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𝙸𝚏 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚊 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖, 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎

Maybe I shouldn't be saying this. Maybe it's too soon to let joy curl around my ribs like this - too soon to let the words slip past my lips where the universe can hear them and decide to take it all away. Every time I've loved too loudly, too soon, it's vanished. Faded like a daydream the second I claimed it out loud. But this time... I'd rather be heartbreak-shattered for trying than quietly untouched by something that could've been everything.

He listens to me. I don't mean the polite nodding or the waiting-for-their-turn kind of listening. I mean the type where he remembers my dreams I almost gave up on. The kind where I say something once, and later he's built a whole moment out of it. Fairy lights and the kind of care that doesn't need permission to feel real. And the best part? I listen back. I want to. I want to know what makes him laugh, what songs he never skips, what he's scared to admit out loud. I want to sit in his silence and hear everything he doesn't say.

It feels like the universe pressed a finger against my pulse and whispered, 'This one'. Like fate stopped playing games long enough to send me someone who actually sees me. Not the curated version, not the armor, but the real me. With all the cracks and soft places I usually hide. And somehow, instead of pulling away, he leans closer. Holds them like treasures.

I don't know how this ends. I don't need to. All I know is that right now, in this chapter of soft hands and steady eyes, I feel safe. And chosen. And maybe for once, that's all I need to begin.