Page 83 of Dare to Hold
He squeezes my hands gently. “Amen.”
“Amen,” I whisper back.
For a moment, we just stay there. Quiet and full.
And when I finally do walk out the door, my heart feels steadier than it has in a long time.
The car is quiet.
No music. No distractions. Just the low hum of the engine and the steady rhythm of the wipers brushing away the last traces of rain from the windshield.
But inside me? It’s anything but quiet.
I press my lips together, still feeling the ghost of his kiss. Or, more accurately—kisses. Plural. Repeated. Unapologetic.
Somewhere between the movie credits, I lost count. And honestly? I didn’t want to keep track.
Because each one felt like something new being unlocked. Like he wasn’t just kissing me—he was choosing me.
And then he prayed over our relationship.
My heart hasn’t stopped racing since.
His prayer loops through my mind like a song lyric I can’t shake, warm and anchoring, wrapping around all the uncertainty I’ve carried for so long.
I pull into the lot outside my building and cut the engine. The night air is cool when I step out, but I barely notice it. Gray’s hoodie still clings to me, oversized and soft. It smells like him—clean and warm, something I can’t name but already crave.
Inside my apartment, everything feels quieter than usual. Maybe it’s the contrast. Or maybe it’s just that I’ve grown used to the way his presence fills a space.
I walk toward my bedroom and change into pajamas, but I pull his hoodie back on before climbing into bed. It’s soft and oversized, hanging off my shoulders like it belongs there. The fabric carries the faintest trace of him, and it wraps around me like a memory I don’t want to let go of.
I climb into bed and pull the covers tight, my body sinking into the mattress, my mind still floating somewhere in the warmth of his arms.
Every kiss.
Every glance.
The way his voice softened when he told me he didn’t want something temporary.
The way he looked at me like he meant every word.
My eyes start to close before I even realize I’m drifting.
The hum of the night settles around me, soft and steady. But something stirs deeper—something I can’t quite explain. Like my heart isn’t ready to let go of this day just yet.
So I open my eyes again, barely a sliver, and whisper into the stillness.
“Hi… God.”
It feels strange. Vulnerable. Like cracking open a door I’ve always kept shut.
But I keep going.
“I don’t really know how to do this. But I think… I think I just want to say thank you.”
My throat tightens, but I don’t stop.
“For him. For today. For this feeling I can’t name but don’t want to let go of. I don’t know what comes next. I’m still scared sometimes. But if You’re in this…if You’re writing this story…please don’t stop.”
