It was late afternoon when we got ready for the movie. She looked absolutely stunning—simple and graceful. Effortless glow oozing out of her body.
No overthinking anymore.
I walked over, gently placed a hand on her waist, and said, "You look amazing."
She blinked, caught off guard, then blushed slightly and smiled. That smile softened things I'd been holding in.
We headed out. On the way, I remembered Lina's words. Strange how a few sentences could shift something inside you. I felt… steadier and calmer.
The usual stares were there. Men with wandering eyes. But I ignored them. Let them look. That's all they could do. I was the one holding her hand, hearing her laugh, kissing her goodnight.
We picked a wholesome film. She chose it. A movie about family, love, and memories. I watched her more than the screen. She cried near the end, eyes glistening in the dim light.
"You're seriously crying?" I whispered, half-laughing.
She turned and smacked my arm with mock anger. "Shut up."
That earned a grin from me. She pouted all the way out of the theater, and I playfully lured her toward her favorite restaurant. Nothing fancy—just her favourite food and a cozy corner table.
It worked.
One bite into her meal, and she was already teasing me back, eyes bright again. She even stole bites from my plate, making those puppy eyes that left me completely defenseless—I just gave in without a fight.
What stood out the most was that it wasn't just me trying anymore. She was trying too. I could feel it in the way she clung to my arm as we walked, the way her fingers traced along my jaw when I wasn't expecting it. There were small glances, playful touches, soft laughs tucked between sips of water.
It felt… good.
Maybe all this time, I was the one holding us back. My overthinking had clouded everything, filling my head with doubts that didn't deserve that much space. All I really had to do was reach out, just a simple stretch of my hand toward her. And maybe she had already been waiting there, halfway, hoping I'd finally reach out and close the gap between us.
Spending time like this brought back memories of how simple and happy things were before we moved here. There was no insecurity, no jealousy, only love. Just the two of us. Everything felt so easy back then. We laughed, we teased, we held each other without a single doubt. But after moving here, I let my thoughts get the better of me. I let doubt creep in and twist everything until it started ruining what we had.
But sitting beside her now, watching her laugh and reach for my hand, I realized it was never that complicated. It never needed to be. All it really took was letting go of these unnecessary doubts and thoughts. I just have to trust her like before. That was it.
I started laughing quietly, placing my hand on my forehead. What an idiot I had been.
She held my hand, watching me laugh like a maniac out of nowhere, her eyes filled with concern.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly.
I placed my hand over hers and just looked at her, really looked. No words, just a smile and a quiet gaze that held everything I couldn't say.
She blushed hard, her cheeks turning red in the cutest way. That alone was enough to send me into another round of teasing, and she smacked my arm with a pout, trying to hide her smile.
We stepped out of the restaurant as the night settled around us. The air was calm, and there was a quiet comfort in walking while holding her hands. The day had come to an end, but it left behind moments I knew I would cherish and carry with me for a long time.
We were inside the house, exhausted but satisfied. The day had left us drained in the best way, like our bodies had soaked up every bit of joy they could handle. After washing up, we collapsed into bed. I wrapped my arm around her, and within minutes, sleep took over.
Around midnight, I woke up. My mouth was dry, my throat hurt because of dryness. I blinked a few times, adjusting to the darkness, then reached out instinctively to her side of the bed.
It was empty.
My hand met only the cold sheets.
For a moment, I froze.
A chill ran down my spine as the quiet pressed in. A déjà vu. It felt too familiar. That strange dream I'd had once, where I woke up to find her missing, rushed back to me. The way the house had felt hollow in that dream, the stillness, the unanswered questions.
I sat up slowly, heart starting to pound. This couldn't be another dream. Just to be sure, I pinched my cheek, hard enough to sting.
The pain was real.
No dream.
I got out of bed and grabbed a glass from the side table, trying to calm my racing thoughts. I stepped into the hallway, squinting as I looked around. The house was dark and quiet. No creaking floors, no distant hum of sound. Just silence.
Then I noticed the faint golden glow from the bathroom door.
There it was. A soft light spilling out just enough to guide me.
I let out a breath of relief. My shoulders dropped slightly as tension slipped away.
What the hell was I getting so worked up for?
Out of frustration, I gave myself a light slap on the cheek, just enough to jolt me back. "Stop overthinking," I muttered under my breath. "She's here. With me. Everything's fine."
But then, I noticed.
A sound. Faint, almost too quiet to notice at first.
I froze, ears sharpening. It was coming from the bathroom. I tilted my head, trying to catch it again. There it was—soft, irregular, almost like a whisper.
I took a step closer. My heart picked up. The hallway felt colder now. The bathroom door was closed, and a thin strip of light glowed from beneath it. The sounds continued. Low and faint. Mumbling. Too soft to make out clearly.
I stood there for a few seconds, staring at the door, unsure if I should knock or just walk away. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe I was just being paranoid again. Imagining things. My mind playing tricks on me.
Still, I couldn't ignore the tightness in my chest. The unease.
My hand hesitated for a moment before I finally knocked, not too hard. "Hey… everything okay in there, honey?"
For a second, there was nothing. Just silence. Then came her voice, a little too quick, a little shaky. "O-of course. I'm fine. I am really sorry. I hope I didn't make you worry. I'm sure you got worried not seeing me in bed."
Something about the way she said that made my chest tighten. I forced a chuckle to ease my nerves. "Yeah, kind of. I woke up and you weren't there. Thought I heard something weird, like… faint noises or something. Just wanted to check in."
A beat passed before she answered again, her voice trying to sound casual. "Oh… that? Just my stomach. It started acting up. I was cursing a little, probably what you heard."
"Right," I said slowly, trying to hide the doubt in my tone. "That makes sense."
"Don't worry," she added quickly. "I'll be out in a few minutes. You go back to bed."
"I'll leave the medicine on the table, okay? Just in case. You should take something."
There was another short pause. Then, softer now, she replied, "Thank you so much. And don't worry about me, I'll be okay. You better not disturb your sleep any longer because of me."
I stood there for a second longer, staring at the door, my hand still resting against the door. I didn't know what I was expecting—maybe the door to swing open, maybe her voice to crack again. But nothing came. Just the soft hum of the light from inside.
I turned away, letting out a quiet breath and walking back down the hallway. She said she was fine. That should've been enough. So why did my chest still feel tight?
I gave one last glance at the bathroom door, then turned around and walked back to the bed. Letting out a slow breath, I reminded myself of Lina's words.
Why was I even getting worked up for? Just because of that stupid dream. Dreams aren't reality. I needed to stop letting such silly things get to me. I closed my eyes and tried to slip back into sleep,
But sleep refused to come. I shifted on the bed, staring at the ceiling in the dim light, my ears picking up every creak in the house. The sheets felt colder on her side, and the silence only made it worse. Maybe it was just that—her absence beside me. That warmth, that quiet rhythm of her breathing, the comfort of knowing she was there. Without it, something felt... off.
I turned on my side, eyes half-lidded, trying to force myself to stop thinking. To stop feeling that unease still lingering at the edge of my chest. I breathed out slowly and closed my eyes again.
A few minutes passed before I heard them—soft, almost timid footsteps approaching from down the hall. I didn't move. I just listened.
The door creaked open gently. Then I felt the bed dip slightly. She slipped under the covers with practiced care, doing her best not to disturb me. She thought I was asleep. But I wasn't. Not yet.
Her presence next to me, the faint brush of her warmth against my back, was all it took. The heaviness in my chest loosened. That irrational worry I had been carrying started to melt. My eyelids grew heavier, my body finally relaxing.
And just like that, I drifted into sleep.