Almost Love, Then Everything - Chapter 24: Chapter 24
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("She looked like hell.
Eyes red, nose running, hair a mess—
and I’d never wanted to kiss someone more in my life.
Not because she looked perfect.
But because she finally let me see her unguarded.")
Jade didn’t text that morning.
She usually sent something—
a sleepy selfie, a sarcastic meme, a “good morning, pain in my ass”—
but there was nothing today.
At first Leah didn’t think much of it.
But by noon, she had a feeling.
Not panic.
Just that quiet tug in her chest she’d come to associate with Jade.
So she showed up.
With orange juice, fever meds, and a slightly overdramatic knock on the door.
When Jade opened it, she looked… awful.
Her hoodie was three sizes too big, her hair was knotted into some sad attempt at a bun, and her voice was hoarse.
“Don’t look at me,” she croaked. “I’m a swamp creature.”
Leah pushed past her with a smirk. “You always say that like it’s a new development.”
“Rude,” Jade muttered, flopping onto the couch.
Leah didn’t reply. She just gently set the things down, walked over, and sat beside her.
Not too close—just close enough to let Jade know she wasn’t going anywhere.
Hours passed in quiet care.
Leah coaxed her into drinking water. She rubbed Jade’s back when she coughed too hard. She watched as Jade dozed off mid-sentence, then covered her gently with a blanket.
And when Jade stirred awake, she found Leah sitting on the floor, legs crossed, reading one of her old poetry books.
Jade blinked. Her voice cracked. “You stayed.”
Leah looked up. Smiled softly. “Of course I did.”
Jade tried to speak, but her throat caught.
So Leah set the book down and came closer.
She brushed Jade’s hair from her damp forehead and said the most honest thing in her heart:
> “I don’t love you because you’re strong all the time, you know.
I care about all of you.
Even the miserable, snotty, dramatic you.”
Jade let out a weak laugh, her eyes glassy.
“Careful,” she whispered. “You’re dangerously close to sounding like you love me.”
Leah didn’t flinch.
She didn’t look away.
She just held Jade’s gaze and whispered,
> “Maybe I do.”
Jade blinked.
And then—smiled.
Too tired to make a joke.
Too raw to hide behind one.
And in the stillness of that moment, something unspoken passed between them.
A thread.
A vow.
A quiet understanding that love wasn’t always fireworks.
Sometimes, it was just showing up.
Even when there’s nothing pretty about it.
Love isn’t loud.
Sometimes it’s DayQuil,
a warm blanket,
and someone who chooses to stay
even when you have nothing left to offer.
Eyes red, nose running, hair a mess—
and I’d never wanted to kiss someone more in my life.
Not because she looked perfect.
But because she finally let me see her unguarded.")
Jade didn’t text that morning.
She usually sent something—
a sleepy selfie, a sarcastic meme, a “good morning, pain in my ass”—
but there was nothing today.
At first Leah didn’t think much of it.
But by noon, she had a feeling.
Not panic.
Just that quiet tug in her chest she’d come to associate with Jade.
So she showed up.
With orange juice, fever meds, and a slightly overdramatic knock on the door.
When Jade opened it, she looked… awful.
Her hoodie was three sizes too big, her hair was knotted into some sad attempt at a bun, and her voice was hoarse.
“Don’t look at me,” she croaked. “I’m a swamp creature.”
Leah pushed past her with a smirk. “You always say that like it’s a new development.”
“Rude,” Jade muttered, flopping onto the couch.
Leah didn’t reply. She just gently set the things down, walked over, and sat beside her.
Not too close—just close enough to let Jade know she wasn’t going anywhere.
Hours passed in quiet care.
Leah coaxed her into drinking water. She rubbed Jade’s back when she coughed too hard. She watched as Jade dozed off mid-sentence, then covered her gently with a blanket.
And when Jade stirred awake, she found Leah sitting on the floor, legs crossed, reading one of her old poetry books.
Jade blinked. Her voice cracked. “You stayed.”
Leah looked up. Smiled softly. “Of course I did.”
Jade tried to speak, but her throat caught.
So Leah set the book down and came closer.
She brushed Jade’s hair from her damp forehead and said the most honest thing in her heart:
> “I don’t love you because you’re strong all the time, you know.
I care about all of you.
Even the miserable, snotty, dramatic you.”
Jade let out a weak laugh, her eyes glassy.
“Careful,” she whispered. “You’re dangerously close to sounding like you love me.”
Leah didn’t flinch.
She didn’t look away.
She just held Jade’s gaze and whispered,
> “Maybe I do.”
Jade blinked.
And then—smiled.
Too tired to make a joke.
Too raw to hide behind one.
And in the stillness of that moment, something unspoken passed between them.
A thread.
A vow.
A quiet understanding that love wasn’t always fireworks.
Sometimes, it was just showing up.
Even when there’s nothing pretty about it.
Love isn’t loud.
Sometimes it’s DayQuil,
a warm blanket,
and someone who chooses to stay
even when you have nothing left to offer.
End of Almost Love, Then Everything Chapter 24. Continue reading Chapter 25 or return to Almost Love, Then Everything book page.