I didn't plan to fall for her this hard.
I told myself I'd take it slow —
keep my heart in the safe corners,
away from the kind of love that changes everything you thought you understood about yourself.
But Elena…
She walked in like calm chaos.
Soft voice. Steady eyes.
And somehow, she carried peace like it was something she'd earned through storms.
You don't meet people like that every day.
The ones who walk into your life and rearrange it,
not loudly,
but with quiet grace that makes your walls forget what they were built for.
Still, I tried to stay careful.
I'd learned that love could turn sharp when you least expect it.
But Marcus's words — his voice — wouldn't leave my head.
"You think you're different?" he'd said,
that mocking half-smile on his face.
"She left me when I had nothing."
I laughed it off then.
Pretended I was above his bitterness.
But later, when the laughter faded and the city went quiet,
his words replayed — again and again —
like a song I didn't choose but couldn't turn off.
Because the truth was —
he wasn't completely wrong about the kind of pain that leaves scars.
I'd been left too.
Once.
Years ago.
By someone who said she loved me,
but couldn't handle my silences,
my long nights,
my obsession with getting everything right.
She said it felt like living with a ghost.
After she left,
I built walls so high even I couldn't see over them.
I buried everything behind schedules, studio sessions, and the illusion of control.
No attachments. No expectations.
No one close enough to break me again.
And then Elena came.
She didn't knock.
She just showed up — in conversations, in laughter, in quiet moments I didn't realize I'd missed.
She didn't ask me to talk.
She just stayed.
And somehow, that was enough to make the walls tremble.
She made me believe that maybe — just maybe —
love didn't always have to hurt to be real.
That peace could be as powerful as passion.
But Marcus's words…
they knew exactly where to land.
Right in that small, fragile part of me that still believed love had an expiration date.
The part that whispered, people only stay when it's easy.
I hated that part of me.
I hated that I let it speak louder than her kindness.
Because Elena's eyes — when she looked at me — they said stay.
Every time. Without words.
And yet tonight, standing by the window,
watching rain hit the glass in rhythmic taps,
I whispered to no one,
"I don't want to lose her."
The city lights blurred behind the raindrops,
and I realized how strange it is —
how love can make you both brave and afraid at the same time.
Brave enough to want forever.
Afraid enough to think you might ruin it.
I thought about the café, about the way she looked at me when I said I didn't know what to believe.
Her eyes didn't accuse me. They understood.
And maybe that was what broke me the most —
that she still chose to stay soft even when I wasn't sure I deserved it.
But love isn't about wanting to stay.
It's about choosing to.
Choosing again and again — even when your fears claw at the edges of your faith.
So I stood there, rain painting the window silver,
my reflection fading behind it,
and I made a quiet promise to myself:
If she's still willing to reach for me,
then I'll meet her halfway.
Not as the man afraid to be left,
but as the one finally learning how to stay.
Because love — real love —
isn't a rescue.
It's a decision.
And tonight, for the first time,
I decided I'd stop running from what was trying to heal me.