Almost Love, Then Everything - Chapter 21: Chapter 21
You are reading Almost Love, Then Everything, Chapter 21: Chapter 21. Read more chapters of Almost Love, Then Everything.
("Some truths don’t explode.
They unfold—softly, painfully,
like flowers blooming in winter.")
Jade hadn’t planned to say anything.
She never did, really. Her heart was too used to being quiet, too practiced in staying hidden. But something about the way Leah looked at her lately—like she was waiting without pushing—made the silence harder to carry.
It was late again. They were lying in Jade’s room, both on their backs, facing the ceiling like it had answers carved into it.
A playlist played softly through her old Bluetooth speaker—slow, instrumental, no lyrics. Too vulnerable for words.
Leah turned her head slightly toward her. “You’re quiet tonight.”
Jade let out a breath through her nose. “I’m always quiet.”
“Quieter than usual, then.”
Jade smiled faintly. Then, after a pause, she said, “Can I tell you something?”
Leah nodded without hesitation. “Always.”
Jade stared at the ceiling as if what she was about to say was too fragile to say while making eye contact.
“When I was sixteen,” she began, voice soft and even, “I fell in love with my best friend.”
Leah blinked. Said nothing.
“She didn’t know. I never told her. She liked boys. I… didn’t know how to like anyone else but her.”
A pause.
“She told me once—‘You’re the kind of person who makes me feel safe.’ And I wanted to ask her if she’d ever felt safe enough to wonder… about us. But I never did.”
Leah’s eyes were on her, unmoving.
“She moved away before senior year. We didn’t say goodbye properly. I think she knew, though. I think she just didn’t want to make it harder.”
Jade swallowed. Her voice barely held.
“I haven’t let myself feel like that since. Not until you.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty.
It was full of breathing. Of unspoken awe. Of the sound of hearts creaking open.
Leah rolled onto her side, facing her.
And for once, Jade didn’t look away.
“You’ve been carrying that for a long time,” Leah said gently.
Jade nodded.
Leah reached out, her fingers brushing Jade’s—slowly, like she knew exactly how much space to give.
“You don’t have to carry it alone anymore,” she whispered.
Jade let out a shaky breath. “I’m afraid if I let myself feel everything… I’ll drown.”
Leah’s hand slid into hers.
“I’ll be right here,” she said. “You can come up for air whenever you need.”
And just like that, the wall Jade had kept around herself cracked—just a little. Enough to let the light in.
Enough to let Leah in.
Some confessions aren’t loud.
They’re whispered into dark rooms,
handed over like secrets
you hope someone will keep safe.
And when they do—
you start to believe maybe you can be safe, too.
They unfold—softly, painfully,
like flowers blooming in winter.")
Jade hadn’t planned to say anything.
She never did, really. Her heart was too used to being quiet, too practiced in staying hidden. But something about the way Leah looked at her lately—like she was waiting without pushing—made the silence harder to carry.
It was late again. They were lying in Jade’s room, both on their backs, facing the ceiling like it had answers carved into it.
A playlist played softly through her old Bluetooth speaker—slow, instrumental, no lyrics. Too vulnerable for words.
Leah turned her head slightly toward her. “You’re quiet tonight.”
Jade let out a breath through her nose. “I’m always quiet.”
“Quieter than usual, then.”
Jade smiled faintly. Then, after a pause, she said, “Can I tell you something?”
Leah nodded without hesitation. “Always.”
Jade stared at the ceiling as if what she was about to say was too fragile to say while making eye contact.
“When I was sixteen,” she began, voice soft and even, “I fell in love with my best friend.”
Leah blinked. Said nothing.
“She didn’t know. I never told her. She liked boys. I… didn’t know how to like anyone else but her.”
A pause.
“She told me once—‘You’re the kind of person who makes me feel safe.’ And I wanted to ask her if she’d ever felt safe enough to wonder… about us. But I never did.”
Leah’s eyes were on her, unmoving.
“She moved away before senior year. We didn’t say goodbye properly. I think she knew, though. I think she just didn’t want to make it harder.”
Jade swallowed. Her voice barely held.
“I haven’t let myself feel like that since. Not until you.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty.
It was full of breathing. Of unspoken awe. Of the sound of hearts creaking open.
Leah rolled onto her side, facing her.
And for once, Jade didn’t look away.
“You’ve been carrying that for a long time,” Leah said gently.
Jade nodded.
Leah reached out, her fingers brushing Jade’s—slowly, like she knew exactly how much space to give.
“You don’t have to carry it alone anymore,” she whispered.
Jade let out a shaky breath. “I’m afraid if I let myself feel everything… I’ll drown.”
Leah’s hand slid into hers.
“I’ll be right here,” she said. “You can come up for air whenever you need.”
And just like that, the wall Jade had kept around herself cracked—just a little. Enough to let the light in.
Enough to let Leah in.
Some confessions aren’t loud.
They’re whispered into dark rooms,
handed over like secrets
you hope someone will keep safe.
And when they do—
you start to believe maybe you can be safe, too.
End of Almost Love, Then Everything Chapter 21. Continue reading Chapter 22 or return to Almost Love, Then Everything book page.