Page 97 of Rhys: and the girl who was always his

I don’t even ask where. I just nod.

She grabs my hand, leading me down the hall—and I expect her to turn left towards her room. The one that’s mostly decorative at this point. But instead, she turns right.

Towards mine.

She pauses in the doorway, takes a breath, and steps inside.

I follow.

She lets her eyes travel across the room. It’s not fancy. A little messy. A little too full of both of us now—two toothbrushes, her slippers under the bed, my hoodie hanging off the back of the desk chair.

She turns to me, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.

She finally reaches up, tracing her fingers along my jaw, feeling the faint stubble beneath her touch. “Rhys?”

“Hmm?”

I can hear the nervousness in her voice. “If you still want to marry me someday... I’d say yes.”

I exhale sharply, dropping my forehead against hers. “You serious?” I ask, not sure I heard her correctly.

She nods, curling her fingers into my hair. “Yeah. I am.”

Her lips crash against mine, and it’s not slow, not soft. It’s desperate and full of emotion like she’s been holding on to this moment for longer than I even realised.

When I pull back, my breath is uneven, gaze locked on hers. “Someday isn’t that far away, you know.”

She laughs, tightening her grip on me. “Good. I hate waiting.”

And just like that, the future doesn’t feel so scary anymore.

Something clicks.

The kind of click you hear when puzzle pieces finally find each other.

My hands finding her waist. “No more running?”

“No more running,” she murmurs.

I rest my forehead against hers again, breathing her in.

“I love you,” I murmur.

Her hands slide up my chest, curling behind my neck.

“I know,” she whispers. “Lucky for you, I love you too.”

We stand there for a long moment. Breathing. Letting it sink in, letting it be real.

Later, she’s brushing her teeth beside me in the bathroom, and I swear it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Not because of what she’s wearing or how close we are—but because of howordinaryit is.

Ordinary can be beautiful, too.

In bed, we’re tangled in limbs and blankets, the bedside lamp casting a golden pool of light over the room. Rain has started again—soft against the windows, like the sky is whispering goodnight.

She’s curled into me, one leg thrown over mine, her fingers tracing idle circles on my stomach.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask.

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