Almost Love, Then Everything - Chapter 9: Chapter 9
You are reading Almost Love, Then Everything, Chapter 9: Chapter 9. Read more chapters of Almost Love, Then Everything.
("Falling is beautiful. But what if I land and it breaks me?")
The next morning, Leah couldn’t stop thinking about the way Jade’s lips had tasted like cinnamon tea and breathless laughter.
She lay in bed staring at her ceiling, her sketchpad unopened on the desk. She hadn’t drawn anything since she got home the night before. She couldn’t. Her hand would lift the pencil, and then pause—like the part of her that knew how to create had surrendered to the part that was still feeling.
Jade had kissed her.
She had kissed Jade.
And it wasn’t like in her head. It wasn’t rushed or perfect or dreamy—it was real. Slightly awkward. Too soft. Beautiful because of the small spaces between breaths. It had happened slowly, sweetly. But now, in the bright morning light, it lived in Leah’s mind like a spark caught in the folds of paper.
And with it came something else: fear.
Leah sat up in bed, pulling her knees to her chest. The silence of her apartment felt louder today. She checked her phone.
No message yet.
No “good morning.”
No “last night was nice.”
No emoji. Not even a dot.
Her heart thudded—too fast for no real reason.
> Don’t do this, she told herself. Don’t spiral. It was one kiss. A good one. She held your face like you were something fragile and important. That means something. Doesn’t it?
But then again…
What if Jade regretted it?
What if it had only felt real in Leah’s head?
Meanwhile, across town…
Jade was pacing.
There was still tea on the counter from the night before, and she hadn’t touched her phone either—not because she didn’t want to text Leah.
But because she didn’t know how to say what she felt.
She had kissed her.
And now she was terrified.
Not because she didn’t want Leah. She did. In every quiet way possible. But because she didn’t want to be something Leah regretted. Or worse—something Leah ran from.
She drafted a message three times. Deleted it three times.
Finally, she wrote:
> “Hey. I know it’s early. You okay?”
Then she stared at the screen.
Did that sound too casual? Too distant? Too—
The typing bubbles popped up.
Then vanished.
Then appeared again.
Leah’s apartment.
She saw the message. Her heart stuttered.
Then she typed:
> “I’m okay. Just thinking a lot.”
She hit send. Then quickly added:
> “Last night… it was really nice. I don’t regret it. Just so you know.”
The response came fast.
> “Me neither. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”
And then:
> “Want to come over? We don’t have to do anything. Just… be.”
Leah didn’t hesitate.
She didn’t overthink her hair. Or what shoes to wear. She just pulled on her hoodie, grabbed her sketchpad like a shield, and left.
When Jade opened the door, she didn’t say anything.
She just stepped aside and let Leah in.
And Leah didn’t say anything either.
Not at first.
But then, standing in the quiet of that little apartment, she said the words that had been chasing her since sunrise:
> “I’m scared of this. But I don’t want to pretend I’m not.”
Jade didn’t flinch.
She simply stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Leah—not pulling, not holding too tight. Just being there. Present. Steady.
“I’m scared too,” Jade whispered against her shoulder. “But I’m more scared of pretending I don’t feel something when I do.”
Leah closed her eyes.
Let herself breathe.
Let herself believe that maybe… maybe this was okay.
That maybe, this was real.
In the corner, her sketchpad sat unopened.
But soon—soon, it would be filled again.
Not with frogs. Not with figures.
But with someone who made her want to stay.
The next morning, Leah couldn’t stop thinking about the way Jade’s lips had tasted like cinnamon tea and breathless laughter.
She lay in bed staring at her ceiling, her sketchpad unopened on the desk. She hadn’t drawn anything since she got home the night before. She couldn’t. Her hand would lift the pencil, and then pause—like the part of her that knew how to create had surrendered to the part that was still feeling.
Jade had kissed her.
She had kissed Jade.
And it wasn’t like in her head. It wasn’t rushed or perfect or dreamy—it was real. Slightly awkward. Too soft. Beautiful because of the small spaces between breaths. It had happened slowly, sweetly. But now, in the bright morning light, it lived in Leah’s mind like a spark caught in the folds of paper.
And with it came something else: fear.
Leah sat up in bed, pulling her knees to her chest. The silence of her apartment felt louder today. She checked her phone.
No message yet.
No “good morning.”
No “last night was nice.”
No emoji. Not even a dot.
Her heart thudded—too fast for no real reason.
> Don’t do this, she told herself. Don’t spiral. It was one kiss. A good one. She held your face like you were something fragile and important. That means something. Doesn’t it?
But then again…
What if Jade regretted it?
What if it had only felt real in Leah’s head?
Meanwhile, across town…
Jade was pacing.
There was still tea on the counter from the night before, and she hadn’t touched her phone either—not because she didn’t want to text Leah.
But because she didn’t know how to say what she felt.
She had kissed her.
And now she was terrified.
Not because she didn’t want Leah. She did. In every quiet way possible. But because she didn’t want to be something Leah regretted. Or worse—something Leah ran from.
She drafted a message three times. Deleted it three times.
Finally, she wrote:
> “Hey. I know it’s early. You okay?”
Then she stared at the screen.
Did that sound too casual? Too distant? Too—
The typing bubbles popped up.
Then vanished.
Then appeared again.
Leah’s apartment.
She saw the message. Her heart stuttered.
Then she typed:
> “I’m okay. Just thinking a lot.”
She hit send. Then quickly added:
> “Last night… it was really nice. I don’t regret it. Just so you know.”
The response came fast.
> “Me neither. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”
And then:
> “Want to come over? We don’t have to do anything. Just… be.”
Leah didn’t hesitate.
She didn’t overthink her hair. Or what shoes to wear. She just pulled on her hoodie, grabbed her sketchpad like a shield, and left.
When Jade opened the door, she didn’t say anything.
She just stepped aside and let Leah in.
And Leah didn’t say anything either.
Not at first.
But then, standing in the quiet of that little apartment, she said the words that had been chasing her since sunrise:
> “I’m scared of this. But I don’t want to pretend I’m not.”
Jade didn’t flinch.
She simply stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Leah—not pulling, not holding too tight. Just being there. Present. Steady.
“I’m scared too,” Jade whispered against her shoulder. “But I’m more scared of pretending I don’t feel something when I do.”
Leah closed her eyes.
Let herself breathe.
Let herself believe that maybe… maybe this was okay.
That maybe, this was real.
In the corner, her sketchpad sat unopened.
But soon—soon, it would be filled again.
Not with frogs. Not with figures.
But with someone who made her want to stay.
End of Almost Love, Then Everything Chapter 9. Continue reading Chapter 10 or return to Almost Love, Then Everything book page.