Almost Love, Then Everything - Chapter 50: Chapter 50

> "Falling in love is one thing.
But choosing each other — every day, in the quiet —
that’s the kind of love you build a life around."
It didn’t happen with fireworks.
No dramatic kiss in the rain.
No running through airports.
No tear-streaked speeches or perfect timing.
It happened on a Tuesday morning.
A very ordinary Tuesday.
Leah was brushing her teeth, humming off-key to a song Jade had played too many times the week before. She had toothpaste on her cheek and was wearing mismatched socks. The bathroom mirror was fogged from the shower, and she’d written a little heart in the condensation before forgetting all about it.
In the kitchen, Jade was engaged in a hopeless battle with pancakes. She was trying to make them into perfect circles but had accidentally created one that looked like Australia and another that more closely resembled an anxious rabbit.
The windows were open, letting in the scent of jasmine and rain-washed pavement. There was sunlight spilling onto the tile in a sleepy kind of way — like the world itself hadn’t fully woken yet.
And in that soft, golden quiet, Leah walked in — her hair a mess, lips still minty, barefoot, beautiful without knowing it — and said, with no preamble, no ceremony:
“I love you.”
Jade froze, spatula in midair.
She didn’t look shocked. Just still. Like her heart had paused to hold those words carefully.
And then she turned slowly, eyes soft with something older than surprise.
Like she’d known. Like she’d felt it for months in every brush of fingers, every sleepy smile, every way Leah lingered a little longer in the doorway.
Leah stood there, shifting her weight. “I know it’s not romantic or planned or… poetic. But I do. I love you.”
She stepped closer, voice gentler now. “I love you in the way that makes toast taste better. In the way that makes storms feel quieter. I love you in the in-between. The unnoticed. The Tuesday mornings.”
Jade put down the spatula. Walked over in three soft steps. And took Leah’s face in her hands.
Her voice was just a whisper. “I’ve been loving you… even before I knew how to say it.”
Their kiss wasn’t a spark.
It wasn’t a beginning.
It wasn’t an end.
It was a flame that had always been there — quietly burning, steady, constant — and now finally allowed to speak.
They kissed with everything soft.
Everything certain.
Everything simple and real.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of golden light and laughter.
Leah sat on the counter while Jade made another attempt at pancakes — this time slightly more successful. Clementine the cat jumped up between them, uninterested in declarations of love but highly invested in butter.
Jade handed Leah a cup of coffee and then paused, grinning. “So… we’re in love. Officially.”
Leah took a sip. “We’ve been in love.”
Jade tilted her head. “True. But now we say it out loud. I feel like we deserve matching mugs or something.”
Leah laughed. “Or a banner.”
“Or a song.”
“No songs. You’ve heard yourself sing.”
Jade gasped in mock offense, and Leah leaned in, brushing a kiss to her nose. “I love that sound, though. Even if it’s terrible.”
That night, they sat on the fire escape, just like they used to.
Two mugs in hand — this time with red wine, not tea. The city breathed beneath them, streetlights twinkling, and the scent of night jasmine rising from the garden below.
There was no grand declaration.
Just a look.
A shared breath.
A resting of heads.
A peace that only comes from being known fully — and loved anyway.
Jade turned her head, resting her chin on Leah’s shoulder. “Do you ever think about the beginning? The way we danced around it all?”
Leah hummed. “Sometimes. But I don’t regret it. We needed the slow. We needed the space to grow into this.”
“This feels like home.”
Leah nodded. “It is.”
Days passed. Then weeks. Then months.
Their love didn’t shout. It lingered.
It showed up in grocery store texts and sleepy forehead kisses.
In “I saved the last piece for you” and “I recorded your show.”
In quiet nights reading side by side.
In shared playlists and arguments about how many throw pillows were necessary.
Love showed up when Jade made Leah tea before a big meeting.
When Leah folded Jade’s sweaters the way she liked, even though she hated folding clothes.
It showed up in the way Jade reached for Leah in her sleep.
In the way Leah smiled when she said her name.
One night, during a power outage, they lit every candle in the apartment.
Jade pulled out her old guitar — barely tuned — and sang a half-finished song that made Leah cry for reasons she couldn’t explain.
“You’re ridiculous,” Leah sniffled, wiping at her face.
“You love it,” Jade smirked.
“I love you,” Leah corrected.
Then, in the candlelight, they danced. No music. Just the rhythm of their hearts.
“I hope we get old together,” Jade whispered into her neck.
“We already are,” Leah teased. “You complain about your knees every time it rains.”
Jade pulled back, grinning. “And yet, I’d drop to one if you asked me to.”
Leah blinked, stunned.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” Jade said quickly. “Too soon.”
But Leah stepped closer, pressing her forehead to Jade’s.
“I’d say yes.”
Seasons changed.
They painted the hallway.
Adopted another cat.
Started a little garden on the fire escape that only grew basil and one very determined tomato.
They argued. About laundry. About how Leah never charged her phone. About how Jade talked to the GPS like it could hear her.
But they always came back to each other.
Always chose again.
Even on the days that didn’t feel magical.
Because magic wasn’t fireworks anymore.
It was Jade remembering how Leah liked her eggs.
It was Leah keeping a spare hoodie for Jade in her car.
It was being loved not in spite of their imperfections — but with them.
One particularly cold night, Leah came home to find the apartment dim, music playing, dinner already made.
Jade met her at the door with a smile.
“I don’t have a reason,” she said. “I just wanted to love you well today.”
Leah’s chest swelled. “You always do.”
That night, wrapped in each other beneath the covers, Leah whispered, “You make me want things I was too afraid to want.”
“Like what?” Jade murmured.
“Like forever. Like a quiet life. Like Sunday mornings and maybe someday… a baby.”
Jade stilled.
Then pulled her close. “Let’s want it together.”
So they did.
Not in a rush.
Not in a checklist.
But in conversations over wine.
In name lists scribbled on napkins.
In moments where their future stopped feeling scary and started feeling like a sunrise.
Years from that Tuesday morning, Leah would still remember it.
Not because of what was said.
But because of what it meant.
That love didn’t need a spark.
Didn’t need applause.
It just needed showing up.
Every day.
Every hour.
Every quiet Tuesday morning.
This wasn’t just a story about falling.
It was about staying.
About two people who could’ve walked away — but didn’t.
And in that choice, they built something real.
Something lasting.
Something that stayed.
THE END
💛