Almost Love, Then Everything - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading Almost Love, Then Everything, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of Almost Love, Then Everything.
("Some things don’t have to be said. They just need to be felt.")
The movie was still playing, but Leah wasn’t watching it.
She had suggested they put on a documentary—something quiet, something safe—after dinner at her apartment. Something “background-y,” she’d said. Something they wouldn’t have to think too hard about.
They never made it past the opening credits.
Jade was curled up at the far end of the couch, legs tucked under her, head resting lightly on her hand. Leah sat at the other end, posture stiff at first, unsure what to do with her limbs. But over time, the distance between them had narrowed.
First, their legs had stretched out.
Then, their feet had touched—briefly, then casually, like it was nothing.
It wasn’t nothing.
Now their hands were resting on the couch between them. Not quite touching. But almost. Inches apart.
Leah's heart felt like it had taken a deep breath and was holding it, waiting.
Jade said something about how the narrator's voice sounded like it belonged to a sleep meditation app. Leah laughed—too loud, too fast—because she didn’t know how to say: your voice is the only one calming me right now.
Their eyes met.
They looked away.
But their hands didn’t move.
Leah’s pinky twitched. Jade’s hand shifted ever so slightly—like the tide brushing against the shore, testing.
Then, slowly, so carefully, Jade’s pinky looped around Leah’s.
No question. No words.
Just that small, deliberate hook of pinky to pinky.
Leah didn’t pull away.
Instead, she exhaled.
Something settled in her chest. Something like trust. Something like I want to be brave with you.
A few minutes later, Jade broke the silence, her voice so soft Leah almost thought she imagined it.
“Do you ever feel like… you're not sure what this is, but it still feels like the safest thing you've had in a long time?”
Leah turned her head toward her, eyes wide with something unspoken.
“All the time,” she whispered. “Especially with you.”
The words hung in the air like smoke—light and lingering.
Jade’s gaze dropped to their hands. Still connected. Still pinky-to-pinky. It was the tiniest gesture, but it felt like the beginning of something enormous.
“I don’t want to rush you,” Jade said gently. “We don’t have to name it. Not tonight.”
Leah nodded slowly.
But then, surprising herself, she shifted just slightly. Her whole hand slid beneath Jade’s.
Not gripping.
Just holding.
Just staying.
Jade turned her hand to meet it fully. Their palms aligned, fingers loosely intertwined now, like the truth had always been hiding in the space between skin.
They sat like that until the credits rolled and neither of them knew what the documentary had even been about.
But neither of them cared.
What they remembered was how quiet the world had become.
And how loud their hearts were becoming—beating in sync, gently, curiously, together.
The movie was still playing, but Leah wasn’t watching it.
She had suggested they put on a documentary—something quiet, something safe—after dinner at her apartment. Something “background-y,” she’d said. Something they wouldn’t have to think too hard about.
They never made it past the opening credits.
Jade was curled up at the far end of the couch, legs tucked under her, head resting lightly on her hand. Leah sat at the other end, posture stiff at first, unsure what to do with her limbs. But over time, the distance between them had narrowed.
First, their legs had stretched out.
Then, their feet had touched—briefly, then casually, like it was nothing.
It wasn’t nothing.
Now their hands were resting on the couch between them. Not quite touching. But almost. Inches apart.
Leah's heart felt like it had taken a deep breath and was holding it, waiting.
Jade said something about how the narrator's voice sounded like it belonged to a sleep meditation app. Leah laughed—too loud, too fast—because she didn’t know how to say: your voice is the only one calming me right now.
Their eyes met.
They looked away.
But their hands didn’t move.
Leah’s pinky twitched. Jade’s hand shifted ever so slightly—like the tide brushing against the shore, testing.
Then, slowly, so carefully, Jade’s pinky looped around Leah’s.
No question. No words.
Just that small, deliberate hook of pinky to pinky.
Leah didn’t pull away.
Instead, she exhaled.
Something settled in her chest. Something like trust. Something like I want to be brave with you.
A few minutes later, Jade broke the silence, her voice so soft Leah almost thought she imagined it.
“Do you ever feel like… you're not sure what this is, but it still feels like the safest thing you've had in a long time?”
Leah turned her head toward her, eyes wide with something unspoken.
“All the time,” she whispered. “Especially with you.”
The words hung in the air like smoke—light and lingering.
Jade’s gaze dropped to their hands. Still connected. Still pinky-to-pinky. It was the tiniest gesture, but it felt like the beginning of something enormous.
“I don’t want to rush you,” Jade said gently. “We don’t have to name it. Not tonight.”
Leah nodded slowly.
But then, surprising herself, she shifted just slightly. Her whole hand slid beneath Jade’s.
Not gripping.
Just holding.
Just staying.
Jade turned her hand to meet it fully. Their palms aligned, fingers loosely intertwined now, like the truth had always been hiding in the space between skin.
They sat like that until the credits rolled and neither of them knew what the documentary had even been about.
But neither of them cared.
What they remembered was how quiet the world had become.
And how loud their hearts were becoming—beating in sync, gently, curiously, together.
End of Almost Love, Then Everything Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to Almost Love, Then Everything book page.