Chapter Twenty-Five: Love’s Words

This is Mira’s story — part fiction, part reflection, wholly honest.
(Each chapter will end with a note from her writing, signed as your trusted friend.)

🎧 Listen while you read: “My Love Mine All Mine” by Mitski
Haunting, tender, and raw. A melody that feels like it’s been echoing forever, just waiting to be named.

Mira’s Story: Love’s Words
The moment it settled

It wasn’t their first night together, but it felt like the first time it all settled.

Mira woke slowly, sunlight slanting through the blinds in soft golden lines. The room smelled like Rowan and coffee, and somewhere in the home, Rowan was humming. Not a song she knew, just a low, content vibration, like his chest couldn’t help but sing.

She stretched beneath the covers and listened. It felt like waking up inside a moment she didn’t want to rush.

When she stepped into the kitchen, he was barefoot, hair still sleep-mussed, flipping pancakes with a little too much concentration. It was clearly not his usual routine, she’d once teased him for being a two-eggs-and-toast-every-day kind of man. Pancakes, she figured, were either a bold gesture or a cry for help.

“You cook pancakes?” she teased, stealing a piece off the plate. “Is this a hostage situation? Blink twice if you need help.”

“I’m trying to impress a woman,” he said, mock-serious. “She has high standards. She once judged me for buying pre-sliced cheese.”

“Oh, she sounds terrifying.” Mira grinned. “You should probably run.”

He turned, and when he looked at her, his whole face softened. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Mira froze, not from fear, but from how true it sounded.

---

They ate on the kitchen floor, backs against the cabinets, plates in their laps, syrup dripping onto their fingers.

He brushed a thumb along her cheek. “You do this thing where you act like you’re okay fading into the background. But you’re not background, Mira.”

She blinked. “No?”

He shook his head. “You’re the whole damn story.”

She laughed lightly, but her chest ached. Something had been rising in her for weeks. Bubbling under the surface, catching her in quiet moments, in the way he made space for her without demanding anything back, how he started keeping her favorite tea in his cupboard without making a big deal of it, how he made her laugh and never expected her to entertain him.

He watched her with a kind of presence she hadn’t known she was missing.

There was the way he looked at her with his whole face, eyes crinkled, dimple flashing, like he was letting her in. The way he was with his kids, calm, consistent, patient. Mira had watched him explain the same arithmetic problem to Cal three times in a row without an ounce of frustration. He just kept going, steady as ever.

And with Ellie, he sang along to her favorite songs even though she groaned every time. But she always hit repeat.

Pepper had folded into their rhythm, too. Somehow, without effort, he made room for her. Not just in his home, but in his life.

It was all sinking in. Not loud or showy. Just… true.

She felt free here. Not for what she offered, or what she accomplished. Just free.

And suddenly, it was too big to hold inside anymore.

“I’ve been scared to say something,” she said.

“Me too.”

She looked at him, steady now.

“I think I love you.”

The words hung in the air like a held breath.

And for a moment, just a moment, her chest tightened.

She had never said it first. Not once. She’d always held the words in, swallowed them like poison. Because love had meant exposure. Vulnerability. Hurt. Saying I love you had become synonymous with being left.

So she waited.

And in the waiting, a thousand stories flickered across her skin. What if she misread him? What if he wasn’t ready? What if she ruined it by wanting too much?

Her pulse fluttered. She almost looked away.

But this felt different. Safe. Whole. Real.

It was too big to hold inside anymore.

His smile cracked wide, dimple and all.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I love you too.”

She laughed, barely an exhale, and leaned into him, into the moment. But a flicker of something crossed her face. He noticed. He always noticed.

So he set his plate down and turned more toward her, voice low and sure.

“Mira,” he said, “I would’ve said it first. I just… wanted to be sure I could say it the way it deserved to be heard.”

He held her gaze.

“I didn’t want to rush it. Not because I didn’t know. I’ve known.”

He paused, searching for the words.

“But I’ve said it before, in other lives, and it didn’t land right. Either I said it too soon, or it was taken for granted, or I didn’t mean it the way I should have. I didn’t want that with you. I didn’t want to say the words just to fill a silence, or because we were supposed to.”

His voice softened.

“I wanted to say it when it felt real. When it felt like a promise. And with you… it does.”

She blinked.

“I don’t think you realize how easy it is to love you. You make it feel like breathing. I wasn’t holding back because I didn’t know, I was holding it like something sacred. Because that’s what it is.”

Her eyes welled, but she didn’t look away.

“I’ve been steady for a long time,” he continued. “The one who carries things. I don’t mind it, it’s who I am. But with you…”

He paused.

“With you, I don’t have to hold it all alone. I can lean. I can laugh. You make me laugh in a way I didn’t realize I missed. You meet me in the quiet, and you make even the silence feel full.”

He exhaled. “You bring life back to me.”

She was undone.

Then she kissed him, slow, tender, syrup-sweet, pushing the plates aside and crawling into his lap.

And he kissed her back like he meant it.

Because he did.

---

Letters from The Clever Confidante: “The Body Remembers“
Healing is when your body stops bracing and starts belonging

For a long time, my body only recognized love as ache.

Love came with tension. With uncertainty. With the slow erasure of my own needs.

I learned to flinch when someone reached for me. I confused anxiety with passion. I stayed in rooms that burned because I’d been taught that fire meant warmth.

But something is shifting now.

I’m learning to listen to the quieter signals. The steady ones. The kind of presence that doesn’t set off alarms.

When he touches me, I don’t brace. When he leaves, I don’t spiral. When he looks at me, I feel seen, not studied.

This isn’t the love I imagined. It’s better. Because it’s safe. Because it’s real.

My body knows now. This is what home feels like.

Always,

Your Trusted Friend ❤

If you’ve ever mistaken chaos for love, or silence for absence—this one’s for you.
(Let it sit in your chest. Let it shift something. And if you feel called, share this with someone who reminds you what peace can feel like.)

☁️ New here? You can start Mira’s Story from the beginning with Chapter Zero.

➡️✨ Continue Mira’s Story with Chapter Twenty-Six: The Inner Circle

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