These two chapters are a bonus to celebrate the new collection received , and I will stand by my word and release two extra chapters for each new collection received 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳
Bonus Chapter(1/2)
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The curtain rod in the guest room was still crooked.
The hallway light flickered when it rained.
The espresso machine sputtered every third morning like it resented being used before 8 A.M.
Aria had meant to fix those things.
So had Leon.
But somehow, they kept not fixing them.
She noticed them most on the quieter days—like today—when the city seemed to hold its breath and everything slowed.
It had been six weeks since she changed her name.
Two months since the move.
And in that time, they had become something steady.
Something known.
But not something perfect.
Aria stood in the guest room doorway, tilting her head at the lopsided curtain rod.
Leon appeared behind her, reading her silence.
"I swear I'll fix it this weekend."
"You said that three weekends ago."
"I meant it every time."
She smiled faintly. "I know."
They moved through the apartment like dancers who'd stopped needing choreography.
He reached for the dishes before she asked.
She found his watch in the laundry basket before he noticed it missing.
But some days, tension still flared from nowhere.
A clipped tone.
An overlooked message.
The weight of unspoken things.
That night, over pasta and wine, Aria said what had been gnawing at her.
"I keep waiting for it to feel… solved."
Leon looked up. "What do you mean?"
"Us. Life. I thought moving here would fix something. Or maybe being engaged would."
He set down his fork.
"You don't feel fixed?"
She shrugged.
"I feel happy. And in love. And completely unresolved. Like there's still clutter in the corners of me I haven't figured out yet."
Leon leaned back.
"Maybe we're not supposed to be fixed."
"You're not scared of that?"
"I'm terrified."
He smiled.
"But I'd rather be terrified with you than polished and alone."
After dinner, they curled up on the couch, the flickering hallway light just visible from where they sat.
Aria traced a circle on his wrist with her finger.
"You ever feel like we're building something that still doesn't have walls?"
Leon exhaled.
"I think we're laying bricks as we go. And some days we drop one. Or step on it."
She laughed softly. "Romantic."
He pulled her closer.
"Real."
They didn't talk about it again that night.
But when she woke the next morning, she heard him in the guest room—tools in hand, curtain rod finally leveled.
The light still flickered.
The espresso machine still hissed its protest.
But the rod was straight.
And that was something.