Almost Love, Then Everything - Chapter 32: Chapter 32

It was past 11 when they left the library.
The rain had eased to a light drizzle, soft enough to skip umbrellas but heavy enough to blur the city lights into watercolor streaks. The air smelled of damp concrete, pages that had been read too many times, and the sweet faint scent of blooming night jasmine from a garden wall they passed.
Leah walked close to Jade—closer than she usually let herself. Their shoulders brushed once, then again, and neither of them moved away. There were no jokes this time. No easy laughter or deflections. Just the sound of their footsteps echoing off quiet streets and the soft hush of traffic in the distance.
Leah stole a glance sideways every few seconds—not because she was uncertain—but because part of her still didn’t believe Jade was real sometimes. She always looked the same in those moments: peaceful, quietly thinking, lips parted like she was on the edge of saying something but decided against it.
They didn’t talk much. They didn’t have to.
And that, somehow, felt more intimate than anything else.
Jade’s apartment welcomed them with the hush of a place that had been waiting. She shook the rain from her jacket and tossed her keys into the dish near the door. A soft click echoed as the lamp switched on—amber light spilling over the bookshelves, the plants curling toward the window, the faint sound of jazz still playing from her last playlist.
Leah stepped inside, dripping slightly. The space was so her—organized but comfortably lived-in. A folded blanket over the couch. A half-finished sketch on the kitchen counter. A mug on the windowsill with lipstick still on the rim.
“Tea?” Jade asked from the kitchen, already grabbing mugs.
Leah hesitated. Part of her had expected to just say goodbye at the door and make up some excuse—early shift, cold rain, too tired to stay. But the words didn’t come.
“…Sure,” she said instead.
They sat on the floor, backs against the couch, fingers warming around mismatched mugs. The steam rose between them like a peace offering.
“I used to hate silence,” Jade said after a while, gaze unfocused, eyes on the rain outside.
Leah turned to her, curious. “Why?”
“It made me feel alone. Like I was waiting for someone to fill it.”
A pause. She shifted her cup in her hands.
“Now, with you… it feels full. Like silence is its own kind of language.”
Leah looked at her for a long moment. “Yeah. Me too.”
And maybe that was the real truth between them—how much had gone unspoken, but still understood.
The tea cooled slowly, and the minutes slipped by like a song you didn’t want to end. When Jade yawned behind her cup, Leah smiled and stood, brushing imaginary dust from her jeans.
“I should go,” she said softly.
But before she could take a step, Jade reached out—not grabbing, just lightly touching her wrist.
“You don’t have to.”
Leah froze.
The air held still between them.
“You sure?” she whispered.
Jade’s voice was smaller than usual. “Yeah. Stay. Just… stay.”
The bedroom was simple—soft gray sheets, a sleepy candle flickering on the nightstand, and a gentle draft from the cracked window. The rain had picked up again, a steady tap-tap-tap on the sill that filled the silence like music.
Leah changed into borrowed clothes—an oversized tee and warm flannel shorts—then stood awkwardly at the edge of the bed.
Jade pulled back the blanket and slid in first, leaving space.
They didn’t touch.
They didn’t need to.
Leah crawled in, cautious at first. Then she felt the heat of the sheets, the softness of the mattress, and something in her exhaled. She lay on her side, facing away, heart thudding against her ribs with no clear reason why.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours.
Neither of them moved.
Then, in the dim light, Jade’s voice: “I got you something.”
Leah turned slightly.
Jade reached under the pillow and pulled out a wrapped toothbrush. Simple. Blue. Still sealed.
Leah blinked. “You… you planned this?”
Jade flushed. “Not really. I just bought it weeks ago. In case.”
Leah stared at her. Something in her chest squeezed tight—something raw and full and fragile.
“In case,” she repeated.
The words sat between them for a moment, soft and powerful.
She took the toothbrush gently. “Thank you.”
Sleep came slowly but fully.
Leah didn’t remember the exact moment her eyes closed. Just the weight of the blanket, the comfort of a warm body near her, the sound of rain, and the strange, calming knowledge that for the first time in a long time—she wasn’t alone.
In the middle of the night, Leah woke.
The room was still, the candle now out, shadows stretching long across the walls. She turned slightly and saw Jade—on her back, one arm above her head, mouth slightly open in sleep.
Without thinking, Leah reached out and pulled the blanket higher over her. Jade didn’t stir.
Leah watched her for a few seconds longer.
Then whispered, “I’ve never stayed before.”
Not even expecting a response. Just saying it to the night.
“I always leave. I don’t know why I didn’t tonight.”
And maybe it was the quiet. Maybe it was the soft safety of the room.
But the truth came easier than expected.
“I think I didn’t want to say goodbye to this feeling.”
Morning came slowly.
Warm yellow light spilled across the bedsheets like a blessing. Leah blinked against it, eyes adjusting, mind still caught somewhere between dreaming and waking.
She turned her head.
Jade was already awake.
Lying on her side. Just watching.
“Morning,” she said, her voice hoarse.
“Morning,” Leah whispered back.
A beat passed.
Jade shifted, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear. “Did you sleep okay?”
Leah smiled. “Better than I have in a long time.”
A pause.
Then: “Thanks for not making it weird.”
Jade laughed gently. “I don’t think it could ever be weird with you.”
Leah stretched her arms above her head. “I always imagined the first time I stayed over at someone’s place would be… louder.”
Jade tilted her head. “Louder how?”
“I don’t know. More… dramatic. More wine. More nerves. More trying too hard.”
Jade smiled softly. “Maybe that’s the point. It wasn’t loud. It was just… right.”
Leah’s heart tugged. She sat up, legs crossed under her. “I think I’ve been so afraid of intimacy that I forgot how quiet it can be. How peaceful.”
Jade nodded. “Same.”
They sat there, staring at each other in the golden light. Nothing else moved. The world outside was still waking up.
But Leah was already awake.
In the clearest way she’d felt in years.
She got up and padded into the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. It was still in its wrapper. Still slightly damp from where she’d clutched it all night like a talisman.
When she opened the cabinet, there was a space cleared beside Jade’s things.
A tiny gesture.
An invitation.
Leah placed the toothbrush down, unwrapped it, and smiled at its reflection in the mirror.
Later, over scrambled eggs and toast, Jade reached across the table and gently tapped Leah’s fingers.
“I’m glad you stayed.”
Leah squeezed her hand back. “Me too.”
And she meant it.
With every cell in her body.