Finding light in the darkest places—through love-Chapter 89 – The Quiet Room

Adrian:

Correct.

By the time she arrived at his place, a soft drizzle had begun outside. Adrian was already waiting in the lobby, hoodie half-zipped, hands tucked into his pockets like he'd been pacing.

She smiled when he reached for her bag instinctively, slinging it over his shoulder like it was nothing.

"Hi," he said simply.

"Hi."

They didn't need much more than that.

Domesticity in Small Spaces

Adrian's apartment wasn't large—two bedrooms, soft light, faint smell of instant noodles and laundry detergent—but it felt comfortable. Lived-in.

Evelyn settled into his couch with a bag of popcorn while he scrolled through movie options.

"Something feel-good," she insisted. "No war. No heartbreak. No metaphors."

Adrian snorted. "So basically, a kids' movie?"

"I'm serious. I want fluff. Give me an animated princess or a dog that learns to talk."

He raised a brow, then grinned. "You're lucky I like you."

He picked an old animated film neither of them had seen in years—one with clumsy magic and a talking cat that sang jazz. Evelyn curled up beside him, their shoulders pressed together, her legs tucked beneath her.

Halfway through the movie, she stopped watching.

Not because it was boring—but because being here, this close, with him casually leaning back, fingers lightly brushing hers between popcorn grabs... It was suddenly overwhelming.

In a good way. And a scary way.

She thought she was used to people pulling away. To have to prove herself, or hold herself back, or wait to be asked in.

But Adrian didn't wait.

He just made space.

And that space felt bigger than she knew how to handle sometimes.

Cracks in the Wall

"Do you ever feel," she asked quietly, "like you're holding everything together with tape and breath and some fake smile you put on so people don't ask questions?"

Adrian paused the movie immediately.

He didn't speak, not at first. He just shifted to face her, expression softening.

"What happened?"

Evelyn stared at her hands in her lap. Her voice came small.

"My mom called this morning."

Adrian didn't rush her.

"She wanted to remind me that it's almost Dad's anniversary next week," she continued. "Said I should come home. That would mean a lot to the family."

He waited. Gave her silence, but not distance.

"I haven't been home in a year," Evelyn whispered. "Not really. Not since... after everything. The tension, the way no one says anything real anymore. It's exhausting. And I'm tired of being the one who always tries to fix it."

Adrian reached over, intertwining their fingers.

"You don't have to fix anything."

"I know. But I also don't want to disappoint them. I don't want to be the daughter who only calls when it's convenient. But every time I go back, I feel like I'm ten years old again—like I'm invisible unless I'm doing something useful."

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Her voice cracked on the last word, and she turned away quickly, embarrassed.

Adrian didn't try to offer clichés. He didn't promise it would be okay.

He just slid closer and wrapped his arms around her gently.

Evelyn leaned into the warmth of his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear. Her fingers clutched the fabric of his hoodie as if afraid the moment might disappear.

"You don't have to be useful to be loved, Evelyn," he said quietly. "Not by me."

That was the moment the tears came—not loud, not messy. Just quiet ones, the kind that slipped down unnoticed until they soaked his sleeve.

He held her through them.

No pressure. No fixing.

Just presence.

The Aftermath of Honesty

They sat like that for a long time, the movie long forgotten. At some point, Adrian reached over to grab a blanket and pulled it over both of them. His touch was gentle when he brushed the hair away from her face, resting his chin on the crown of her head.

"Do you want to go?" he asked, later.

Evelyn knew he meant her hometown.

She shook her head. "Not yet."

He nodded. "If you change your mind, I'll go with you. You don't have to do it alone."

Her breath caught.

"You'd do that?"

"In a heartbeat."

Evelyn leaned back just enough to look at him. His eyes held no judgment, no pity—just warmth. Steady and quiet.

"I think I'm scared of how much I care about you," she whispered.

Adrian smiled, a little crooked. "Good. That makes two of us."

Something Like Safe

When she finally went home that night, her phone buzzed with another message.

Adrian:

I know today was hard. But I'm proud of you.

You're allowed to feel everything.

P.S. You left your cardigan here. I'm holding it hostage until our next movie night.

Evelyn stared at the screen, her heart full and aching.

She still didn't know exactly where they were heading.

But for the first time in a long time, she wasn't afraid of finding out.