Almost Love, Then Everything - Chapter 6: Chapter 6
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("We never said what it was. But I still remember everything we didn’t name.")
Leah didn’t know whether to call it a date.
Maybe it wasn’t. They never said the word. There was no grand invitation, no declaration, no nervous shuffle of “So... would you want to go out with me?” It had simply been Jade asking:
> “Want to walk with me tomorrow? Somewhere not a café?”
And Leah—heart quietly thudding in her chest like an artist’s brush against canvas—had said yes.
Now they were standing in front of the small vintage bookstore tucked between a florist and an old music shop, the kind of place that smelled like stories and forgotten perfume. The outside looked worn, ivy curling around the wooden sign above the door, and Leah already loved it without stepping inside.
Jade pushed the door open like she belonged there. The bell chimed.
Inside, the world softened.
Soft yellow lamps glowed in corners. Jazz played low from a record player hidden behind stacks of books. Dust floated through the warm light, and every shelf looked like it had secrets.
Leah’s fingers grazed spines as she followed Jade through the narrow aisles.
“You come here often?” Leah asked, voice quiet as though afraid to wake the books.
“Sometimes,” Jade replied, pausing by a shelf labeled Poetry & Small Sorrows. “Especially when I need to breathe.”
“You breathe here?”
Jade pulled out a thin book with pressed violets on the cover. “Don’t you?”
Leah smiled faintly. “Yeah. I think I do now.”
They wandered deeper. Neither of them said much. But in the spaces between the silence, something gentle was growing.
Jade stopped in front of a corner window where a chair and a small reading table waited, as if it had been expecting them.
She sat and opened the book she’d pulled earlier, flipping to a page as though it had called her.
Then, softly—voice barely more than a whisper—Jade read aloud:
> “Love doesn’t always announce itself.
Sometimes, it just starts sitting beside you.”
Leah stopped moving.
Something in her chest—a thread pulled too tight for too long—went loose.
She looked at Jade.
Not just looked. Saw her.
Her tousled black hair. That quiet steadiness behind her voice. The way her thumb traced the page like it was something sacred.
“Do you believe that?” Leah asked, her voice low.
Jade looked up at her, eyes searching. “I think I want to.”
For a moment, they just stayed there, looking at each other through a silence that said more than any poem.
Then Jade said, “Sit with me.”
Leah did.
They didn’t touch. Not yet.
But their knees brushed slightly, and neither of them moved away.
Leah stared out the window, her fingers curling gently around the edge of the table.
“You scare me,” she said suddenly.
Jade blinked. “I… do?”
“You make me feel,” Leah said. “And I don’t always know how to handle that.”
Jade closed the book and placed it gently on the table.
“You don’t have to know,” she said. “I’ll stay until you figure it out.”
Leah looked down, swallowed, then turned her hand palm up between them.
A quiet offering.
Jade didn’t take it right away.
She just smiled softly—then laced her fingers with Leah’s.
The bookstore kept their secret.
Outside, the sky had stopped raining.
Somewhere not a café. Somewhere not quite a date.
But somewhere they both found themselves wanting to stay.
Leah didn’t know whether to call it a date.
Maybe it wasn’t. They never said the word. There was no grand invitation, no declaration, no nervous shuffle of “So... would you want to go out with me?” It had simply been Jade asking:
> “Want to walk with me tomorrow? Somewhere not a café?”
And Leah—heart quietly thudding in her chest like an artist’s brush against canvas—had said yes.
Now they were standing in front of the small vintage bookstore tucked between a florist and an old music shop, the kind of place that smelled like stories and forgotten perfume. The outside looked worn, ivy curling around the wooden sign above the door, and Leah already loved it without stepping inside.
Jade pushed the door open like she belonged there. The bell chimed.
Inside, the world softened.
Soft yellow lamps glowed in corners. Jazz played low from a record player hidden behind stacks of books. Dust floated through the warm light, and every shelf looked like it had secrets.
Leah’s fingers grazed spines as she followed Jade through the narrow aisles.
“You come here often?” Leah asked, voice quiet as though afraid to wake the books.
“Sometimes,” Jade replied, pausing by a shelf labeled Poetry & Small Sorrows. “Especially when I need to breathe.”
“You breathe here?”
Jade pulled out a thin book with pressed violets on the cover. “Don’t you?”
Leah smiled faintly. “Yeah. I think I do now.”
They wandered deeper. Neither of them said much. But in the spaces between the silence, something gentle was growing.
Jade stopped in front of a corner window where a chair and a small reading table waited, as if it had been expecting them.
She sat and opened the book she’d pulled earlier, flipping to a page as though it had called her.
Then, softly—voice barely more than a whisper—Jade read aloud:
> “Love doesn’t always announce itself.
Sometimes, it just starts sitting beside you.”
Leah stopped moving.
Something in her chest—a thread pulled too tight for too long—went loose.
She looked at Jade.
Not just looked. Saw her.
Her tousled black hair. That quiet steadiness behind her voice. The way her thumb traced the page like it was something sacred.
“Do you believe that?” Leah asked, her voice low.
Jade looked up at her, eyes searching. “I think I want to.”
For a moment, they just stayed there, looking at each other through a silence that said more than any poem.
Then Jade said, “Sit with me.”
Leah did.
They didn’t touch. Not yet.
But their knees brushed slightly, and neither of them moved away.
Leah stared out the window, her fingers curling gently around the edge of the table.
“You scare me,” she said suddenly.
Jade blinked. “I… do?”
“You make me feel,” Leah said. “And I don’t always know how to handle that.”
Jade closed the book and placed it gently on the table.
“You don’t have to know,” she said. “I’ll stay until you figure it out.”
Leah looked down, swallowed, then turned her hand palm up between them.
A quiet offering.
Jade didn’t take it right away.
She just smiled softly—then laced her fingers with Leah’s.
The bookstore kept their secret.
Outside, the sky had stopped raining.
Somewhere not a café. Somewhere not quite a date.
But somewhere they both found themselves wanting to stay.
End of Almost Love, Then Everything Chapter 6. Continue reading Chapter 7 or return to Almost Love, Then Everything book page.