The next morning, Adriella woke with the weight of the previous night still clinging to her chest. Tunde's words replayed in her mind like a cruel echo: "We'll see how long this one lasts."
Yet when she reached for her phone, she saw Daniel's message waiting for her:
"Morning, sunshine. I know yesterday was hard. If you want quiet, I'll give it. If you want company, I'll be there in ten minutes. Just say the word."
Adriella pressed the phone against her chest, her heart trembling. Daniel's consistency was beginning to feel like air — something she didn't know how to live without anymore.
She typed back slowly: "Come."
Ten minutes later, he was at her door, holding a small paper bag. Inside was her favorite pastry from the café. He didn't comment on the puffiness around her eyes or the way her hands shook slightly when she let him in. He just placed the bag on the table and said, "Eat first. Talk later."
The simplicity of it undid her.
Over breakfast, the silence between them was comfortable, not strained. Adriella felt herself watching him — the way his fingers curled around the mug, the way his brow furrowed slightly when he blew on his coffee. And for the first time, she let herself imagine a future that wasn't haunted by endings.
After a while, Daniel leaned back in his chair. "We can take the day slow. Maybe walk, maybe read, maybe just sit here. Whatever you want."
Adriella hesitated, then whispered, "I want… to not feel afraid when I'm with you."
Daniel's gaze softened. He reached across the table, his hand resting palm-up, waiting. "Then let's start small. One day at a time."
Her fingers slid into his, tentative but deliberate. And as their hands intertwined, Adriella realized that healing didn't have to come in grand leaps. Sometimes it was in these tiny choices — to trust, to reach, to stay.
They decided to walk through the market later that afternoon. The air was rich with scents of roasted corn and fresh spices, vendors calling out their prices, children weaving through the crowd with laughter. Adriella stayed close to Daniel, her arm brushing against his as if testing the security of his presence.
She felt lighter than she had in weeks, almost like herself again. But just as she allowed herself to breathe, shadows stirred.
It started with whispers. She noticed two women by a fruit stand staring at her, their voices hushed but unmistakable. Then another glance, another pointed finger. The weight of curious, judgmental eyes pressed on her from all sides.
Confused, Adriella slowed. "Why are they staring?" she whispered.
Daniel's jaw tightened. He hesitated before answering. "It's… Tunde. Word travels fast. He's been talking."
Her stomach dropped. "Talking? About me?"
Daniel nodded grimly. "About us. He's telling people you're weak. That you moved on because you couldn't handle being alone. That you'll drag me down the way he claims you dragged him."
The words stung like venom, even though she knew they weren't true. The thought of strangers judging her, whispering about wounds they knew nothing about, reopened scars she had fought so hard to close.
She stopped walking, panic rising in her chest. "Daniel… I can't— I can't do this. I can't be seen as broken again."
Daniel turned to her, his eyes burning with a fierce tenderness. He cupped her face, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Listen to me. They don't know you. They don't know your strength, your heart, your fire. Let them talk. Let Tunde spread his poison. None of that defines you."
Tears welled in her eyes. "But it feels like it does. It feels like the whole world is against me."
Daniel's grip on her hands tightened. "Then let me stand with you against it. You don't have to fight alone anymore."
That evening, as if fate wanted to test those words, Tunde appeared again — this time at the café where Adriella and Daniel had once found their rhythm. He walked in with the swagger of someone who knew he was being watched, his voice carrying louder than necessary.
"So this is what you've settled for?" he sneered, his gaze sweeping over Daniel before landing on Adriella. "Parading around like you've healed, when we both know you're still the broken woman I left behind."
The café fell silent. Eyes turned. Adriella's body went rigid, shame burning her skin. But before she could crumble, Daniel stood, his presence calm but commanding.
"You're right," Daniel said, his voice steady, echoing across the room. "She was broken. But she healed herself. Without you. And she is stronger than you'll ever understand."
A murmur rippled through the café. Tunde's smirk faltered.
Daniel stepped closer, not in aggression, but in quiet certainty. "You left her because you couldn't handle her depth, her courage, her truth. Don't mistake your weakness for hers."
Adriella's chest tightened as gasps and whispers spread around them. For once, the eyes of the crowd didn't feel like judgment. They felt like witnesses to something true — something powerful.
Tunde's face darkened, but he didn't reply. He turned sharply and left, the door slamming behind him.
The café exhaled, the tension dissolving. Adriella sat frozen, her hand trembling in her lap. When Daniel returned to her side, she looked at him through blurred vision, her voice breaking. "Why would you do that? Stand up like that… when he could have humiliated you too?"
Daniel's eyes softened as he took her hand. "Because loving you isn't about avoiding battles. It's about choosing which ones are worth fighting. And Adriella, you are worth every single one."
The dam inside her broke. She leaned forward, her forehead pressing into his chest as sobs shook her body. Daniel wrapped his arms around her, shielding her from the stares, from the whispers, from the world itself.
For the first time, she didn't feel like she was standing in the ruins of her past. She felt like she was standing on the threshold of something new, something steady, something real.
And as Daniel kissed the top of her head, whispering promises she wasn't yet ready to name but longed to believe, Adriella realized that love — this kind of love — wasn't about perfection or speed. It was about choosing, again and again, even when shadows tried to drag you back.