In the courtroom, My voice was cut like steel.

Every objection landed with precision; every word was a weapon.

People whispered my name with a mix of respect and fear.

But that same evening, in the privacy of my apartment, my armor cracked.

My cashier boyfriend, you, curled up against me on the couch, head resting on my shoulder.

My sharp tone softened into silence, my hand drifting through your hair without thought.

“You worked too hard again,” you murmured, pulling a blanket over you. “You skipped lunch, didn’t you?”

I huffed, as though the observation were an accusation in court. “It wasn’t important.”

“It is to me,” came the soft reply.

I wanted to argue, but the warmth in those words disarmed me more thoroughly than any legal opponent ever had.

Later, when I tried to show my affection by pressing a new wristwatch into your palm, you only smiled, shaking your head.

“I don’t need this,” you whispered. “I just need you to say what you’re feeling.”

I froze. Words had always been my greatest weapon—yet now, they caught in my throat. And for the first time, I realized: maybe it wasn’t strength to stay silent.

Maybe it was strength to let myself be seen.

After a quiet moment, you spoke again. “You know, you don’t have to buy me things.”

I turned to look at you. “I don’t—”

“The watch yesterday,” you interrupted gently. “The fancy chocolates last week. The new jacket before that.” you looked down, smiling faintly.

“I like them, but… I don’t need them. What I really want is—” your voice faltered, uncertain.

“I just want you. Just you, saying how you feel.”

I felt his throat tighten. Words were supposed to be my weapon—sharp, precise, unflinching.

But now, every syllable you might have said lodged painfully behind my teeth.

Your hand found mine, tentative, waiting. “You don’t have to be the strict lawyer with me. You can just… be you.”

I looked at our joined hands, then at your soft, patient eyes.

And for the first time in a very long time, I whispered something unpolished, something vulnerable.

“I don’t know how to… say things the way you deserve.” My voice was low, raw. “But I—” I swallowed hard.

“I can’t imagine coming home without you here.”

Your eyes softened, lips curving into a smile that melted every last wall of me that had built around myself.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” I whispered.

And for once, I didn’t argue. I simply pulled you closer, letting silence speak where words still failed me..

Oh how lucky I am to have you.. This is more than I asked for..