The kitchen was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of the pendant light above the counter. Adrian stood by the sink, sleeves rolled up, drying a plate while humming an old song under his breath.
Sophia leaned against the doorframe, silently watching him.
She didn't mean to.
She had come down for water.
But now, here she was—frozen in place, heart caught in her throat.
It was the simplest thing. A man doing dishes. Yet, there was something in the ease of his movement, in the hum of his voice, in the curve of his tired smile when he caught her staring—
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, drying his hands on a towel.
Sophia shook her head slowly. "You?"
He shrugged. "Long shift. Couldn't unwind."
She walked to the fridge and poured herself a glass of water. The silence between them wasn't awkward anymore. It had grown comfortable. Familiar. Like old music in a quiet room.
As she turned to walk back, her shoulder brushed his.
Just a soft touch.
But something happened.
A spark. A flutter. A breath that caught halfway.
She paused. So did he.
Adrian looked down at her. "Sophia?"
She didn't move. Her hand still clutched the glass, but her eyes… they searched his face.
And in that moment—every wall she built over the last five years cracked.
She remembered the way he once kissed her forehead after every night shift. The way he whispered her name when he thought she was asleep. The way his eyes always softened when he looked at her, like she was the only calm in his storm.
She loved him.
She still loved him.
And it terrified her.
"I—" she started, voice barely above a whisper.
But Adrian stepped back gently, sensing the storm in her gaze.
"You don't have to say anything," he said quietly. "I know I've hurt you. But I just want to be here now. With you. However you let me."
Sophia looked at him, emotions swirling in her chest. Guilt. Fear. Love. Longing.
She didn't say she loved him—not yet.
But she smiled.
And that smile held more truth than any confession.
Adrian smiled back, a breath of relief hidden behind it.
And for the first time in years, the space between them didn't feel like a battlefield—it felt like home.