"This man was quietly slipping into her heart—no, into her very chest, into the hollows of her Pericardium—fixing the shards of her heart that was shattered by others." _Maeve
It had already been a week since they arrived in Rotorua and Maeve's need to heal quickly—gnawed at her. There was so much she wanted to learn, so much she longed to do. God had given her this chance, and she was not going to waste it.
She wanted to learn how to cook international dishes. Back when she lived with her uncle and aunt, she had only learned to make a few meals—just enough to survive. But when Levi made her breakfast, it tasted like something from another world. Nothing she had ever known. He told her his childhood chef trained him, and he promised to teach her once she recovered.
She also wanted to dance again. It had been so long. And now she had an entire studio—just for her. Every time she remembered, the excitement in her chest felt like a rush of adrenaline.
She wanted to walk around the mountain, get to know the place that was slowly starting to feel like home.
She wanted to go hiking with Levi.
Lately, she'd started depending on him more. It scared her, but also gave her peace. He brought a kind of happiness she had not known she craved. A quiet, consistent kind. The kind that healed wounds without even trying.
Two days ago, during a session, Dr. Elira had asked Maeve who she felt safest and most alive with.
Only one person came to mind—Levi. Even though she barely knew anything real about him, other than what he let people see, he was the only one who made her heart feel like it still had life left in it.
She knew she was falling for him. Maybe it was because no one had cared for her in so long—but even if that was the reason, she didn't care.
She was getting more comfortable around Noelle too. The triggers weren't as strong anymore. Maeve was grateful for her—she came over every day to massage her hands and keep her company whenever she felt bored or lonely.
But even with all this light, the darkness still visited her sometimes. It would wrap around her like a heavy blanket. When it did, she used the breathing exercises and distraction techniques Dr. Elira taught her. Gently biting the inside of her lip in count of threes until her brain gets distracted and lets her go.
She was learning. Slowly. But she was learning to survive differently now—with intention. With hope.
---
Maeve sat quietly at the opening just outside her room, the veranda-like space that overlooked the forest. A soft, cool breeze kissed her face. The wind went through the trees like they were telling stories only the earth could understand.
She looked down at her legs.
She wanted to try standing.
No... she needed to.
She slid her feet to the floor. Her hands trembled as she pressed them against the armrest, trying to push herself up. Her legs wobbled under her weight, still unsteady—but she was determined.
"I need to get better," she whispered to herself.
She rose.
But her balance gave way almost immediately. The world tipped sideways and she felt herself falling—she braced for impact—
A strong arm wrapped around her waist, catching her before she hit the ground.
"What are you doing?" Levi's voice was sharp, laced with panic as he held her steady, his hand against her stomach.
"I... I just wanted to try—"
"Easy, Maeve," he said, guiding her gently back to the seat. "You have to take it step by step. Don't rush your healing."
Her face flushed. It wasn't just the embarrassment of falling—it was him.
Why was his shirt open?
She blinked fast, trying to look away. His torso was lean and defined, like he'd been sculpted from years of consistent calisthenics. Muscles curved under pale skin, every line from his chest down carved with years of control.
She dragged her gaze away before he could notice her gawking.
"I actually came to ask for your help," he said, sitting beside her.
She blinked again. "What?" what could he possibly need from her?
"Will you help me button my shirt?" he asked, completely casual.
Maeve stared. Was he being serious?
First of all, his hands worked just fine. Secondly, her own hands were still weak. It was just now that she could lift them without intense pain.
"I can't," she murmured, her voice dropping, a little embarrassed.
"But you can," he said softly. His voice—low and calm—wrapped around her like silk. "Just try."
He leaned a bit closer, lowering his head slightly, waiting.
She hesitated, then slowly lifted her trembling hands. Button by button, she worked through it. Every movement was slow, but she was doing it. Her fingers brushed his chest once and she froze for half a second—but he didn't move, didn't flinch. He just waited.
When she finally finished she saw a small proud smile on his face. Her heart fluttered. His smile was starting to become her Roman empire.
"You did well," he said, gently placing a hand on her head.
Her heart skipped.
She couldn't even try to deny what she felt anymore.
This man was quietly slipping into her heart—no, into her very chest, into the hollows of her Pericardium—fixing the shards of her heart that was shattered by others.
He reached for her hands and began to massage them gently, his thumbs pressing in slow, firm circles.
"Does it hurt?" he asked, watching her.
"No… not really," she whispered in her soft voice.
"That's good," he replied.
There was a pause. A quiet peace settled between them.
"Do you want to watch a movie?" he asked suddenly. "I realized… I've never seen you watch TV."
She smiled faintly. "I guess I've always preferred reading books over watching movies."
He nodded. "let's try something today."