The soft ticking of the clock echoed faintly in the background as Celestia moved quietly around the kitchen. Her hands, though delicate and steady, betrayed her nervous energy as she adjusted the position of the silverware for the third time. A low sunset bathed the room in molten gold, spilling through the half-open curtains and casting everything in a dreamy warmth.
Outside, the day had begun to dim, and the sky painted itself in peach, lilac, and burnt coral. The scent of rosemary and roasted garlic filled the air, drifting from the oven in soft waves.
It wasn't a grand feast, just a modest meal of roasted chicken and seasoned vegetables—but it was made with care, with fingers that had trembled just a little while chopping onions, not from the sting but from anticipation.
Celestia paused, placing one hand on the back of a chair. Her heart felt like it was skipping, dancing nervously in her chest. Tonight wasn’t about anniversaries or celebrations. It wasn’t even about the dinner.
It was about her.
Or more precisely—it was about what she’d never said.
Two years of marriage, and not once had she told him, in words, the three things that bloomed endlessly in her heart. Not because she didn’t feel it. But because the words felt enormous, heavy with emotion she had always found difficult to voice.
She did love him. Fiercely, shyly, completely.
And tonight, she would say it.
The sound of keys turning in the front door snapped her out of her thoughts.
Her breath hitched.
He was home.
The door opened gently, as it always did. Never slammed, never hurried. That was Raizel. Calm. Thoughtful. The kind of man who moved through life like a warm stream, steady and reassuring.
“I’m home,” he called softly, a hint of fatigue in his voice.
Celestia quickly smoothed her dress and stepped forward. “Hi…”
Raizel’s eyes landed on the dining table first—set for two with care and flickering candles dancing between the plates. He blinked, and then his gaze rose to meet hers.
“What’s all this?” he asked, the corners of his lips lifting in a small, surprised smile.
She held her hands behind her back, hiding the anxious tremble. “I… made dinner. For us. Just us.”
He tilted his head slightly, unbuttoning his collar as he approached her. “Did I forget something? Wait—don’t tell me I missed a date again—”
She shook her head quickly, a little too quickly. “No! No, it’s not a… date. I mean, yes—it is a date. Just not that kind. I mean—” she exhaled, flustered. “I wanted to.”
He chuckled, stepping closer, setting his coat down gently. “You’re adorable when you’re nervous, you know that?”
Her eyes widened. “I’m not—! I mean… okay, maybe a little.”
"Then anniversary or-"
Flustered, she responded again interrupting him, “No, nothing like that. It’s not an anniversary or anything. I just… wanted a dinner. Together.”
A pause.
Raizel’s smile deepened. “Whatever the occasion, I love it. And I’m all yours.”
He placed his hand on the small of her back and kissed her forehead—a kiss that always made her knees a little weak, though she never told him that. He smelled faintly of wind and cedar, like a forest after a light rain.
“Let me go change,” he said. “Be right back.”
Celestia nodded, watching him disappear into the bedroom. Her heart pounded harder now. The moment was approaching. She couldn’t back down.
Dinner passed slowly, in the most gentle way.
Raizel was effortless company—asking about her day, telling her about a small mishap with the coffee machine at work, and laughing at his own attempt to fix it with a paperclip. Celestia laughed too, quietly, with her hand brushing her lips.
But inside, she wasn’t laughing. Her mind was churning, rehearsing lines over and over. Every time she thought she had the words, they escaped her like shy butterflies.
He took another sip of wine, setting the glass down lightly. “You’ve been quiet tonight. Are you thinking something?”
She froze, fork halfway to her mouth. “Is it that obvious?”
“To me?” he smiled. “Always.”
She set her fork down. Her hands were trembling. She looked up at him. The candlelight softened the lines of his face, making him look even more gentle, if that were possible.
“I… I’ve been thinking,” she said, pushing her vegetables around her plate.
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “About?”
“You,” she said, then hesitated. “Us.”
Raizel leaned forward slightly, setting his elbows on the table. “Something wrong?”
She shook her head, eyes darting downward. “No. Nothing wrong. Just… hard to say.”
He gave her a moment. He always gave her time—never pushing, never impatient. It was one of the reasons she’d fallen for him in the first place.
Taking a deep breath, Celestia lifted her gaze.
“You know I’m not great with words.”
Raizel smiled gently. “That’s never bothered me.”
