Love did not arrive the way stories promised.
It did not come with a confession or a sudden realization, no dramatic shift in the air or pounding heartbeat that demanded attention.
It grew quietly, like moss between cracks in stone, unnoticed until it was already impossible to remove.
Saelith noticed it in the smallest moments.
The way Ireon always walked on the side closest to the road.
The way he handed her the warmer cup of coffee without comment.
The way his eyes searched for her first in every room.
She told herself it was habit.
Survival instincts formed from trauma. Nothing more.
But habits did not tighten her chest the way his absence did.
By the time spring arrived, they were inseparable.
Not in the way couples were, hands tangled and laughter loud, but in a quieter, more constant way.
They studied together, sat together, left together.
Teachers stopped separating them during group activities.
Classmates began to whisper, their names spoken together like a single unit.
"Are you two dating?" someone asked once, careless and curious.
Saelith opened her mouth to answer, but Ireon spoke first. "No."
It was too quick.
Too firm.
She felt something twist inside her, sharp and unexpected.
Later that day, she asked him about it while they sat beneath the bleachers, the air warm and buzzing with insects.
"Why did you say no like that?" she asked, keeping her voice even.
He shrugged. "Because it's not true."
She nodded. "Right."
Silence settled between them, thicker than usual.
Ireon started playing music again.
At first, it was just background noise while Saelith did homework on his bedroom floor. Soft chords, half-formed melodies.
But over time, his playing grew more focused, more emotional.
The music carried something raw, unfinished.
One night, she looked up from her notebook. "That song sounds like it hurts."
He didn't stop playing. "It does."
"Why keep playing it, then?"
"Because stopping hurts more."
She understood that answer too well.
There were moments that almost crossed the line.
His hand lingering too long when he passed her a pen.
Her falling asleep on his shoulder during late-night movies.
The way his voice softened when he said her name.
Neither of them addressed it.
Naming something gave it power, and neither of them was ready to risk breaking what they had.
The first time Saelith realized it wasn't just comfort anymore was during a storm.
Rain pounded against the windows, thunder shaking the house.
Power went out suddenly, plunging the room into darkness.
Saelith flinched, breath catching painfully.
Ireon was beside her instantly.
"It's okay," he said, placing a hand over hers. "I've got you."
The words shouldn't have mattered.
But his hand was warm.
Steady.
Real.
Her heart raced, not from fear, but from the terrifying realization that she wanted him to stay like this forever.
When the lights came back on, neither of them moved their hands away.
They sat there, fingers loosely intertwined, both pretending not to notice, both painfully aware.
Summer arrived, and with it, change.
Ireon received an offer to play with a small local band.
Nothing serious, nothing permanent.
Just something that made his eyes light up again.
"I might be gone some nights," he said cautiously. "Is that okay?"
Saelith smiled, even though something inside her tightened.
"Of course. You should go."
He studied her face. "You're sure?"
"Yes," she said, too quickly.
"You deserve things that make you happy."
He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers for just a second.
"So do you."
That moment stayed with her long after he pulled away.
Saelith:
Love didn't feel like fireworks.
It felt like shelter.
Like someone learning your breathing pattern and matching it without being asked.
And maybe that's why it scared me.
Because if he left…
I didn't know who I would become without him.