Almost Love, Then Everything - Chapter 28: Chapter 28
You are reading Almost Love, Then Everything, Chapter 28: Chapter 28. Read more chapters of Almost Love, Then Everything.
("We didn’t speak.
We didn’t need to.
Because in that kind of silence,
even breathing beside someone
can feel like a promise.")
Leah didn’t cry when she woke up.
She didn’t bolt upright, didn’t pull away, didn’t pretend she hadn’t broken down the night before.
Instead, she blinked slowly at the ceiling, still curled on the floor, and felt the warmth of Jade’s hand still wrapped gently around her own.
And for the first time in days—maybe weeks—she didn’t feel like she had to get up and be anyone else.
She could just… be Leah.
Tired. Quiet. Soft around the edges.
And Jade was still here.
Sunlight filtered through the blinds in streaks. The living room smelled faintly of cinnamon and books, and something in Leah’s chest ached—but not in a bad way.
Jade stirred beside her, still half-asleep.
Her voice was rough when she spoke. “You okay?”
Leah didn’t answer right away. She didn’t lie. Didn’t say I’m fine like she always did.
She just nodded, slow and honest. “I think so. I don’t know.”
Jade opened her eyes and looked at her. “That’s allowed.”
They didn’t talk much that morning.
Jade made toast. Leah made tea. They passed each other things in the kitchen in complete silence.
But the silence wasn’t uncomfortable.
It was healing.
There was no pressure to say the right thing or pretend yesterday hadn’t happened. Jade didn’t try to fix anything. She just stood next to Leah while she stirred honey into her cup and asked, softly, “Do you want to go outside?”
Leah thought about it. The cold air. The noise. The people.
Then she nodded. “Yeah. But only with you.”
They walked the block slowly, jackets zipped high, scarves pulled to their chins. No destination. Just motion. Just breathing. Just being.
At one point, Jade reached out, her fingers brushing Leah’s again.
And Leah took her hand.
Not because she was falling.
But because, this time, she wanted to be held.
Sometimes, healing isn’t loud.
It’s toast and tea.
It’s a hand held after a hard night.
It’s being loved—quietly, consistently—
even when you’re not at your best.
We didn’t need to.
Because in that kind of silence,
even breathing beside someone
can feel like a promise.")
Leah didn’t cry when she woke up.
She didn’t bolt upright, didn’t pull away, didn’t pretend she hadn’t broken down the night before.
Instead, she blinked slowly at the ceiling, still curled on the floor, and felt the warmth of Jade’s hand still wrapped gently around her own.
And for the first time in days—maybe weeks—she didn’t feel like she had to get up and be anyone else.
She could just… be Leah.
Tired. Quiet. Soft around the edges.
And Jade was still here.
Sunlight filtered through the blinds in streaks. The living room smelled faintly of cinnamon and books, and something in Leah’s chest ached—but not in a bad way.
Jade stirred beside her, still half-asleep.
Her voice was rough when she spoke. “You okay?”
Leah didn’t answer right away. She didn’t lie. Didn’t say I’m fine like she always did.
She just nodded, slow and honest. “I think so. I don’t know.”
Jade opened her eyes and looked at her. “That’s allowed.”
They didn’t talk much that morning.
Jade made toast. Leah made tea. They passed each other things in the kitchen in complete silence.
But the silence wasn’t uncomfortable.
It was healing.
There was no pressure to say the right thing or pretend yesterday hadn’t happened. Jade didn’t try to fix anything. She just stood next to Leah while she stirred honey into her cup and asked, softly, “Do you want to go outside?”
Leah thought about it. The cold air. The noise. The people.
Then she nodded. “Yeah. But only with you.”
They walked the block slowly, jackets zipped high, scarves pulled to their chins. No destination. Just motion. Just breathing. Just being.
At one point, Jade reached out, her fingers brushing Leah’s again.
And Leah took her hand.
Not because she was falling.
But because, this time, she wanted to be held.
Sometimes, healing isn’t loud.
It’s toast and tea.
It’s a hand held after a hard night.
It’s being loved—quietly, consistently—
even when you’re not at your best.
End of Almost Love, Then Everything Chapter 28. Continue reading Chapter 29 or return to Almost Love, Then Everything book page.