Page 39 of Love Letters from a Libra
Zanaa nodded, understanding in her eyes. This was her language—cosmic perspective, the healing, the power of recognizing our place in a vast universe.
“The next one is Saturday if you’re interested.”
Zanaa didn’t answer immediately, considering the offer with the same thoughtful attention she always did. I appreciated that she didn’t rush to accept and didn’t pretend everything was instantly fixed. Her consideration felt like a respect for herself, given the weight of the moment and the careful repair we were attempting.
“It’s not a grand gesture. It’s just something that matters to me, something I’d like to share with you,” I clarified, wanting her to understand.
Her expression shifted. “Those are the best kind of gestures, the real ones,” she said.
Hope rose in my chest, cautious but persistent. I resisted the urge to fill the silence that followed to push for an immediate answer. Instead, I allowed her to think, trying to embody the presence I just promised.
“Okay, I’ll go.” She nodded.
Her words felt monumental. Not forgiveness exactly, but an opening to a willingness to take another step forward together to see where it led.
“Thank you.” I meant the sentiment more deeply than the simple phrase could convey.
Zanaa shrugged a small smile, finally appearing. “I’m into astrology. It’s kind of hard to pass up a night of stargazing.”
We sat in silence now. I started to offer to fill the vase for her, but something stopped me. She needed to do it in her own time. My job wasn’t to fix or manage but simply to be present, while she decided what came next.
“I should go,” I said, recognizing that pushing for more tonight would be a mistake.
Zanaa nodded, neither asking me to stay nor rushing me out, though the conversation had reached a natural conclusion for now.
We stood, taking steps to the door, and at the door, I turned to face her, noting how beautiful she was in a head wrap. She was beautiful in an entirely different way than when I first saw her—not just physically attractive but complex, substantive, and real.
“Saturday,” she repeated.
“I’ll text you the details. An actual text with complete sentences and everything,” I replied with a smile.
“Evolution at work.” Zanaa smiled.
I stepped outside the door and paused on the sidewalk, looking up at the stars. Saturday, we’d see more of them together, the first real step forward in our fragile connection. For now, that would be enough.
Libra Daily Horoscope– Resist the urge to chase clarity. Real connections survive discomfort. Let them come back when it’s not about control, but care.
I spotted him,before he saw me, kneeling on a blue blanket, arranging thermoses and cushions. He had a telescope next to him. It was expensive-looking but well-used. There was something different about seeing Jules like this, waiting for me to show up while actively showing up himself.
Franklin Park felt transformed tonight. The section was cordoned off for the monthly stargazing event. The city parkdepartment collaborated with an astronomy club to create a small, dark zone, where the surrounding trees blocked most of the city’s relentless light pollution. Small clusters of people moved to the open field, families with excited kids, serious astronomers, and couples on dates.
I paused at the edge of the field, suddenly nervous in a way I hadn’t expected. This felt different from our previous encounters, more intentional, less about chemistry or chance. My hand drifted to my moonstone ring, twisting it for comfort as I watched him adjust the blanket corners.
Then he looked up and saw me. His smile bloomed slowly in an unguarded way that made my stomach flip, and I found myself moving forward before I consciously decided to.
“You came,” he commented when I reached him. His voice carried a hint of surprise, like he wasn’t entirely sure I would.
“I said I would. I’m typically a woman of my word.” I shrugged, aiming for casual but probably missing it by a mile.
“I’m learning that. I hope the spot works. We should be able to get a good view of the eastern sky from here.” Jules gestured to the blanket spread before us.
As I settled onto the blanket, I noticed the details of how he positioned everything perfectly, the blanket angled toward the clearest part of the sky, two thermoses set beside a small basket. I caught a faint scent of the chamomile and honey, my favorite tea. He had sweaters, neatly folded, despite the fact that I was already wearing one. He thought of everything. He was prepared and made space for comfort.
“The tea . . . you remembered.” I nodded toward the thermos.
“Chamomile with honey.” Jules unscrewed the cap, steam rising into the cold air.
“Clearly.” I accepted the cup he offered.
