Almost Love, Then Everything - Chapter 49: Chapter 49

> “Sometimes storms don’t knock.
They just arrive.
And what you do next tells you who you are—
and who stays.”
The storm rolled in quietly at first—just a low hum of thunder, a subtle shift in the air, the kind of pressure that settled deep in the bones.
Leah stood by the window in nothing but an oversized shirt, watching the rain begin to paint slow trails down the glass. Behind her, the room was dim and warm. Candlelight flickered softly on the shelves, casting golden shadows across the walls.
She didn’t flinch when she heard Jade’s footsteps.
Jade came up behind her and wrapped her arms around Leah’s waist, her cheek pressing gently against the soft fabric covering Leah’s shoulder.
“Rain again,” Leah murmured, leaning slightly into her. “It always feels heavier at night.”
Jade didn’t respond right away. She let her fingers trail slowly across the front of Leah’s shirt, over the gentle curve of her stomach, tracing absentminded, loving shapes.
Then, quietly, “It doesn’t feel heavy with you.”
Leah turned in her arms, their bodies brushing, close enough to feel the heat of skin under fabric. Her hands rested on Jade’s waist, thumbs grazing the skin beneath the hem of her shirt. Their eyes met—steady, searching.
Jade lifted a hand and tucked Leah’s damp hair behind her ear. “Can I kiss you?”
Leah didn’t answer with words.
She leaned in.
The kiss was slow. The kind that starts like a question and becomes a promise. Their mouths met with reverence—soft, lingering, the kind that says I’m still here. I’m choosing this. I’m choosing you.
Jade’s hands moved gently, sliding up Leah’s sides. She took her time—mapping the familiar terrain of the woman she’d once feared she’d lost. This time, it wasn’t desperation driving her touch.
It was awe.
And Leah let herself feel it all. Let herself be touched. Be wanted. Be held like she was something sacred, not fragile.
Every kiss was a whisper.
Every breath, a quiet confession.
And for a while, that was all that existed—two women in a quiet apartment while the storm outside whispered its own song against the glass.
But storms, even the softest ones, are rarely simple.
Later that night, after the candles had burned lower and their limbs were tangled beneath the sheets, a different kind of storm crept in—one not made of thunder or rain, but of memory.
Jade noticed the shift first.
Leah had gone still. Her eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, jaw tight with a tension Jade hadn’t felt all evening.
“Leah,” Jade whispered. “Talk to me.”
Leah didn’t answer right away.
Jade sat up, pushing back her curls. “Hey… what’s going on?”
Leah blinked slowly. Her voice was small. “I’m scared.”
Jade’s heart pinched. “Of what?”
“Of this,” Leah said, turning to face her. “Of how good it feels. Of how much I want to believe this isn’t temporary.”
Jade leaned closer. “It’s not.”
“But it could be,” Leah said, her voice rising just slightly. “You could wake up one day and realize you don’t want this anymore. People change their minds all the time. Love fades. I’ve seen it.”
“I’m not other people,” Jade said firmly. “And this—” she gestured between them, “—this is not some fragile spark. It’s a fire I built with you. And I’m not walking away.”
Leah sat up too, pulling the sheets around her. “But what if I mess it up? What if I go back to shutting you out again, or forgetting how to let myself be loved, or—”
Jade reached for her hand. “Then I’ll remind you. I’ll stay. I’ll fight for us.”
“But what if staying hurts you?” Leah whispered. “What if one day I break something we can’t fix?”
The thunder outside rumbled louder now, a fitting echo.
Jade’s voice didn’t tremble. “Then we rebuild. Brick by brick if we have to. Because you’re worth it.”
Leah’s eyes filled then, with something raw and real.
“I don’t know how to be someone who gets kept,” she confessed.
Jade cupped her face. “Then let me teach you.”
There was a pause—long and heavy.
Then Leah collapsed forward into Jade’s arms, burying her face in her neck. Her fingers clenched Jade’s back, not out of fear anymore, but need. Hope. Love.
Jade just held her.
Tight. Steady. Unwavering.
Outside, the wind howled.
But inside, Leah felt warm.
Safe.
Chosen.
They talked long into the night, lying in bed with the rain drumming its steady rhythm. Not every fear was solved. Not every scar erased. But there was honesty. And that was enough.
Jade kissed Leah’s palm once, then again.
“You don’t have to be fearless to be loved,” she said. “You just have to stay. Stay with me. Even when it’s hard.”
“I’m trying,” Leah whispered. “I really am.”
“I see you trying,” Jade replied. “That’s what love is. Not perfect people. Just people who keep showing up.”
Leah looked at her then, eyes glassy but clear. “Then I’m staying.”
Eventually, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, bodies curved together like a promise.
The storm raged on outside.
But neither of them heard it.
Because when love becomes a shelter, even thunder sounds like a lullaby.
The next morning, the rain had stopped.
The world outside the window was washed clean. Leaves glistened. The city shimmered with leftover silver.
Jade woke to the sound of soft breathing and the weight of Leah’s arm draped across her waist.
She smiled.
Carefully, she turned to face her.
Leah’s hair was a mess, her lips slightly parted in sleep. But Jade had never seen anything more beautiful.
She stayed like that for a long moment, just watching. Memorizing. Thanking the stars she didn’t even believe in for bringing them back to this.
When Leah stirred and blinked awake, her first expression was vulnerable—like she wasn’t sure if the night before had been real.
But Jade kissed her cheek and said, “Good morning, love.”
Leah melted into her. “You stayed.”
“I always will.”
Later, Jade cooked breakfast—burned toast and all—and Leah wrapped herself in a blanket and teased her from the doorway, calling her “Chef Disaster.”
They ate together at the table. Laughing. Nudging each other. Jade wiped jam from Leah’s chin with her thumb and kissed her like it was her favorite thing to do.
Because it was.
And when Leah reached across the table and laced their fingers together, she didn’t pull away.
Not this time.
That evening, they walked through the neighborhood, the air fresh with petrichor and the scent of blooming gardenias. They didn’t talk much. They didn’t need to.
Leah reached for Jade’s hand without thinking.
And Jade squeezed once, then twice—like Morse code for still here.
And Leah understood.
Sometimes storms don’t knock.
They break through when you least expect them—when things feel safest, when you’ve let your guard down.
But love—real love—isn’t about never breaking.
It’s about what happens after.
It’s about the arms that hold you through the fear.
The voice that says I’m not leaving.
The warmth that stays when the world feels cold again.
Jade and Leah weathered the storm—not because they were invincible.
But because they chose each other.
Even when it hurt.
Even when it scared them.
Especially then.
In the days that followed, things weren’t perfect.
Leah still had moments of doubt.
Jade still worried she wasn’t doing enough.
But they talked.
They laughed.
They showed up.
And that’s what made it work.
Not magic.
Not fate.
But choice.
Every single day.
They didn’t just survive the storm.
They built something stronger because of it.
And they knew, now more than ever, that love doesn’t always come in sunshine.
Sometimes it comes soaked to the skin.
But it comes.
And when it’s real—it stays.