The night air grew cooler, but neither Amelia nor Ethan seemed eager to move. The world around them felt suspended—soft, quiet, wrapped in a calm that made everything else fade away.
Eventually, Amelia lifted her head from his shoulder, but she didn't pull away. She looked up at Ethan with a softness that still surprised her every time she felt it.
"It's getting late," she murmured.
Ethan nodded, though he didn't stand.
"It is."
Neither of them moved.
Amelia took a slow breath.
Her voice was steady when she spoke again.
"Will you… walk me home?"
Ethan stood up gently, offering his hand.
"Of course."
She placed her hand in his carefully, feeling the warmth settle between their palms. When she rose, she ended up closer to him than she expected. Their breaths mixed softly in the cool night air.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Yes."
They started walking again, side by side, sharing the umbrella though the rain had already stopped. They stayed close anyway—because closeness now felt natural, earned, intentional.
Amelia kept glancing at their joined hands, unable to stop the way her lips kept curving into a soft smile.
"You're smiling," Ethan murmured, amusement touching his voice.
"You noticed?"
"I notice everything about you."
She looked up, cheeks warming.
"That's… a lot."
"It's honest."
She didn't know what to say to that, so she squeezed his hand lightly instead. Ethan squeezed back.
As they walked past the bakery again, the warm scent drifted through the night. Amelia paused without even realizing it.
Ethan noticed first.
"Do you want something?"
She smiled at the window.
"Maybe a pastry. For later."
"Then let's get one."
But the lights were off. The shop was closed.
Amelia frowned softly.
"Oh. I forgot it gets dark early now."
Ethan stepped a little closer, his voice warm.
"We'll come tomorrow."
Her eyes softened.
"You say that like it's already planned."
"It is," he said simply.
They continued walking, the quiet between them peaceful and intimate.
When they reached her street, Amelia's steps slowed. A familiar nervous flutter touched her chest—not fear, but something fragile and hopeful.
"This is my building," she whispered.
Ethan looked up at it, then back at her.
"I'll walk you to the door."
She hesitated.
"You don't have to."
"I want to."
Her heart warmed in a way she couldn't contain.
"Okay," she whispered.
They reached the entrance, the overhead lamp casting a golden glow on the doorstep. Amelia turned to face him, standing just a little closer than necessary.
"Thank you," she said softly.
"For tonight."
Ethan shook his head faintly.
"Don't thank me," he murmured.
"I wanted to be here. With you."
Amelia looked down at their intertwined hands again.
"I liked… everything," she said, shy but honest.
"Walking. Talking. Sitting with you. All of it."
Ethan's eyes softened with something deep and warm.
"Me too."
She slowly released his hand—but only so she could reach up and adjust his collar lightly. A small, shy gesture. Tender.
Ethan stilled at the touch, his breath catching.
"Amelia…" he whispered.
She lowered her hand slowly, heart fluttering.
"I'll see you tomorrow?" she asked softly.
Ethan's answer held no hesitation at all.
"I wouldn't miss it."
She smiled, warm and full.
"Goodnight, Ethan."
He stepped back slowly—carefully, like he was reluctant to leave—and gave her one last gentle look.
"Goodnight, Amelia."
She watched him walk away, her chest warm, her heart steady, a soft glow blooming inside her.
And for the first time in a long time,
Amelia went upstairs feeling light—
as if something gentle and beautiful had finally begun.