The rain eased into a soft drizzle, like the sky was finally letting itself breathe. The park around them glowed faintly under the streetlamps—gentle light pooling on the wet pathway, the leaves shimmering with silver droplets. The world felt hushed, wrapped in a comforting softness that made every heartbeat sound louder.
Amelia stayed with her head resting against Ethan's shoulder, her fingers still laced with his.
She didn't move.
Didn't rush.
Didn't overthink.
For once, she allowed herself to simply be.
Ethan kept still, afraid to disturb the moment. He held her hand carefully, his thumb brushing her knuckles in slow, soothing circles.
"You're quiet," he murmured.
"So are you," she replied softly.
"I don't want to break the peace."
Amelia smiled faintly.
"Then don't."
Ethan exhaled, a quiet, content breath that warmed her cheek.
After a moment, Amelia shifted slightly, sitting up but not moving away. Her fingers remained in his, her body still close, her breaths deepening as she turned to him.
"Ethan," she whispered.
He met her gaze gently.
"Yes?"
"Do you ever feel like… you're afraid of wanting something too much?"
He paused—just for a heartbeat—then nodded.
"Yes," he said quietly.
"But not because wanting is wrong.
Because I'm afraid of wanting something I might lose."
Amelia felt that like a soft echo inside her.
"That's how I feel too," she admitted.
"Like if I want too much, something will take it away."
Ethan's grip tightened—slow, careful, reassuring.
"I won't be taken away," he murmured.
"Not unless you ask me to go."
Her breath trembled.
"I won't ask that."
"Then I'm here."
Amelia looked at their joined hands.
"Is it strange that I feel safer with you than I have with anyone in years?"
Ethan shook his head gently.
"No.
It just means something in you recognizes me."
She swallowed.
"Recognizes what?"
"That I'm not here to hurt you," he said softly.
"That I want to understand you.
And that I'm willing to go slow, even if slow takes a long time."
Amelia drew a quiet breath that almost turned into a small, emotional laugh.
"You're dangerous in your own way," she whispered.
Ethan blinked.
"Dangerous? How?"
"You say things that make me feel too much."
A small, surprised smile touched his lips.
"And is that bad?"
She looked down at their intertwined fingers.
"No," she whispered.
"It's not bad at all."
Ethan shifted slightly, not closer, not away—just enough to face her more fully.
"Amelia," he said gently.
"You can want things. Even scary ones."
She raised her eyes to his, heart racing softly.
"What if what I want… is you?"
Ethan froze.
Not from fear—
from how deeply the words struck him.
His voice, when it came, was almost a whisper.
"Then you should know… I want you too."
Amelia inhaled sharply, emotion filling her chest like warm light.
"I don't know how to do this," she said honestly.
"You don't have to know."
Ethan squeezed her hand gently.
"You just have to be here. With me."
"And is that enough?" she asked quietly.
He nodded once—slow, certain.
"For me… it's everything."
Amelia felt her throat tighten.
Her chest warmed with something steady and new.
Not fear.
Not uncertainty.
Hope.
She shifted closer—just an inch—letting their knees brush.
Ethan's breath hitched softly.
"I'm trying," she whispered.
"You're doing more than trying," he murmured.
"You're choosing."
Amelia let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.
Then, with bravery that startled even herself, she leaned in—not to kiss him, but to press her forehead gently against his.
Ethan closed his eyes immediately, breath trembling.
"Amelia…" he whispered, aching in the softest way.
She closed her eyes too, letting the closeness settle deep inside her.
"I've never wanted someone to stay like this before," she whispered.
"Then let me stay."
And under the soft drizzle,
with their foreheads touching
and their hands entwined,
Amelia realized she wasn't afraid of the future—
not with Ethan sitting beside her in the quiet, gentle night.