“I know. But… it bothers me,” she admitted. “Because for two years now, I’ve wanted to say something. And every time, it felt like the words would choke me. Like they were too big to come out.”
Her voice was trembling now. Her hands twisted the napkin on her lap.
Raizel’s expression softened even more, if such a thing were possible. His eyes didn’t just look at her—they saw her.
“Cel…” he said gently, “take your time.”
She swallowed.
“I love you,” she whispered.
Then paused.
And then again—louder, firmer, her voice trembling at the edges. “Raizel… I love you.”
Silence bloomed between them—not the kind that frightens, but the kind that holds something sacred. Raizel stared at her, his eyes wide, his expression frozen in a soft, stunned silence.
Celestia’s cheeks flushed crimson. She ducked her head. “I’m sorry. That was probably too sudden. I just—tonight, I needed to say it. I’ve felt it for so long. Every time you kissed my forehead. Every time you stayed up with me when I couldn’t sleep. Every little thing you do—I notice all of it. And I’ve loved you quietly, and it didn’t feel fair that you never got to hear it back. You’ve been so patient with me. I—I watch you sometimes. When you laugh. When you read on the couch and your lips twitch at the funny parts. I’ve memorized how you like your tea. How you rest your hand on my back when you think I’m cold. I see it all. I’ve always seen it”
Raizel said nothing. He only listened.
“And I’ve loved you,” she whispered, eyes lowering, lashes trembling, “from the very first week. But every time I tried to say it, the words just… melted away. I always thought you deserved someone who could sing their heart out. I—I barely whisper mine.”
Raizel’s breath hitched slightly.
“But tonight, I wanted to try. Even if I mess up. Even if it comes out awkward or silly.” Her cheeks burned. “Because two years is too long to keep this trapped inside."
For a moment, he simply stared at her. The silence between them wasn’t empty—it was full. Full of waiting. Full of years of unspoken dreams finally given shape.
A tear had slipped down her cheek, though she hadn’t noticed.
Raizel did.
He stood up and came around the table, kneeling gently beside her. His hands reached out and took hers—warm, steady, grounding her spinning heart.
“Celestia,” he murmured, voice thick, “you don’t know what that means to me.”
She looked at him, wide-eyed. “You already knew, didn’t you?”
“I had hope,” he said, smiling through a shimmer in his eyes. “But to hear it? From you? Like this? You have no idea how long I’ve waited for it.”
“All these months, I’ve watched you love me in a hundred silent ways. And every time I thought—‘If she ever says it, I think my heart might burst.’”
He looked up at her. His eyes were damp. His smile was radiant.
“And now I think it just did.”
Celestia laughed through her tears, hiding her face with one hand. “You’re making fun of me…”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he grinned, standing to pull her gently into his arms. “You, my love, just gave me the most beautiful night of my life.”
Celestia’s lip trembled. “I was scared. What if I said it wrong? What if it didn’t sound… enough?”
Raizel gave a soft laugh, then cupped her cheek.
“You could whisper it through a locked door in another language, and I’d still understand. I’ve seen your love every day—in the way you brush your fingers against mine when you think I’m not looking, in the way you always leave the last piece of chocolate for me. And now that you’ve said it?”
He leaned in and kissed her—slow, gentle, like a sigh into her soul.
“It’s perfect,” he whispered. She buried her face in his chest, clinging to his shirt. “I was so nervous…”
“And you were so, so cute.” He kissed the top of her head. “You don’t ever have to be anyone else. Just this? Just you? It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”
Celestia exhaled shakily, burying her face against his shoulder, where tears and laughter mixed in quiet release.
Later that evening, they sat curled on the couch, the candles still flickering in the background. She rested her head against his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat—steady, strong, home. His fingers in her hair, brushing it softly —Celestia murmured, “You know I’ll still be bad at this, right?”
Raizel chuckled, kissing her temple.
“I might not say it all the time,” she whispered, fingers drawing soft patterns over the fabric of his shirt, “but now that I’ve said it once, maybe… maybe I can try again. Slowly.”
Raizel kissed her hair. “Say it when it feels right. I don’t need a parade. I just need you.”
She looked up, eyes glimmering with a shy smile.
“I love you.”
He smiled, brushing his thumb across her cheek.
“I love you more.”
And in the silence that followed, nothing more needed to be said.
Because in that quiet little apartment, lit only by the dying glow of candles and the soft hum of contentment, two souls finally found their perfect, spoken harmony.
The End.💫
