelia tucked the sketch carefully into a book before heading out.
As she stepped outside, she noticed a familiar figure leaning against the lamppost near her shop.
Ethan.
Her breath caught.
He looked up as she approached, offering a gentle smile that warmed her more than the sunlight ever could.
> "Good morning."
"Good morning," she echoed, trying not to look as flustered as she felt. "What are you doing here so early?"
Ethan shrugged lightly.
> "Thought I'd walk you to the library."
Her heart fluttered at the simplicity of the gesture.
"You don't have to do that," she said softly.
"I know. I want to."
The honesty in his voice sank into her like warmth spreading through cold fingers.
She nodded. "Okay."
They fell into step, walking side by side through the quiet streets. The town was waking slowly—shopkeepers lifting shutters, the bakery letting out the smell of warm bread, distant gulls calling near the bay.
Ethan glanced at her.
> "You seemed a little overwhelmed yesterday."
Amelia looked ahead, fingers toying with the edge of her sleeve.
"I was."
He waited patiently.
"But… in a good way," she added quietly.
Ethan's smile softened.
> "I'm glad."
The library came into view, sunlight pooling across the courtyard. They stopped at the gate, but neither moved to go inside.
Amelia took a slow breath.
"Ethan," she murmured, "can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
She hesitated, her voice trembling.
"Why me?"
Ethan looked genuinely surprised.
"What do you mean?"
She swallowed. "I'm… difficult. And guarded. And I carry things I don't know how to put down. So why—"
He stepped closer—not too close, just enough that she could feel the quiet weight of his presence.
> "Amelia. You're not difficult. You're someone who's hurting. Someone who's learning to heal. And none of that makes you unworthy."
Her eyes stung.
"I'm trying," she whispered.
"I know." His voice softened. "And I'm not here to hurry you."
Amelia looked away, blinking fast, but Ethan gently lifted her chin with the lightest touch of his finger—barely there, but enough to stop her from hiding.
> "You don't have to be afraid of being loved," he said quietly.
Her breath trembled.
Her heart did too.
"I am afraid," she whispered.
"I know," he repeated, "but you're still here with me. And that means more than you think."
Their eyes locked—hers full of uncertainty, his full of patience.
The moment stretched, warm and fragile.
Then Ethan pulled his hand back slowly, giving her space again.
> "Let's take this one moment at a time," he said with a small smile.
Amelia nodded, a shaky breath leaving her.
"Okay," she whispered. "One moment at a time."
They walked into the library together.
Not holding hands.
Not rushing.
Just two hearts learning how to move at the same pace.
And for the first time, Amelia didn't feel like she was breaking.
She felt like she was beginning.