I sat on the edge of the bed, my crutches leaning against the wall, and tried to stretch my ankle carefully.
"Need help?" Calix asked softly, appearing at the doorway, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
I shook my head. "I can manage."
He stepped closer anyway, crouching beside me to examine my brace. "Let me check it anyway. I can't just watch you struggle."
I sighed, but didn't protest.
There was something comforting about his presence, the way he moved with care, his fingers gentle as he adjusted the strap.
"You're getting stronger," he said after a moment.
"I still feel… slow," I admitted.
"Steady is better than fast," he reminded me, echoing his words from the garden days ago.
His hand lingered over mine, reassuring, and I felt a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the sunlight.
He helped me into a chair at the breakfast table, placing my plate in front of me carefully.
"You always do too much," I muttered, though I couldn't hide the small smile tugging at my lips.
"You always say that," he replied, grinning. "And yet, you let me."
I rolled my eyes, but my fingers brushed his as I reached for my fork.
The small touch, so ordinary, felt like a promise.
"I… like this," I said quietly, more to myself than to him.
He looked at me curiously. "Like what?"
"Us," I admitted. "This. You are helping me. Being here. Just… us."
His expression softened, and he reached across the table, taking my hand in his. "I like it too, Aurora. More than anything."
My chest tightened, a sudden rush of emotion that made my heart beat too fast. "I…" I faltered, words catching in my throat.
"You don't have to say it yet," he whispered.
But I did. Somehow, I felt safe enough, brave enough, to finally let it out.
"I love you," I murmured, my voice shaking slightly.
He froze, eyes widening for just a moment, then a slow, warm smile spread across his face. "I love you too," he said softly, leaning closer until his forehead touched mine.
The world shrank to that single heartbeat between us.
I could feel it, the steady pulse of his love, patient and unwavering, and I realized I had been wrong all these years.
Love wasn't about control or perfection.
It wasn't about winning or being enough.
It was about being seen, being cared for, and being chosen over and over again.
"I love you," he repeated, softer this time, just to make sure I heard it.
"I love you," I whispered back, letting the words feel real in my chest, letting them settle like a warm blanket over the fear and pain I had carried for so long.
—
The rest of the day was quiet and tender.
He helped me with small things, adjusting the blanket over my legs, pouring water into my glass, keeping me steady as I practiced gentle steps to regain my strength.
Every touch was soft.
Every glance was careful.
Every word was full of patience and love.
I had never known care like this.
Never felt closeness without fear.
But here it was, steady and warm, and I let myself lean into it completely.
By evening, we were curled up on the balcony together, watching the sky turn from gold to soft pink and finally to twilight blue.
"I think I could stay here forever," I said, resting my head against his chest.
"You could," he murmured, brushing a gentle hand through my hair. "And I'd stay too."
The word forever didn't scare me this time. It felt like a promise, not a burden.
"I love you," I said again, just to hear it, to let it sink fully in.
"I love you too," he replied, and I believed that love could be soft, safe, and endless.