A few days after their night beneath the stars, Clara noticed something different in Emmanuel. He still smiled, still held her hand, still looked at her like she was made of magic—but there was a shadow behind his eyes. Something unspoken.
They sat on the rooftop of his family home that evening, the sky dipped in shades of fading orange and soft blue. Clara rested her chin on her knees, her hand in his.
"You're quiet today," she said gently.
Emmanuel nodded. "There's something I haven't told you. Not because I didn't want to, but because I didn't know how."
Clara turned to him, her eyes calm, patient, full of love. "You can tell me now. I'm here."
He looked out at the horizon, like the truth was written in the clouds.
"When I was younger," he began, voice low, "I lost someone I loved. Her name was Maya. She was my best friend… and I thought maybe she'd be my forever."
Clara's heart stilled—but she didn't flinch, didn't pull away.
"She got sick, and it happened so fast. One moment we were dreaming about the future, and the next… I was standing by her grave. And after that, I shut a part of myself off. I told myself I couldn't feel that kind of loss again."
He looked down at his hands.
"And then I met you."
Clara blinked back tears. "And?"
"And I was scared," Emmanuel said. "Scared that loving you would open that same wound. But then you smiled at me that day in the library, and something inside me softened. You reminded me that pain doesn't have to win. That love, even when it's risky… is worth it."
Clara reached for his face, her fingers trembling with emotion. "Thank you… for trusting me with your pain."
He looked into her eyes, finally free of the weight he'd carried alone.
"I love you, Clara," he whispered.
And this time, she kissed him—slowly, meaningfully, with every word her heart didn't know how to say out loud.