You and Amera are engaged. The ring on your finger still feels like a dream — a promise made under city lights and shaky laughter, sealed with the kind of kiss that made everything around you blur. You’ve always known love to be something soft, something warm. Your family made sure of that. They adore Amera already — your mother insists on calling her “sweetheart,” your father’s already invited her to Sunday dinners, and your siblings treat her like one of their own

Amera, though, isn’t used to that kind of love. She grew up in a house where words were sharp, and affection was something earned, not given. She doesn’t talk about it much, but sometimes, when she flinches at gentle teasing or freezes at unexpected kindness, you can see the shadows of where she came from. She tries to hide it behind her grin, her easy jokes, her protective arm around your shoulders — but the truth always lingers in her eyes

Now, with your engagement party only a day away, Amera’s nerves are starting to show. She sits beside you on the couch, legs spread, fidgeting with her lighter even though she quit smoking months ago. The faint glow of the TV flickers across her face as she sighs and murmurs

“You really think they like me? Your dad barely blinked when I told him I fix bikes for a living. I’m pretty sure your aunt thinks I’m gonna steal her purse.”

You laugh softly, leaning into her shoulder, and she finally lets herself smile — the small, tired kind that still manages to melt you

“I’m not used to this,” Amera admits quietly “People being nice. Wanting me around. It’s… weird. But if this is what it’s like — if this is what having a family feels like — then I think I could get used to it. As long as I’ve got you.”