Page 46 of Love Letters from a Libra
“She gave me the ‘don’t be like her father’ talk,” I admitted, seeing no reason to sugarcoat it.
“Ah, sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. She’s right to be concerned, and I needed to hear it.” The light changed, and I pressed the gas. My phone buzzed in the cupholder, the screen lighting up with Amir’s name. Zanaa glanced down then picked it up.
“Want me to check it?”
I nodded, keeping my eyes on the road.
“It’s Amir. She said Aunt Nubi wants us to come to dinner next week. There’s a winking emoji,” Zanaa confirmed.
I smiled, thinking of my family’s uncanny ability to sense important developments in my life. They’d been asking to meet Zanaa for weeks now, curious about the woman who finally got me to break my pattern of emotional retreat. “Can you text her back for me. Tell her yeah. It’s time they met the one.”
Zanaa looked at me. “The one?”
I kept my eyes on the road, but I could feel her gaze on my profile. “Yeah, if that’s okay with you,” I confirmed, the simplicity of the truth surprising even me.
Zanaa typed the message and set the phone down. Her response came not in words, but she leaned across the console and pressed a kiss to my cheek.
“More than okay.” She murmured against my skin before settling back into her seat.
The rest of the ride, Zanaa analyzed which dishes I enjoyed the most. I shared my observations about the family photos I noticed, and we discussed plans for the week ahead, ordinary talk.
Libra Daily Horoscope– A quiet shift brings you alignment you didn’t have to earn, only receive. Love looks softer now. Let that be your peace offering to yourself.
Today markedone year of podcasting Between the Signs, and somehow this particular episode had my stomach doing somersaults. Maybe it was the guest sitting in my kitchen, humming softly while he poured water for the tea, or maybe it was the fact that inviting Jules onto my show meant finally merging my public and private world in a way that I’d both been craving and dreading.
“You’re overthinking it, Z,” I muttered to myself, adjusting the mic stand for the third time. We moved here together into a bigger home six months ago. It was a leap of faith, more space.
I rechecked the sound levels. I twisted my moonstone ring, a physical reminder of my grandmother’s voice.“Trust yourself before you trust the stars, baby girl.”
My foot bounced against the floor, a nervous habit. The podcast had grown faster than I ever expected. What started as recorded versions of my blog post evolved into a platform with actual sponsors and listeners who messaged me about my cosmic insights. How they changed their perspectives or gave them courage to leave trash ass boyfriends, but this episode was different. More personal.
It had been exactly one year since Jules and I sat in Franklin Park near the conservatory, watching the stars, one year since he chose to stay instead of retreating, one year of building something that felt both ordinary and extraordinary at the same time.
“Your mic is crooked.” Jules’s voice came from behind me, startling me out of my thoughts. He stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, holding a red mug that read, ‘I prefer the moon,’ a gift he had received for Christmas the previous year, a nod to the nickname that stuck.
His locs had grown longer and were now pulled back in a way that highlighted his cheekbones. His glasses, a recent addition after too many late-night coding sessions, rested low on his nose, giving him that intellectual sex appeal that still made my stomach flip even after all this time.
“It’s intentionally crooked. An aesthetic choice,” I lied, reaching to straighten it.
“Mm-hmm. And your heart rate is elevated for aesthetic reasons too, right?” He smiled and set his mug down on the coaster. Always a coaster with this man. Jules sank ontothe couch beside me, close enough that I could smell the sandalwood soap he used.
“Don’t psychoanalyze me. I have a show to run,” I warned jokingly.
“You got this. Though I still don’t understand why you want me on your show, I’m literally going to give them the most analytical version of astrology.”
I laughed. That was the thing about Jules. He didn’t need flowery reassurances or cosmic signs. His certainty came from a source that was grounded and more persistent.
I tucked a curl behind my ear, buying time before I answered. How did I explain that his perspective, logical, and methodical approach had become essential in my worldview, like any planetary transit? That his presence in my life shifted how I understood compatibility in ways my audience deserved to hear.
“That’s exactly why my listeners hear plenty about cosmic signs and destiny. They could use some reality to balance the stardust. Plus, they’ve been asking about you ever since I mentioned my Moon Man on that meditation episode.”
Jules shook his head but looked pleased. “Moon Man . . . You ruined my reputation as a serious cybersecurity expert.”
“Please, your sister started calling you that too, so don’t act like it’s just me. Besides, your clients love that you have a secret life as an astrologist’s boyfriend, which makes you seem well-rounded.”
I punched the record button on the laptop to test the levels, watching the sound waves on the screen.
