Almost Love, Then Everything - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
You are reading Almost Love, Then Everything, Chapter 3: Chapter 3. Read more chapters of Almost Love, Then Everything.
It was Tuesday again.
And this time, Leah didn’t need to hesitate at the door.
She pushed it open, the soft chime above her head already familiar, like it had been waiting for her all week. The warmth of the café wrapped around her like a quiet embrace, and there—already seated at their usual corner table—was Jade.
A small, knowing smile played at the corners of Jade’s mouth. “I ordered for you,” she said, sliding one of the lavender teas across the table as Leah sat down. “Hope I got it right.”
Leah smiled back. “Perfect.”
They didn’t need to catch up. It was like the space between the days had folded in on itself, like they’d never left.
Jade had her notebook open again, a page half-filled with what looked like poetry or lyrics—short, raw lines in small, neat handwriting.
Leah glanced at it. “You write?”
“Sometimes,” Jade admitted, almost shyly. “Mostly to remember what I felt, not what happened.”
There was a silence then—not awkward, but thick with everything unspoken.
Leah reached into her bag and pulled out her sketchpad, flipping to a new page.
“Then I’ll draw what you felt,” she said, pencil already in hand.
Jade leaned on her palm, watching her. “Do you always do this? Turn people into paper and lines?”
“Only when I don’t want to forget them,” Leah murmured.
The room was full of quiet sounds—the tap of a spoon, pages turning, the clink of cups. And between them, something began to stir. Something delicate and real.
Jade’s fingers were close—resting on the edge of the table, inches from Leah’s. Every so often, they shifted closer. Every so often, Leah’s hand moved without her thinking.
It was like a dance they didn’t know they were in.
Then suddenly, it happened.
Not a kiss. Not a confession.
Just a fingertip—Leah’s—brushing gently against Jade’s knuckle. A moment that could’ve passed unnoticed, but didn’t.
Jade looked up.
Their eyes locked.
Neither moved.
And for the first time, the air between them changed.
This wasn’t just friendship anymore. This was the edge of something tender. Dangerous. Electric.
Jade didn’t pull her hand away.
Leah didn’t either.
“I don’t think this is just tea anymore,” Jade whispered.
Leah’s voice was barely a breath. “No. It’s not.”
—
They sat like that for a long time—hands barely touching, hearts racing quietly.
And when they finally left the café, walking side by side down the street, their hands brushed again.
This time, Jade laced her fingers through Leah’s.
And Leah let her.
No one said a word.
Because sometimes, the loudest part of falling in love…
is the silence that finally feels like home.
And this time, Leah didn’t need to hesitate at the door.
She pushed it open, the soft chime above her head already familiar, like it had been waiting for her all week. The warmth of the café wrapped around her like a quiet embrace, and there—already seated at their usual corner table—was Jade.
A small, knowing smile played at the corners of Jade’s mouth. “I ordered for you,” she said, sliding one of the lavender teas across the table as Leah sat down. “Hope I got it right.”
Leah smiled back. “Perfect.”
They didn’t need to catch up. It was like the space between the days had folded in on itself, like they’d never left.
Jade had her notebook open again, a page half-filled with what looked like poetry or lyrics—short, raw lines in small, neat handwriting.
Leah glanced at it. “You write?”
“Sometimes,” Jade admitted, almost shyly. “Mostly to remember what I felt, not what happened.”
There was a silence then—not awkward, but thick with everything unspoken.
Leah reached into her bag and pulled out her sketchpad, flipping to a new page.
“Then I’ll draw what you felt,” she said, pencil already in hand.
Jade leaned on her palm, watching her. “Do you always do this? Turn people into paper and lines?”
“Only when I don’t want to forget them,” Leah murmured.
The room was full of quiet sounds—the tap of a spoon, pages turning, the clink of cups. And between them, something began to stir. Something delicate and real.
Jade’s fingers were close—resting on the edge of the table, inches from Leah’s. Every so often, they shifted closer. Every so often, Leah’s hand moved without her thinking.
It was like a dance they didn’t know they were in.
Then suddenly, it happened.
Not a kiss. Not a confession.
Just a fingertip—Leah’s—brushing gently against Jade’s knuckle. A moment that could’ve passed unnoticed, but didn’t.
Jade looked up.
Their eyes locked.
Neither moved.
And for the first time, the air between them changed.
This wasn’t just friendship anymore. This was the edge of something tender. Dangerous. Electric.
Jade didn’t pull her hand away.
Leah didn’t either.
“I don’t think this is just tea anymore,” Jade whispered.
Leah’s voice was barely a breath. “No. It’s not.”
—
They sat like that for a long time—hands barely touching, hearts racing quietly.
And when they finally left the café, walking side by side down the street, their hands brushed again.
This time, Jade laced her fingers through Leah’s.
And Leah let her.
No one said a word.
Because sometimes, the loudest part of falling in love…
is the silence that finally feels like home.
End of Almost Love, Then Everything Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to Almost Love, Then Everything book page.