Almost Love, Then Everything - Chapter 30: Chapter 30

It started like a hundred other Sundays.
The sky was a muted gray, the kind that made the whole city feel like it had been muffled. No blaring horns, no distant yelling—just a soft, cloudy stillness. The kind of day that made you want to stay under the covers forever or walk aimlessly without a map.
Leah chose the latter.
She hadn’t meant to text Jade. It had been impulsive, really—“Wanna walk with me to the bookstore?”—but when Jade said yes, something in her chest lightened. Like breath coming easier. Like maybe it wasn’t just a walk.
Jade showed up in her oversized navy sweater, sleeves practically swallowing her hands, and her boots scuffed from last week's rain. Leah had to look away when she first saw her—something about the way Jade looked at her, like there was nothing else she’d rather be doing, was too much. And not enough.
They started toward the bookstore. But every time they passed a corner, someone turned the other way.
It became a quiet meander—past streets they both knew and alleyways Leah had only ever walked alone. They passed the bakery Leah used to work at during college. Jade peered into the window, nose nearly pressed to the glass, commenting on the tiny iced buns lined up like soft soldiers.
“You used to work here?” she asked, eyes lighting up.
Leah nodded. “I hated it. Burned my hand three times in one week.”
“Still,” Jade said, “it smells like cinnamon and good memories.”
Leah gave her a look, playful but fond. “You romanticize everything.”
“Only the things I want to keep.”
Leah blinked. That one hit deeper than expected.
A few blocks later, they passed an ivy-covered brick wall that curved along the back of an old garden.
Jade reached up and plucked a loose piece of ivy, twirling it between her fingers like it held a secret.
Leah watched the movement. Thought about reaching out and tucking a piece of hair behind Jade’s ear, just to see what it felt like. Just to know.
She didn’t.
Instead, she said, “You always fidget when you’re thinking hard.”
Jade stopped twirling the ivy. Smiled, like she’d been caught.
“I was thinking about how quiet it is today,” she said. “Like the city’s holding its breath.”
Leah looked at her, heart thudding once, slowly.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “I feel that too.”
Eventually, they ended up at the park. The one with the rusted swings and the old playground slide that groaned when you stepped on it. It wasn’t the prettiest spot in town, but it was honest. Familiar. Worn down in the way things you love often are.
They sat on a bench near the edge of the sandbox.
Leah had her hands buried in her coat pockets, thumbs rubbing nervously at a frayed string inside the lining.
Jade had picked up a book from a free little library they’d passed—some paperback with a cracked spine and faded gold font. She was reading the back cover aloud in a fake dramatic voice, complete with gasps and eyebrow raises.
Leah was laughing—soft and genuine—when it happened.
“So, I guess I’ll just head back home after,” Jade said casually, flipping the book in her hands.
Leah turned slightly. “You mean your place?”
There was a beat.
A pause.
Jade looked confused for half a second. Her brow furrowed like the words hadn’t registered yet.
Then she blinked.
And softly, unthinkingly, replied: “No. I meant your place. I mean—home.”
Silence fell between them.
The word still lingered in the air like fog, suspended and real and impossible to ignore.
Home.
Jade’s eyes widened immediately.
“I didn’t— That’s not—” she started, voice tripping over itself. “I wasn’t trying to—”
Leah didn’t move.
Didn’t speak right away.
Because her heart had stopped for just a second.
Not in a bad way.
In the kind of way where it realized it had been waiting for something. Someone. For this.
Jade was already cringing. “Sorry. That sounded weird. I just—your apartment. That’s what I meant.”
Leah finally spoke, quietly. “Do you really think of it like that?”
Jade looked at her. And there was no hiding in her face this time. No shields. No deflection.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “I think… when I’m there, with you, I don’t feel like I’m just passing through. I don’t feel like I’m borrowing space. I feel… steady.”
Leah was quiet again. Not because she didn’t know what to say.
But because she knew exactly what to say.
She just wasn’t sure she could survive saying it.
She settled for this: “That’s good. Because I was starting to think the same.”
They didn’t kiss.
Not yet.
But their knees touched on the bench.
And when Leah shifted her pinky close enough to brush against Jade’s, neither of them pulled away.
Later, they wandered back toward Leah’s apartment. Slowly. As if both of them were trying to stretch the day out until it became something permanent.
Leah unlocked the door and kicked off her shoes. Jade followed without asking.
It felt easy. It felt like something they’d done for years. But they hadn’t. Not really.
And still—it felt like home.
Jade curled up on the couch, tucking her feet beneath her, book resting on her lap.
Leah went to the kitchen and made tea without asking how Jade liked it. She already knew.
She came back, handed over the mug, and sat beside her.
They sipped in silence.
And it was the best silence Leah had ever heard.
Jade spoke first. “You know, I never had a place that really felt like mine growing up.”
Leah turned toward her.
“I mean, we moved a lot,” Jade said. “Boxes always half-packed. I got used to knowing where the exits were more than where the light switches were. So I guess… I got used to calling places home too quickly. Or not at all.”
Leah’s voice was soft. “And my place?”
Jade met her eyes. “I didn’t mean to call it that. But when I did… it felt right.”
Leah stared down at her mug. Steam curled between them.
Then she whispered, “It felt right to me, too.”
The words stayed in the room long after they’d stopped speaking.
And so did Jade.
That night, Jade fell asleep with her head on Leah’s shoulder. They didn’t plan it. It just happened.
Leah barely breathed.
She stared out the window at the streetlights reflecting off wet pavement. She listened to Jade’s breathing even out. And she thought:
I’ve never wanted someone to stay this much.
And I’ve never been this afraid of losing someone who isn’t even mine.
She didn’t sleep much.
But she didn’t move either.
Not even once.
In the morning, the world was still gray, still quiet. The kind of morning that doesn’t ask for anything except presence.
Jade stirred against her shoulder and mumbled, “Morning.”
Leah smiled into her hair. “Still feels like night.”
“Mmm.” Jade yawned. “Still feels like home.”
And that was it.
No backpedaling. No panic. No correction.
Just a truth.
Sometimes love doesn’t come with lightning or fire.
Sometimes it’s in a bench conversation, a word said too soon but meant all along, a mug of tea made the right way, a head resting on your shoulder long after the movie ends.
Sometimes it’s just two people who finally realize—
They aren’t wandering anymore.
They’re home.
And home is not a place.
It’s a person.