The night after Tunde's outburst at the café, Adriella lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. The echo of Daniel's words — "You are worth every single one" — lingered in her chest like a flame she didn't know how to hold.
For years, she had built walls. First from heartbreak, then from shame, then from the quiet fear that maybe she was unlovable. She had convinced herself that love was fragile, temporary, a cruel game of waiting for someone to leave.
But Daniel… Daniel was rewriting the rules.
She picked up her phone and typed a message before she could overthink it.
"Are you still awake?"
Almost immediately, his reply lit up her screen.
"For you, always."
Her heart skipped. She hesitated, then typed: "Come over?"
There was no teasing, no hesitation. Just: "On my way."
Minutes later, she opened the door to find Daniel standing there, hair slightly tousled from the night air, eyes searching hers with quiet concern. "What's wrong?" he asked softly.
"Nothing," Adriella whispered. "And everything."
She stepped aside, letting him in. They sat on the couch, the silence heavy but alive, until she blurted out, "I'm scared."
Daniel reached for her hand. "Of me?"
"No." Her voice cracked. "Of what it means to trust you. To believe that this—" she gestured between them, her chest rising and falling unevenly— "won't collapse like everything else has."
Daniel's thumb traced gentle circles on her skin. "Adriella… I can't promise life won't throw storms at us. I can't promise perfection. But what I can promise is this: I won't run. I won't vanish when things get hard. I'll be here — choosing you."
Tears pricked her eyes, but for the first time, they weren't born of pain. They were born of hope.
"Why me?" she whispered.
His gaze softened, so tender it almost hurt. "Because even in your fear, even in your brokenness, you've shown more courage than most people ever will. Because when you smile, I feel like the world pauses. Because loving you doesn't feel like effort — it feels like breathing."
Her chest tightened, a sob caught between disbelief and release. Slowly, she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder.
Time seemed to stretch as they sat there, the silence no longer a weight but a shelter. Adriella felt her body begin to loosen, her guard falling piece by piece. She confessed things she had never spoken aloud — how lonely the nights were after Tunde left, how she questioned her worth, how she feared she was cursed to drive love away.
Daniel didn't interrupt. He didn't try to fix it. He simply listened, his arm wrapped around her, grounding her in the present.
By the time she finished, her chest felt lighter, as though years of unshed words had finally found a home.
Daniel tilted her chin up gently, his eyes meeting hers. "You don't have to carry that alone anymore. Not with me here."
The kiss that followed wasn't rushed. It wasn't hungry or desperate. It was slow, reverent, a sealing of unspoken promises. Adriella felt her body melt into his, not with fear, but with the quiet certainty that maybe—just maybe—she was safe here.
Later, when they lay curled together on the couch, Adriella whispered into the dark, "Daniel… I think I'm ready."
"Ready for what?" he asked, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.
"To stop running from happiness. To believe that I deserve this… that I deserve you."
Daniel's smile was small but radiant. He pressed his lips to her forehead. "That's all I've ever wanted. For you to believe it too."
Adriella closed her eyes, and for the first time in years, sleep came easily. Not because her fears had vanished, but because she was no longer carrying them alone.