The storm knocked the power out.

You were lying on the floor, surrounded by candlelight and rain tapping the windows. The storm outside mirrored the static in your heart.

“I used to think I’d never be enough for someone,” you admitted quietly.

Bruce turned his head to look at you. “Why?”

“Too much. Too moody. Too intense.”

He was quiet for a while. Then said, “I used to think I’d only hurt the people I love.”

You looked at him, blinking through the candlelight. “You don’t hurt me.”

“You ground me,” he said, almost in disbelief.

The thunder rolled. And in that charged silence, neither of you had to say “I love you” — it was already written in the space between you.