Almost Love, Then Everything - Chapter 25: Chapter 25
You are reading Almost Love, Then Everything, Chapter 25: Chapter 25. Read more chapters of Almost Love, Then Everything.
("It wasn’t a kiss.
It wasn’t a confession.
But when her fingers found my hair,
I knew.
I was already hers.")
The rain returned, heavier this time.
It battered against the rooftop in waves, a rhythm that filled the space with its own kind of hush. The world outside blurred into streaks of gray and silver, as if the city itself was being washed clean.
Inside, Leah and Jade were wrapped in silence.
Not avoidance—just a shared peace that didn’t require filling.
Jade was better now. Not fully recovered, but upright. Quieter than usual. Still fragile around the edges, like something recently unbroken.
Leah sat cross-legged on the bed, back against the headboard, a book in her lap she hadn’t turned the page on in fifteen minutes.
Jade lay beside her, head resting in Leah’s lap. Her eyes were half-lidded, not quite asleep, but drifting somewhere soft.
The room smelled faintly of peppermint tea and rain-soaked concrete.
Without really thinking, Leah let her fingers slide into Jade’s hair.
Gently at first.
Just a graze.
Then again—slower this time—combing through tangled strands with deliberate care.
Jade exhaled.
Not a sigh of annoyance, but relief. Surrender.
Like touch was something she didn’t realize she needed until it happened.
“Your hands are warm,” she murmured.
Leah smiled. “You’re not complaining.”
Jade hummed. “Don’t stop.”
So Leah didn’t.
She moved her fingers in soft, looping motions—along Jade’s scalp, behind her ear, down to the base of her neck.
It was the kind of touch that wasn’t about desire, but devotion.
It wasn’t a flirtation.
It was a promise.
And in the stillness of that moment, Leah felt Jade relax beneath her completely.
Like she trusted her.
Like she was safe.
And for Leah, that trust felt heavier than any kiss ever could.
“I used to do this for my sister when she had panic attacks,” Leah said quietly, unsure why she was telling Jade that.
Jade didn’t open her eyes. “Did it help her?”
Leah’s hand paused just long enough to squeeze lightly. “She always said it made her feel like she wasn’t alone.”
Jade shifted slightly, her cheek pressed closer to Leah’s leg.
Then—softly, almost inaudibly—she whispered,
> “I don’t feel alone when I’m with you.”
Leah blinked hard. Her throat tightened.
And in that moment, under a roof soaked in rain, with fingers tangled in dark hair and silence blooming gently between them—
She realized:
She was falling.
Not fast.
Not recklessly.
But deeply.
Surely.
And maybe—just maybe—Jade was, too.
Love doesn’t always announce itself.
Sometimes it shows up
in the quiet way someone touches your hair
and stays through the storm.
It wasn’t a confession.
But when her fingers found my hair,
I knew.
I was already hers.")
The rain returned, heavier this time.
It battered against the rooftop in waves, a rhythm that filled the space with its own kind of hush. The world outside blurred into streaks of gray and silver, as if the city itself was being washed clean.
Inside, Leah and Jade were wrapped in silence.
Not avoidance—just a shared peace that didn’t require filling.
Jade was better now. Not fully recovered, but upright. Quieter than usual. Still fragile around the edges, like something recently unbroken.
Leah sat cross-legged on the bed, back against the headboard, a book in her lap she hadn’t turned the page on in fifteen minutes.
Jade lay beside her, head resting in Leah’s lap. Her eyes were half-lidded, not quite asleep, but drifting somewhere soft.
The room smelled faintly of peppermint tea and rain-soaked concrete.
Without really thinking, Leah let her fingers slide into Jade’s hair.
Gently at first.
Just a graze.
Then again—slower this time—combing through tangled strands with deliberate care.
Jade exhaled.
Not a sigh of annoyance, but relief. Surrender.
Like touch was something she didn’t realize she needed until it happened.
“Your hands are warm,” she murmured.
Leah smiled. “You’re not complaining.”
Jade hummed. “Don’t stop.”
So Leah didn’t.
She moved her fingers in soft, looping motions—along Jade’s scalp, behind her ear, down to the base of her neck.
It was the kind of touch that wasn’t about desire, but devotion.
It wasn’t a flirtation.
It was a promise.
And in the stillness of that moment, Leah felt Jade relax beneath her completely.
Like she trusted her.
Like she was safe.
And for Leah, that trust felt heavier than any kiss ever could.
“I used to do this for my sister when she had panic attacks,” Leah said quietly, unsure why she was telling Jade that.
Jade didn’t open her eyes. “Did it help her?”
Leah’s hand paused just long enough to squeeze lightly. “She always said it made her feel like she wasn’t alone.”
Jade shifted slightly, her cheek pressed closer to Leah’s leg.
Then—softly, almost inaudibly—she whispered,
> “I don’t feel alone when I’m with you.”
Leah blinked hard. Her throat tightened.
And in that moment, under a roof soaked in rain, with fingers tangled in dark hair and silence blooming gently between them—
She realized:
She was falling.
Not fast.
Not recklessly.
But deeply.
Surely.
And maybe—just maybe—Jade was, too.
Love doesn’t always announce itself.
Sometimes it shows up
in the quiet way someone touches your hair
and stays through the storm.
End of Almost Love, Then Everything Chapter 25. Continue reading Chapter 26 or return to Almost Love, Then Everything book page.