It’s raining when she falls asleep.

She’s curled against me, legs tangled with mine, her hand resting just below my ribs like she can feel my heartbeat through her fingertips. I don’t move—not even to breathe deeper. I just lie there, memorizing the weight of her body beside mine. The slow, steady inhale of someone who isn’t afraid to rest around me.

And all I can think is— Please don’t leave.

I close my eyes, but it doesn’t help. My brain keeps going.

I hate how scared I am to lose her. I hate how it makes me feel weak. But I’d rather bleed out slowly than wake up and find she’s gone—like she decided one day she deserved something more. Something easier. Someone who’s better with feelings.

I shift slightly, just enough to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She doesn’t stir.

She trusts me. That thought alone nearly knocks the breath out of me.

Because some nights, I still can’t believe I get to have this. Get to have her. Not in a halfway, maybe-for-now kind of way. But in the way where she shows up even when I push her away. In the way where she sees the worst parts of me and stays anyway.

I brush my lips against her temple, barely a kiss, more like a whisper I’m too afraid to say out loud.

I love you.

I’ve told her before, sure. But never when it really matters. Never in the quiet. Never when the world feels too still and all I can hear is the fear of her not choosing me again when morning comes.

And I know I’m a mess. I know I overthink and pull away and hold on too tight all at once. But she’s the only person who makes me want to be better—not for her, but with her. Beside her.

Outside, the rain picks up. Soft, steady.

Her fingers twitch in her sleep, and I catch her hand again. I hold it like a prayer. Like a promise.

If she asked me to stay like this forever, I would.

No hesitation.

Because the truth is—I’m always waiting for the moment she realizes she doesn’t need me. And when that moment comes, I hope I’m brave enough to let her go.

But God, I hope I never have to.