Almost Love, Then Everything - Chapter 26: Chapter 26
You are reading Almost Love, Then Everything, Chapter 26: Chapter 26. Read more chapters of Almost Love, Then Everything.
("It wasn’t about showing off.
It was about not hiding.
And when her fingers curled around mine—
even the sky felt smaller than what I felt for her.")
The coffee shop was loud.
Not in an unbearable way—but filled with the low hum of conversation, clinking cups, the hiss of steamed milk. A Saturday kind of busy. The kind where people had nowhere to be except exactly where they were.
Leah and Jade had snagged a window seat. Two mugs of something hot sat between them, fogging the glass slightly as the outside world pressed in, cold and gray.
Leah watched Jade stir her drink absentmindedly, her eyes scanning the crowd like she wasn’t really seeing any of it.
“Are you okay?” Leah asked softly.
Jade nodded. “Just… a little on edge.”
Leah’s voice lowered. “Because we’re here?”
Jade hesitated. “Yeah.”
She didn’t need to explain.
Because Leah understood.
They’d built something soft and sacred in the quiet: bedrooms, hallways, rooftops. Places where no one else could see. Where feelings were safe from the weight of stares, assumptions, questions with knives behind them.
But this—this was the world.
This was eyes.
And whispers.
And what-are-they looks.
Jade’s fingers tapped against the ceramic mug. Anxious rhythm. Protective reflex.
Leah reached out slowly.
Not fast. Not demanding.
Just… waiting.
Palm open.
Fingers warm.
An invitation.
Jade looked at it. Then at Leah. And her heart pounded with the kind of fear that wasn’t about rejection—but exposure.
Still, she let her hand fall into Leah’s.
And Leah—gentle, steady—closed her fingers around hers.
Just like that, it happened.
They were two girls in a coffee shop.
Two girls holding hands in a world that didn’t always make space for softness like theirs.
People walked past. Some glanced. No one said anything.
But for Jade, it was louder than anything else that had happened between them.
It wasn’t about PDA. It wasn’t about proving anything.
It was about not hiding.
About choosing to be seen—together.
After a long minute, Jade squeezed Leah’s hand once.
Then said, “I’m not used to being brave.”
Leah smiled, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “You don’t have to be brave alone.”
They left the café that way: still holding hands, fingers laced tightly, as if the city might try to pull them apart.
But it didn’t.
And for the first time in a long time, Jade felt like maybe she didn’t have to carry her love like a secret.
Maybe it could breathe.
Maybe she could.
Some hands aren’t just hands.
They’re lifelines.
They’re declarations.
They’re home, reaching back to you
even when the world is watching.
It was about not hiding.
And when her fingers curled around mine—
even the sky felt smaller than what I felt for her.")
The coffee shop was loud.
Not in an unbearable way—but filled with the low hum of conversation, clinking cups, the hiss of steamed milk. A Saturday kind of busy. The kind where people had nowhere to be except exactly where they were.
Leah and Jade had snagged a window seat. Two mugs of something hot sat between them, fogging the glass slightly as the outside world pressed in, cold and gray.
Leah watched Jade stir her drink absentmindedly, her eyes scanning the crowd like she wasn’t really seeing any of it.
“Are you okay?” Leah asked softly.
Jade nodded. “Just… a little on edge.”
Leah’s voice lowered. “Because we’re here?”
Jade hesitated. “Yeah.”
She didn’t need to explain.
Because Leah understood.
They’d built something soft and sacred in the quiet: bedrooms, hallways, rooftops. Places where no one else could see. Where feelings were safe from the weight of stares, assumptions, questions with knives behind them.
But this—this was the world.
This was eyes.
And whispers.
And what-are-they looks.
Jade’s fingers tapped against the ceramic mug. Anxious rhythm. Protective reflex.
Leah reached out slowly.
Not fast. Not demanding.
Just… waiting.
Palm open.
Fingers warm.
An invitation.
Jade looked at it. Then at Leah. And her heart pounded with the kind of fear that wasn’t about rejection—but exposure.
Still, she let her hand fall into Leah’s.
And Leah—gentle, steady—closed her fingers around hers.
Just like that, it happened.
They were two girls in a coffee shop.
Two girls holding hands in a world that didn’t always make space for softness like theirs.
People walked past. Some glanced. No one said anything.
But for Jade, it was louder than anything else that had happened between them.
It wasn’t about PDA. It wasn’t about proving anything.
It was about not hiding.
About choosing to be seen—together.
After a long minute, Jade squeezed Leah’s hand once.
Then said, “I’m not used to being brave.”
Leah smiled, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “You don’t have to be brave alone.”
They left the café that way: still holding hands, fingers laced tightly, as if the city might try to pull them apart.
But it didn’t.
And for the first time in a long time, Jade felt like maybe she didn’t have to carry her love like a secret.
Maybe it could breathe.
Maybe she could.
Some hands aren’t just hands.
They’re lifelines.
They’re declarations.
They’re home, reaching back to you
even when the world is watching.
End of Almost Love, Then Everything Chapter 26. Continue reading Chapter 27 or return to Almost Love, Then Everything book page.