Shared vulnerability

Late into the evening, the office was silent except for the hum of the air conditioner. Autumn and Sam found themselves alone in the conference room, papers scattered between them.

She sighed, eyes tired. “Sometimes I feel like people only want me for what I do not who I am.”

Sam looked at her, a softness in his gaze. “That’s not love. That’s a transaction.”

Her throat tightened. For a moment, the world shrank to just the two of them, vulnerability hanging like fragile glass.

“I’m scared,” she whispered. “Scared no one will stay.”

Sam reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Then let me be the one who stays.”

......................

A week later, Sam called with an invitation. “We’re unveiling a new artisan collection next Friday. I’d like you to see it firsthand.”

Autumn hesitated, heart fluttering with nerves and hope.

“Would you… come?” he added quietly.

She swallowed, then smiled. “I’d like that.”

......................

The gallery was awash in warm light, soft music weaving through the air like a gentle breeze. Autumn stepped inside, eyes widening at the sight before her tables, chairs, and cabinets, each piece a testament to patience and passion.

Sam moved beside her, his voice low. “Every artisan here has a story each scar in the wood tells a chapter.”

She traced her fingers over the smooth curve of a handcrafted chair. “It’s beautiful. Almost… alive.”

He nodded, watching her carefully. “That’s the soul people often overlook.”

For the first time in a long while, Autumn felt her walls soften. She smiled, genuinely and free, surprised at how light her chest felt.

They later decided to have dinner together

Dinner was quiet, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows on their faces.

“I used to draw,” Autumn confessed, “when I was a kid. But I stopped. Said it wasn’t practical.”

Sam’s eyes softened. “Sometimes the things we stop are the things that keep us whole.”

She looked down, the weight of years in her voice. “I forgot how to be myself.”

“Then maybe it’s time to remember,” he said gently.

...ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ...

Later that evening when Autumn had gone to bed

Her phone buzzed incessantly. She ignored it, staring blankly at the ceiling of her apartment.

A sudden knock startled her. She opened the door to find Alain, disheveled and smelling of whiskey.

“I’m sorry, Autumn. I messed up.”

Her heart raced, memories flooding back the lies, the nights alone crying.

“Please don’t,” she whispered, shutting the door gently but firmly.

Her phone lit up again, Sam’s name flashing. But she wasn’t ready.

...****************...

The next morning, Autumn stood hesitantly outside the workshop.

Sam opened the door, surprise softening into warmth.

She stepped inside, surrounded by the scent of wood and quiet strength.

“I’m scared,” she admitted, voice breaking. “Scared to trust again.”

He reached out, steady and sure. “Then lean on me.”

She let herself fall into his embrace, trembling but safe for the first time in years.

The late autumn wind whipped through the trees, sending golden leaves spiraling like fragile memories. The sky was a gray slate, heavy with unshed rain, mirroring the storm in Autumn’s chest as she sat across from her father at the worn kitchen table.

He wore his usual dark blazer over a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up just slightly, his face set in the hard lines she knew too well. His eyes bore into her, sharp and searching, as if trying to weigh her soul.

“Sam Torres,” he said slowly, “is a distraction. A risk you don’t need.”

Autumn bit her lips, the sting of old wounds reopening. “He’s nothing like Alain,” she whispered, voice fragile but steady.

Her father’s jaw clenched. “That man hurt you once. Don’t let history repeat itself.”

Tears welled in Autumn’s eyes, but she blinked them back fiercely. The years of feeling unseen, unheard, boiled beneath her skin.

“I’m not that scared little girl anymore,” she said, her voice gaining strength. “I’m trying to find my own path, not live in the shadow of your fears.”

Her father’s expression softened for a moment, but the silence that followed was thick with unspoken regrets.

Outside, the first drops of rain began to fall, tapping against the window like a quiet reckoning.

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