The healing

The air was heavy that afternoon,not with tension, but with anticipation.

Efua sat at the café where they first met, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass, heart thudding like a distant drum. The sky above threatened rain, and she welcomed it. Maybe the city could cry for her, so she wouldn't have to.

She had arrived early. Too early.

Part of her wanted to leave before he got there, to run before anything could be said that might reopen what had only just begun to close. But another part of her, quieter, braver, told her to stay. To listen. To see.

Jessel walked in quietly.

No dramatic entrance. Just him.

And somehow, that was enough.

His presence still hit her the same way, like breath after holding it too long. She hated how familiar it felt. How much her body still recognized him. How quickly her heart skipped back into rhythm with the moment.

He sat across from her. No hug. No "I've missed you." Just eye contact. And that was louder than any embrace.

"Thank you for coming," she said softly.

"I couldn't not come," he replied. "I just needed time to come as a better version of me. One who's not loving you through pride."

That already unraveled something in her.

Efua looked down, brushing her thumb over the condensation on her glass.

"I overreacted. I know. But I wasn't trying to accuse you. I just… got scared."

Jessel nodded. "I know. And I should've stayed. I should've helped you feel safe instead of going quiet.

I promised I would never be like the people who made you doubt your worth. And then I let fear make me do exactly that."

His voice cracked, almost imperceptibly. "I'm sorry."

The apology didn't fix everything. But it cracked the ice between them.

Efua stared out the window. "I always feel like I'm too much. Like if I say how I feel, I'll drive people away. Like love is something I have to tiptoe around or I'll shatter it."

He didn't rush to fill the silence. Instead, he reached across the table, hand resting gently on hers.

"You're not too much," he said. "You've just never had anyone hold space for your depth. I wasn't ready before. But I am now. If you'll let me try again."

Later that evening, she invited him home.

Not out of impulse.

Not to return to what they were.

But to slowly, intentionally, explore what they could be.

The drive to her apartment was quiet. Not uncomfortable, just full. As if both of them were letting the silence do the work of reweaving what had come undone.

When they entered her space, she offered him tea. He smiled and took the cup like it was a peace offering.

They sat on the couch for a while, not touching, just… talking. She told him how it felt to miss someone who was still technically "there." He told her what it was like to be afraid of becoming someone he didn't even like.

And when the conversation grew quiet again, it wasn't avoidance.

It was softness.

The bedroom was dim, lit only by the warm glow of her bedside lamp. Rain tapped at the windows like a soft rhythm, a soundtrack to this new version of them.

Efua stood at the edge of the bed in her robe, uncertain at first.

Jessel stepped behind her, arms encircling her waist, his chin resting lightly on her shoulder.

"You're still the most beautiful storm I've ever walked into," he whispered.

She let out a quiet breath. "And you're the stillness I didn't know I needed."

They didn't rush.

They sat on the bed, shoulders touching, hands loosely intertwined. Their conversation melted into silence again, not because there was nothing to say, but because sometimes, presence said everything.

She rested her head on his chest. His hand rested on her back.

Nothing rushed. Nothing forced.

When they lay down, they stayed clothed, tangled together, heartbeat to heartbeat. His palm rested on her cheek. Her fingers rested over his heart.

They fell asleep like that, in the peace that comes when two people finally meet each other in the middle, after walking through fire in separate directions.

In the morning, sunlight slipped through the curtains in golden strands, brushing across their skin.

Efua stirred, blinking slowly as the light warmed her face. Michael was already watching her.

"Morning," he said.

"Morning," she whispered back.

For a while, they stayed there, no phones, no rush, just skin and soft breath and the quiet intimacy of being seen and accepted.

Then she murmured:

"Next time we argue, promise me you won't leave the room."

He nodded, eyes never leaving hers. "Promise me you won't shut down."

"Deal," She whispered, He kissed her forehead.

"We're learning, Together," she said.

She smiled not just with her lips, but with her whole being.

This wasn't perfect. It wasn't solved. But it was real.

This wasn't a reset.

It was the start of something new, born from honesty, held in softness, and fueled by choice.

And that, more than anything, made her believe they just might make it.

Wondered what the next days, weeks, even months and hopefully years held for them.....