The next morning, Adriella lay awake long before the sun rose, staring at the ceiling as shadows crawled across her room. Sleep had been a stranger, slipping from her grasp the moment her eyes closed. Every time she drifted near rest, Chioma's words replayed like a haunting refrain: He left. He walked away once before. What makes you think he won't do it again?
Her chest tightened with the same ache she thought she had buried months ago. Trust — fragile, hard-earned, and new — now felt like glass on the verge of shattering.
When she finally dragged herself from bed, her reflection in the mirror startled her. She looked like the ghost of the woman she used to be: hollow-eyed, lips pressed thin, a storm raging silently within.
She brewed coffee she didn't drink. She opened her journal but left the page blank. And when her phone buzzed with Daniel's name, she let it ring until the sound became unbearable, then silenced it.
For hours, Adriella wandered through her day like someone half-present. The market stalls were bright with fruits and spices, voices hummed around her, life moved forward in its relentless rhythm. Yet she felt apart from it all, trapped in her head, in the echo of every fear.
What if Daniel is just like him? What if the warmth I've begun to lean on is only a temporary illusion? What if I am a fool, repeating my own mistakes?
That evening, she sat by her window, staring at the city lights flickering alive one by one. Somewhere out there, she knew Daniel was waiting for her answer, waiting for her to trust him enough to stay.
And she hated that she couldn't decide.
The knock on her door startled her. When she opened it, Daniel stood there, his expression uncertain, his shirt damp from the drizzle that had begun outside. His presence filled the doorway — steady, quiet, achingly familiar.
"I called," he said softly. "You didn't pick up."
"I couldn't," she whispered, eyes downcast.
He didn't push inside, didn't demand. He just stood there, the rain dripping from his hair, patience etched into every line of his face. "Adriella… if you need space, I'll give it. But please don't shut me out completely."
Her throat tightened. Tears burned at the edges of her eyes. "I don't know how to do this, Daniel. I don't know how to trust… not when I've been broken before. And hearing about your past — it just feels like proof that I was right to be afraid all along."
Daniel's face shifted — pain, regret, longing all tangled together. "Yes, I failed once. I won't deny that. I walked away when I shouldn't have. But don't let who I was then erase who I am now."
She wanted to believe him. She did believe him — at least part of her did. She had seen the tenderness in his eyes, the way he never rushed her, the quiet way he carried her pain as if it were his own. But another part of her, the part still bleeding from old wounds, screamed caution.
"People don't just change overnight," she said, her voice trembling.
"No," Daniel admitted. "But people can grow. And I have. Because of what I lost, because of what I've faced… and because of you." His voice dropped lower, softer. "Adriella, you've taught me what it means to stay. Don't let fear rob us of what we've started building."
Her tears spilled then, hot and heavy. She pressed a hand to her chest as if to hold herself together.
"I'm scared," she confessed.
Daniel reached for her hand but stopped halfway, leaving the choice to her. His fingers hovered in the air, trembling slightly, as if he too was afraid she would recoil.
Adriella's hand ached to close the gap, but she couldn't. Not yet. Instead, she whispered, "I need time."
And this time, Daniel's shoulders sagged, as though the weight of those words pierced deeper than before. But he didn't argue. He didn't plead. He simply nodded, his eyes glistening under the porch light.
"I'll wait," he said quietly. "For as long as it takes."
When he turned and walked into the drizzle, Adriella's chest constricted so tightly it hurt to breathe. She closed the door slowly, leaning against it as the tears finally broke free.
She wanted to run after him. She wanted to trust. She wanted to fall into the arms of the man who had kissed her under the streetlights and made her laugh again after months of silence.
But the shadows of doubt were strong, and healing was never a straight path. It was jagged, messy, filled with steps forward and steps back.
And tonight, Adriella felt herself slipping backward, even as her heart ached to move toward the light.