It was Saturday—their usual day. The one day each week they reserved just for each other, no interruptions, no excuses. That Saturday, instead of staying inside, they decided to sit outside Zeon's yard. The afternoon sun warmed the air, and Elara, tired but glowing, began sharing stories from school.
As she spoke, animated and carefree, Zeon interrupted her gently. "You look so cute while you're talking," he said, a soft grin tugging at his lips.
Elara's words stopped mid-sentence. She felt her cheeks heat up, her voice trapped behind a smile she couldn't hide. It had been so long since someone saw her like that. Truly saw her.
He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her lips—a peck, but enough to make her heart skip a beat.
That was it. She broke into a wide grin, the kind where all her teeth showed. She couldn't help it. The butterflies inside her chest danced like they were at a celebration.
Then he looked her straight in the eyes, serious this time. "I love you," he said quietly. "And one day, I'm going to marry you."
She believed the 'I love you.' That part was real. Tangible. She could feel it in the way he touched her hand, in the way his eyes softened when they met hers.
But the 'marry me' part? That part felt like a dream she wasn't allowed to have. Because how many boys had whispered those same words, only to disappear when things got too real?
Still, she let herself enjoy the moment.
The rest of the day passed like a slow, beautiful dream. They talked, laughed, held hands, and for once, nothing felt heavy.
When it was time for her to head home, Zeon ordered her an Uber. She stepped out, still smiling, holding onto the warmth of his words, his presence, the day they shared.
But just as she was about to walk into her yard, she heard someone call her name.
She turned around.
Her heart dropped.
It was her ex.
He stood a few feet away, regret written across his face like a confession. "I'm sorry," he said. "I want you back. I'll reclaim my place in your life. I swear."
Elara couldn't help but laugh—not out of joy, but disbelief. He had the nerve to appear now, after all the damage. After all the healing.
She didn't even respond. Just turned around and walked inside her yard.
Later that night, she told Zeon what had happened. His response was simple, calm, and solid. "Ignore him."
And just like that, she knew: Zeon wasn't jealous. He wasn't insecure. He trusted her.
But trust, she was starting to learn, could be the quietest test of all.
The next few days passed without much incident, but Elara couldn't shake the image of her ex. Not because she wanted him back—far from it—but because he had brought back memories she'd tried so hard to bury. The way he used to manipulate her emotions. The way he twisted love into guilt. Zeon was nothing like that, and yet, the ghost of her past relationship stirred fears she thought she'd buried.
She found herself watching Zeon more closely—not with suspicion, but with hope. Hoping he would never become like the one before him. Hoping she wasn't repeating a cycle.
Zeon noticed the subtle changes in her. He'd ask, "You good?" more often now. And she'd nod. But sometimes, she wished she could tell him that healing doesn't always happen in a straight line. That even when someone new treats you better, the damage from the past doesn't vanish overnight.
One evening, they sat quietly, sharing a packet of chips and scrolling through his playlist. A song came on—a slow one, about broken love and starting over. She didn't speak, just leaned into his shoulder. He didn't speak either, just rested his head against hers.
No one said it, but they both knew: something fragile was beginning to grow between them. Something that could become beautiful—or break them if they weren't careful.
A few days later, she found herself standing in front of her mirror, replaying everything. The past. The present. The what-ifs. She remembered how Zeon had promised forever, and how easily her ex had made the same empty promise. The lines blurred in her mind, and suddenly, she wasn't sure if she believed in forever at all.
She began to question the good things. Like why Zeon hadn't said "I love you" again since that Saturday. Or why he took a little longer to text back that week. They were small things, almost unnoticeable, but to someone who had been hurt before, they echoed louder than they should.
One evening, she almost confronted him. The words sat on her tongue, ready to spill. But then he surprised her. He sent her a short video—him recording himself, holding a chocolate bar and her favorite chips, saying, "I saw these and thought of you. I miss you already."
She melted.
The fears didn't vanish, but they paused. That moment reminded her: he was trying. They both were.
Their relationship wasn't perfect, but it was real. It had layers. Flaws. Growing pains. But it also had effort. And for Elara, that effort mattered more than any fairytale ending.
Maybe love didn't need to be loud or flawless.
Maybe love just needed to be shown, again and again, even in the smallest ways.