Chapter 47: Home in Your Arms

The rain tapped gently against the window as we sat curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over us, the warmth of tea in our hands. Between us lay an open book The Dark Face of Love its pages slightly worn from the hours we'd spent passing it back and forth. I watched her eyes move across the lines, the soft furrow in her brow when a sentence struck her, the slight curve of her lips when something lingered.

There was something profoundly intimate about reading with her. We weren't just sharing stories; we were sharing thoughts, emotions, and moments that shaped how we saw love, pain, and everything in between. Every time she underlined a line or scribbled a thought in the margin, I felt like I was learning another hidden part of her soul.

She looked at me and asked, "Do you think love is really like this? Dark, wild… and honest?"

I thought for a moment before answering. "I think it's exactly like that except ours found light in the darkness."

She smiled, resting her head on my shoulder, and as the rain fell like a soft lullaby, I realized that these were the kinds of moments I'd spend a lifetime collecting.