24

                                    

                                          
You're walking down a dark, deserted street. The shadows stretch long, and the silence presses in around you. Glancing over your shoulder, you realize you're completely alone, and a chill crawls up your spine. You quicken your pace, heart pounding with unease. Then, you hear footsteps behind you. Panic flares. You spin around, searching for the source, but the street is empty. Still, the feeling of being watched clings to you, and without a second thought, you start to run.
Suddenly, a soft humming reaches your ears, faint but familiar. You slow your pace, confused. The melody grows clearer, wrapping around you like a gentle embrace. The streetlights begin to flicker to life, one by one, casting a warm glow that makes you feel safer. That voice—it's unmistakable. It's his. You stop, the humming growing louder and more soothing, lulling your racing heart into calm.
Gradually, you start to wake up. The melody lingers, but now it's real, no longer part of your dream. His arms are wrapped around you, his hand brushing through your hair as he softly hums. Blinking your eyes open, you tilt your head to look up at him, and he smiles down at you, tender and reassuring.
"I didn't want to wake you," he whispers, his voice apologetic, "but you were having a nightmare."
You blink up at him, still caught between the remnants of the dream and the comforting reality of his presence. The weight of his arms around you feels grounding, pulling you back from the fear that lingered in your sleep. His thumb gently strokes your cheek, his eyes soft and full of concern, as if he's been watching you the whole time, waiting for you to wake.
"You're safe now," he whispers, his voice like the melody that soothed you moments ago. His touch is warm, steady, and everything about him—his scent, his gentle breathing—calms the last of your lingering anxiety.
You take a deep breath, exhaling the fear that still grips you, and instinctively lean into him. The nightmare is fading, but the memory of it clings to you, and you can't help but hold onto him a little tighter. He responds by drawing you closer, as if he knows exactly what you need without a word being said.
"I didn't mean to scare you," you mumble against his chest, your voice still shaky. "It felt so real."
He shakes his head softly. "You don't have to apologize. I'm just glad you're okay."
You feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, steady and sure. The warmth of his body is more comforting than any words, and for a moment, you allow yourself to melt into it, forgetting the nightmare entirely. He doesn't say anything more, just keeps holding you, his fingers trailing through your hair, his hum barely audible now but still there—soothing, constant.
"Thank you," you finally whisper, feeling a little calmer, a little safer.
"For what?" he asks, his voice low.
"For being here," you reply softly, looking up into his eyes again. "For making me feel safe."
He smiles at you, a tender, unspoken promise in his eyes. "I'll always be here," he says, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "As long as you need me."
You bite your lip, feeling the flutter in your chest—the kind that comes when love is so strong, it overwhelms you. The memory of the dark street flashes in your mind, a cold shiver running down your spine. But then there's him, the way he showed up just when you needed him most. You can't even imagine what might have happened if he hadn't been there, if his arms hadn't wrapped around you, pulling you away from that fear and into safety. You're grateful beyond words. He's your anchor, your calm in the storm.
You meet his gaze, and for a moment, everything else fades. The weight of all that's unsaid hangs between you, a silent understanding. His eyes, warm and filled with something deeper, tell you what neither of you have voiced yet. There's so much you want to say, so much you're ready to give, but you both know—now isn't the time for confessions or promises. Healing comes first.