The fading sunlight turned the courtyard gold as Amelia stood with Ethan, their hands still intertwined.
The warmth of his palms steadied her, grounding her in a way she hadn't felt in years.
For a moment, the world felt still.
Soft.
Gentle.
Then Amelia slowly pulled her hands back—not out of fear, but because she needed to breathe.
Ethan let go immediately, though the softness in his eyes didn't dim for a second.
"Do you want to sit for a moment?" he asked.
Amelia nodded.
They walked to a wooden bench near the newly blooming flowerbeds. The air smelled like wet earth and fresh petals, the sky painted in warm shades of pink and amber.
Amelia sat, fingers tucked into her sleeves. Ethan sat beside her, leaving a comfortable amount of space.
She glanced at him.
"You always do that."
"Do what?" he asked gently.
"Leave space. Even when I'm the one coming closer."
Ethan smiled softly.
> "I want you to come closer because you want to. Not because you feel cornered."
Her heart tightened.
Most people had never understood that about her.
Ethan understood without needing to be told.
"I'm not used to this," she admitted. "Being treated like I matter. Being given time."
His voice softened.
> "You matter, Amelia. And you deserve all the time you need."
She looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap.
"You're so patient. Aren't you afraid I'll never be ready?"
Ethan turned slightly, his voice steady.
> "If all I ever get is moments like today… I'd still choose you."
Her breath hitched.
She looked up, meeting his eyes—steady, warm, unwavering.
There was no pressure there.
No expectation.
Just a quiet truth that made her chest ache.
"Ethan…" she whispered.
He tilted his head. "Mm?"
"Why me? Why not someone who isn't so… complicated?"
Ethan chuckled softly.
Not at her.
Never at her.
> "Because I don't want simple. I want real."
"And you're the realest thing I've ever felt."
Amelia blinked fast, her eyes warming.
A soft breeze drifted through the courtyard, lifting a few petals into the air. One landed gently on the bench between them.
Amelia traced the petal with her fingertip.
"I'm trying to learn how to trust again."
Ethan's voice dropped to a murmur.
> "Then let's start with this—trust that I'm not going anywhere."
She inhaled shakily.
Ethan reached out, but instead of taking her hand, he placed his palm on the bench between them—an invitation, not a demand.
Amelia stared at his hand.
Her heart pounded.
Her breath wavered.
Then, slowly…
quietly…
she placed her hand over his.
Not interlocking fingers.
Not a firm hold.
Just her hand resting on top of his—gentle, fragile, but willing.
Ethan stilled, a breath catching in his throat.
He didn't move.
Didn't close his fingers.
He just let her lead.
Amelia looked down at their hands, voice trembling.
"This is all I can give today."
Ethan smiled—warm and full of something almost grateful.
> "Then today is perfect."
She lifted her eyes, and for the first time…
she didn't look away.
Something inside her shifted quietly.
Like a door opening.
Like a wound beginning to close.
"I like this," she whispered. "Being with you. Even when nothing big happens."
Ethan's expression softened in a way that made her chest ache.
> "The little moments are the ones that matter."
He paused, then added gently:
> "Especially with you."
She took a shaky breath, and for the first time in a long time, Amelia let her shoulders relax.
Let the tension melt.
Let herself lean—just a little—toward him.
Not touching.
Not rushing.
Just existing near him.
Together.
They stayed like that until the sky grew darker, the stars hinting through the clouds. Neither spoke. Neither needed to.
It was enough just to be there.
Beside him.
Safe.
Seen.
Wanted.
And Amelia realized something she wasn't quite ready to say aloud:
If this was what falling felt like…
maybe she didn't mind falling after all.