The sky darkened earlier than usual.
Amina stood beside the window, watching the faint outlines of clouds shift across the horizon. The apartment lights were off, leaving the room dim except for the last traces of sunset. She liked it that way—soft, quiet, not too bright. The kind of lighting that made thinking easier.
Behind her, the door clicked gently.
She didn't turn. She already knew it was Rafi.
"I didn't see you in the lounge," he said as he stepped inside. "I thought I should check on you."
"I just needed some quiet."
"You've been quiet all afternoon."
Amina shifted her gaze to the floor. She knew he'd notice. He always did.
"Did something happen?" he asked, voice low.
"No."
Then, after a moment—
"Not exactly."
Rafi moved closer—not too close—just enough for her to feel the weight of his presence. He stood beside her at the window, hands in his pockets, watching her more than the view.
"You're thinking too hard again," he said gently.
Amina surprised herself by letting out a small breath that was almost a laugh. "I've been thinking too hard all my life."
"That's true," he said with a soft smile. "But today is different."
Amina leaned her shoulder lightly against the cool wall. She didn't want to admit it. But she felt it too—something heavy had been sitting on her chest since the morning.
"Rafi," she said quietly, "what you told me earlier… about choosing me… I don't know how to hold that."
"You don't have to hold it," he replied calmly. "Just let it exist."
She shook her head slowly. "It feels like too much."
"Only because you've never had anything like it."
Amina's fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the curtain. "You're not supposed to say things that make my heart confused."
He didn't laugh. He didn't turn it into a joke. Rafi never downplayed moments like this.
"Your heart isn't confused," he said. "It's scared."
"How do you know the difference?"
"Because I'm scared too."
Amina blinked and looked up at him. Rafi didn't look away, didn't hide. His honesty hit her in a way she wasn't prepared for.
"You?" she whispered.
"Yes."
A simple word.
Quiet.
Real.
"But you don't show it."
"I can't afford to," he said. "You need someone steady right now, not someone drowning in their own emotions."
Amina looked away, her throat tightening. "I don't want to disturb your life."
"You're not," he said immediately. "You're part of it."
Those five words stole her breath.
A long silence filled the room—comfortable, but intense enough that she could feel every unspoken thought hanging between them.
Amina finally whispered, "Rafi… what happens if I disappoint you?"
He turned fully toward her, close enough now that she could feel the quiet strength in his stance.
"You won't," he said.
"You can't know that."
"I do."
She swallowed, wishing she could believe him as easily as he believed her.
"People change," she murmured. "Feelings change."
"Then let them," he said. "We'll deal with whatever comes, when it comes."
Her chest tightened. "You make everything sound simple."
"It isn't simple," he said. "But overthinking makes it harder than it needs to be."
Amina's voice dropped lower. "I don't know how to trust that someone won't leave."
"I'm not asking you to trust the future," Rafi said gently. "Just trust the moment."
Amina closed her eyes for a second.
The silence returned—soft, warm, almost heavy with meaning. She opened them again to find Rafi studying her with an expression she couldn't decode.
He took one step closer. Then another.
"Amina," he said quietly.
Her breath hitched, her pulse unsteady.
"Yes?"
"You don't have to step toward me. But don't run."
Her chest rose and fell too fast, but she didn't back away.
"I'm not running," she said. "I'm just… afraid."
"That's fine," he murmured. "Fear means you care."
He was close now—close enough that she could see the faint shadow of tiredness under his eyes, the soft curve of his mouth, the restraint in every controlled breath he took.
He reached out slowly, carefully, and touched her wrist with just two fingers—light, barely there, as if giving her time to pull away.
She didn't.
The touch was small, but she felt it everywhere—her pulse stumbling, her thoughts scattering.
"Your heart is racing," he whispered.
"You're too close," she breathed.
"And you're still not stepping back."
She wasn't.
Her body leaned toward him before her mind even caught up. The tension between them stretched, tightened, and settled into something soft and dangerous.
Rafi lowered his voice even more. "If this is too much, I'll stop."
Amina shook her head slightly. "I don't want you to stop."
Those words hung in the air—quiet, trembling, more honest than she intended.
Rafi's fingers slid gently down her wrist to her hand, not forcing, not pulling, just offering.
A moment passed where neither of them moved.
Then Amina's fingers curled slowly around his.
A small, steady connection.
Deep enough to shake her.
Soft enough not to scare her.
Rafi exhaled, something relieved in the sound.
"Amina," he whispered, "you're allowed to want things."
Her voice barely made it out. "I don't know what I want."
"You know," he said softly, "you're just scared to admit it."
Her breath trembled. Her heart thudded. The world felt too still, too quiet. Every emotion she'd been pushing away rushed forward at once—fear, longing, confusion, hope.
She finally looked up at him fully.
"Rafi," she whispered, "don't hurt me."
"I won't," he said, with a certainty that almost broke her.
Their hands stayed joined, fingers loosely intertwined. It was the gentlest promise she had ever felt.
He stepped back slightly—not pulling away, just easing the tension in the room.
"Come sit," he said softly. "You've been standing in your head too long."
Amina let him guide her to the couch, her heart still pounding but her mind quieter than it had been in days.
He didn't let go of her hand until she sat down.
And he didn't leave.
He stayed there, beside her, steady and warm. Not demanding. Not assuming. Just… present.
And for the first time, Amina realized that maybe, just maybe, she didn't have to face her fears alone anymore.