Two pages of the same book

“Maybe love isn’t always loud. Sometimes, it’s just choosing each other in the silence.”

The grief didn’t leave. It just… shifted.

It stopped screaming and started whispering. Less sharp, more tender. The kind that showed up in quiet moments—when the world was still and Kalix reached for Rose’s hand without thinking. Or when she looked at him like he was the only anchor keeping her from floating away.

They still had bad days.

But they started counting the good ones again.

Rose found herself rearranging the apartment. It wasn’t about erasing memories—it was about rewriting the space, reclaiming it. She added plants to the kitchen, lit candles again, played music while cooking—even if it was just soft lo-fi that Kalix would tease her about.

Kalix started sketching again. He filled his notebook with scribbles of her—curled on the couch, dancing in the kitchen, sleeping with a novel across her chest. He never told her, but every page looked like someone falling in love over and over again.

One night, it rained.

Not a storm—just a soft, warm drizzle that painted the windows silver.

Rose stood on the balcony, fingers gripping the railing, face tilted up.

Kalix stepped behind her, arms wrapping around her waist.

“Do you remember our first kiss in the rain?” she asked, voice quiet.

He smiled. “I remember everything about that night.”

She leaned her head back on his shoulder. “That version of us… it felt fearless.”

“We still are,” he whispered. “Just softer. Bruised, maybe. But not broken.”

She turned to face him, eyes full of everything they’d been through—everything they were still becoming.

And when he kissed her, it wasn’t desperate.

It wasn’t to forget.

It was to remember who they were beneath the pain. It was slow, deep, and healing.

Later, they lay in bed, tangled limbs and tangled hearts, the rain still murmuring against the windows.

“I’m scared,” she admitted softly. “Of trying again. Of losing again.”

Kalix didn’t rush a response.

“I am too,” he said finally. “But I’m more scared of never trying. Of letting fear decide how we live.”

He turned to her, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

“We’re allowed to be scared. We’re allowed to take time. But no matter what happens—you're not doing this alone. I’m here. Always.”

Her fingers found his.

And just like that, they chose each other again.

In the quiet. In the fear. In the healing.

“Maybe they wouldn’t ever be the same. But maybe love wasn’t about staying the same. Maybe it was about growing together—even through the storms.”