THE MORNING AFTER THE STORM
The morning sun filtered through my curtains, painting soft golden streaks across the floor of my room.
I stirred beneath the blankets, blinking slowly as the memories of last night came rushing back like waves crashing against the shore.
Daniel.
His eyes. His voice. The way he'd said my name like it still meant everything to him.
It was gentle but charged, tentative yet meaningful. And now, with the daylight creeping in, reality felt heavier, more complicated.
I sat up in bed, pressing my palms to my face.
My heart was still beating to the rhythm of our conversation, his apology, his confession, his promise to change.
Grabbing my journal from the nightstand, I flipped to a fresh page and let the pen move freely, hoping it would untangle the knot inside me.
"He said he fell for me even when I was unreachable.
But how do I trust that he's here now, not because he lost me, but because he's truly found something in me worth fighting for?"
A knock on the door jolted me from my thoughts.
I shuffled out of bed and opened it to find Saraph standing there with two mugs in her hand: coffee for her, warm lemon tea for me. She knew me too well.
"Morning," she said with a soft smile, slipping into the room like she belonged there. And in a way, she did.
My safe person.
She handed me my mug and sank onto the edge of my bed, watching me with a cautious curiosity.
"I take it you didn't sleep much," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
I shook my head, sipping my tea. "No. My brain wouldn't stop."
Saraph didn't push. She waited.
"I don't know how to feel," I finally said. "I mean… everything he said. It was raw, and real, and God, Saraph—he cried."
Her brows lifted in surprise. "Daniel cried?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Like, not sobbing, but I saw it. The regret. The fear of losing me."
Saraph took a deep breath, clearly digesting that. "And you? What do you feel now?"
I leaned back against the headboard, hugging my knees. "Torn.
There's this part of me that still aches from what he did… from how he made me feel so disposable.
But last night, when he looked at me, it didn't feel like I was disposable.
It felt like I was his entire world."
"Sounds like you saw the real him."
"Maybe," I whispered.
Saraph was quiet for a beat. "Nuella, I know I set you up last night, and I probably should've told you.
But I only did it because I've seen how sad he's been. He talks to me sometimes."
"He talks to you?" I arched a brow.
"Well," she shrugged, "he doesn't know how to say much without sounding desperate, but… yeah.
He's been trying. Not just with you. With himself, too.
I figured if you saw that side of him, maybe you'd know whether there was still something there or not."
"There is," I admitted. "But it's buried under layers of pain. I don't know if love is enough."
Saraph reached out and squeezed my hand. "Then give it time. You don't have to figure it all out today."
"I'm scared," I said quietly. "What if Mira comes back? What if I get hurt again?"
"You will heal again," she said. "But I get it. You need him to show you, not just say it."
I nodded slowly. "I think I'll let him try. But on my terms. Slowly. Carefully. Because I matter."
Saraph smiled. "You do. And don't ever forget that."
Just then, my phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number, but I knew who it was.
"I know last night was a lot.
Thank you for letting me in. I'll wait as long as it takes. You're worth every second." Daniel.
I stared at the message for a long time before locking the phone and setting it aside.
"I'm not replying," I said aloud. "Not yet."
"Good," Saraph agreed. "Let him sweat a little."
We both laughed, and in that laughter, I felt something shift. I didn't have all the answers, but I wasn't drowning in confusion anymore.
I was floating, carried by the support of a friend who never left, and a love that might still have a chance if it was strong enough to weather the storm it created.