There was a time when Nayla didn't believe in forever.
She didn't even believe in next week.
She used to live day-to-day, guarding her heart like it was glass wrapped in velvet no sudden moves. No cracks allowed. Safe, quiet, predictable.
But love had a funny way of rewriting stories.
And Raka, he hadn't rewritten her.
He just handed her the pen.
—
It was a Tuesday evening when everything clicked into place.
Nothing extraordinary had happened.
She wasn't wearing anything special. He wasn't doing anything cinematic. They were sitting on her balcony, sharing a blanket and a bowl of mango slices. The sky was painted in soft streaks of peach and lilac. The city below hummed like a lullaby.
Nayla leaned against Raka's shoulder, letting the silence wrap around them.
She thought about the girl she used to be.
The girl who flinched when someone got too close.
The girl who thought being understood was a myth.
The girl who thought she had to perform to be loved.
She thought about that version of herself and smiled.
"You're doing that thing again," Raka murmured.
"What thing?"
"Staring off into the middle distance like you're narrating a novel."
She chuckled. "Maybe I am."
"Care to share the chapter title?"
She paused.
Then said, "The Things She Now Believes."
Raka tilted his head, interested. "And what does she believe?"
Nayla straightened slightly, clearing her throat with mock seriousness. "Number one: That love doesn't always arrive like fireworks. Sometimes it's a slow morning. A familiar laugh. A drawer in someone else's house."
He nodded. "Strong opening."
"Number two: That being quiet isn't a flaw. It's just a different kind of loud."
"I've always said your silence is fluent."
"Number three: That the right person won't make you feel like you have to be 'more' to be enough."
He looked at her then. Looked. The kind of gaze that said I see all of you. And I'm still here.
"And number four," she continued softly, "That forever isn't a promise. It's a choice. A daily one."
Raka leaned in and kissed her temple. "Then I choose you. Today. Tomorrow. And all the quietly complicated days after that."
Her chest tightened, but this time it wasn't fear.
It was peace.
They didn't need rings yet. Or timelines. Or five-year plans.
What they had was now.
And now it was no longer something she feared losing.
It was something she was finally brave enough to hold.
—
Later that night, as she slipped into bed beside him, she glanced at the journal on her nightstand.
She flipped to a fresh page.
At the top, she wrote:
"Chapter 3: The Things She Now Believes"
Below it, she listed:
That softness isn't weakness.
That being loved well changes how you see yourself.
That healing is never loud. It's in the quiet moments no one claps for.
That a hand held gently is stronger than any locked door.
That real love doesn't arrive to save you. It arrives when you've started saving yourself.
She closed the journal and turned off the light.
Raka stirred beside her, half-asleep.
"You okay?" he mumbled.
She nestled in close, resting her head on his chest. "More than okay."
In the darkness, she smiled to herself.
Because for the first time, Nayla didn't just believe in love.
She believed in herself.
And that?
That was the real beginning.