Chapter 17 — The First Touch
The apartment smelled faintly of rain and coffee, a quiet cocoon from the storm that had trailed them all day. Mara sat on the edge of the couch, sketchbook open on her lap, but she wasn't drawing. Her pencil hovered, forgotten, as Milo leaned against the doorway, watching her with a softness that made her stomach flip.
"You've been quiet," he said, voice gentle, almost a whisper, not wanting to startle her.
"I'm… thinking," she murmured, eyes still on the blank page, though she hadn't noticed she was staring into nothing.
He stepped closer, slow, careful, giving her room but closing the invisible distance that had been between them. "About?"
"About… trusting," she admitted, finally letting the words escape. "About letting someone in. I'm not… I'm not good at it."
Milo smiled softly, the kind of smile that felt like a promise. "I'm not asking you to be perfect. I just… want to be here, with you. That's all."
Her heart skipped. She wanted to believe him, but her instincts screamed caution. Yet every time she looked at him, she felt drawn — like gravity she couldn't resist.
He knelt slowly in front of her, not kneeling as if to submit, but to meet her eye-to-eye. "Can I…?" His fingers hovered just above hers.
Mara's breath caught. "Can you… what?"
"Touch your hand," he said softly. "Just for a moment."
Her chest thundered. It was such a small request, and yet it carried a weight she hadn't realized she craved. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she extended her hand. Milo's fingers brushed hers lightly, tenderly, and she felt a warmth bloom from the tips of her fingers to the center of her chest.
Her pulse raced. Her walls wavered. She wanted to pull away and stay safe, but something deeper, something older, whispered: You can let him in.
Milo's thumb brushed over her knuckles, soft, deliberate, grounding. Mara's eyes widened, caught in the intensity of the moment. His gaze held hers — patient, unwavering, full of care.
"I want to be someone you can rely on," he whispered. "Someone you can trust… fully."
Tears pricked at Mara's eyes, unbidden. She had spent years hiding, guarding herself, building walls too high to climb. And yet here was someone who wasn't asking her to tear them down — he was asking her to lean on them.
Slowly, she nodded, a small, trembling motion that felt like surrender. Not to him completely, not yet, but to the possibility of something more.
Milo's smile widened, just a little, and he leaned closer, their foreheads almost touching. "Thank you," he murmured.
For the first time in years, Mara felt safe in someone else's presence. Not just safe, but seen, valued, wanted.
And as rain pattered softly against the windows, Milo held her hand a little tighter, their fingers intertwined, the first sparks of love blazing quietly, impossibly, into something neither of them could deny.