Chapter 52

Rani’s Point Of View

The sun kissed everything.

The sea shimmered like glass brushed in gold. The yacht rocked gently under the afternoon breeze, anchored somewhere off the coast of Palawan, a place too beautiful to name without whispering. Somewhere between stillness and salt, laughter and legacy.

Three months had passed.

Three months since the vows. Since the church. Since the veil and the cord and the promises that didn’t just echo in a room… but rooted in a life.

Rebecca was one now.

Faisal was three.

And me?

I was sitting on the cushioned deck couch with my entire world in a semicircle of parents who used to pretend to like each other for our sake. but now laughed like they’d known one another since youth.

“Look at this, sweetheart,” Mama said beside me, holding out her phone with a photo she had just taken of Faisal mid-jump into the inflatable pool. “Our grandson looks like a horse leaping! My goodness!”

Babba chuckled, stretched out in his crisp linen shirt and gold-rimmed sunglasses, a whisky glass untouched in one hand. “Takes after me. I used to dive into everything back then… even into trouble.”

They all laughed.

Even my own father, who rarely let go of his stoic expression, cracked a grin. “We used to worry about you, Lamia,” he added with a smirk directed at Lamia. “We thought you’d leave our daughter drowning in your personality.”

I blinked and turned to them. “Luh”

They laughed louder. I just smiled.

It was hot but bearable. The kind of warmth that clung to the skin like silk, not sweat. My sundress stuck to the back of my thighs, but the wind made up for it, dancing between my shoulders and tickling my hair behind my ears.

Across from us, on the upper deck was Faisal was running in little zigzags between Rawid and Latif, his tiny body wrapped in a white robe, his cheeks red from the sun. His curls bounced wildly as he shrieked, trying to dodge the water gun that Latif had turned into a deadly sniper weapon.

“Faisal, you’re going to get soaked!” I called out, shielding my face like I hadn’t already been half-drenched earlier. “Latif, don’t tease him too much, he gets tired easily!”

“That’s why,” Rawid called down, hands on his hips like the responsible elder cousin he now believed himself to be. “We were resting, then Latif started it again!”

“Well, you don’t know how to dodge!” Latif countered, aiming the neon-green gun at both of them.

Squeals exploded.

Water arched through the air like a dancing ribbon.

I laughed, hand resting on my stomach.

Then I turned my gaze to the other side of the deck, just beyond the curve of the couch.

Rebecca was in the shaded lounge area, sitting on a giant white towel like royalty. Her dress was too big for her, one of those puffy-sleeved muslin ones with little stitched lemons. Lameel was beside her, feeding her grapes like she was Cleopatra. Rabina was crouched nearby, trying to take selfies with Rebecca’s squishy cheeks, cooing now and then, “Oh my God, you look like a baby Lamia!”

I watched my daughter, and my chest ached.

She blinked slowly, taking her time chewing. Everything was slow with her. Gentle. Measured. Unlike Faisal, who was a whirlwind of voice and limbs and sunshine, Rebecca seemed to move like time bowed to her.

Just like her mother.

“She looks more like Lamia,” my mom said, as if reading my thoughts.

I turned toward her. She was wearing her big summer hat again, the one with the embroidered sun. The way her lips curved told me she’d been watching me watch Rebecca.

“But she has your mouth,” she added gently.

I smiled and looked down.

My mom had her hand on my knee.

I leaned my head against her shoulder.

“I still can’t believe we’re here,” I whispered.

My dad sipped his drink, eyes closed behind his sunglasses. “Me neither,” he muttered. “We almost lost it all.”

“And yet,” Babba said, crossing one leg over the other. “Look at us now. The divas and attitude women in our bloodline have married well.”

I nearly choked on air.

“Babba,” I laughed. “That’s your version of a compliment?”

“What? You married into us too,” he said with a wink.

The parents all burst into laughter again.

Mama stood up, brushing off crumbs from the coconut biscocho she’d been munching on. “I’m going to check on the food. Lamia said she wanted grilled fish. If it’s not cooked yet, I’m storming the kitchen.”

“I’ll help,” my mom said, rising beside her. “But only if there’s salad. I don’t want to eat rice anymore. I gained two kilos from Rebecca’s birthday cake!”

The two women walked off like schoolgirls planning mischief.

Babba stood next and patted his chest. “Going to the bathroom. Rani, keep an eye on Faisal, okay? If he drowns, we’re going to have a problem.”

“I love how direct that was,” I said dryly.

He grinned and vanished.

And then… quiet.

Just me.

Babba.

Rebecca’s gurgles behind me.

Faisal’s laughter still echoing above like wind chimes bouncing through time.

I leaned back against the seat cushion.

Babba reached over and held my hand.

We didn’t speak.

Not because there was nothing to say, but because this was the kind of moment that didn’t need words.

“Guys!”

Lamia’s voice sliced through the stillness like sunlight cutting through seafoam.

I turned just in time to see her stepping out of the yacht’s glass doors, barefoot, still in her oversized beige linen polo and high-waisted bikini bottoms, hair up in a loose bun that had definitely fought a few battles in the kitchen.

“Everyone… can you come back up for a bit? Please?” she called out again, her hands cupped around her mouth. “I have something to say.”

I blinked.

My heart did that weird thing again, like it had skipped ahead of me without warning.

Mama… Lamia’s mom, already halfway down the steps to the lower deck, turned back with a raised brow. “What is it now, Lamia? The fish is not grilled yet… don’t think I won’t go down there and flip it myself!”

“I know, Mama, I know,” Lamia said, laughing. “Just… this will only take a minute. Promise. Everyone, can you gather here, please? Babba, Mom, Dad… Rabina, drag Rebecca here. Faisal too!”

That last name was all it took.

Faisal, soaking wet and shrieking with energy, bolted from the upper deck like a torpedo. “Mamaaaaaa!” he yelled, arms wide. “Is it snack time or secret time?!”

“Secret time,” Lamia called back.

That stopped him in his tracks.

Like she’d whispered magic.

Within minutes, everyone was shuffling back onto the upper deck. Lameel carried Rebecca over like she was holding a box of treasure, gently, with both arms, Rebecca’s lemon dress bunched up under her chin. Her tiny head flopped against Lameel’s chest, cheeks puffed and drowsy from all the grapes.

Babba sat down again beside me with a grunt, his whisky now watered down by the heat. “This better be good,” he muttered, though his lips twitched with amusement.

Mama fanned herself with a palm leaf. My Mom put her phone away, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at Lamia like she was trying to read her from thirty feet away. Dad leaned back on the lounge chair beside her, arms folded like a judge waiting for a final verdict.

Rabina sat criss-cross on the towel beside Rebecca, gently rubbing her back. Rawid plopped down dramatically next to Faisal, both of them whispering exaggerated “ooooooh” sounds like they were in the front row of a circus show. Latif leaned against the railing beside Lameel, arms crossed, squinting at his older sister with that “What now?” kind of grin.

And I?

I watched Lamia the whole time.

She wasn’t nervous.

She wasn’t even fidgeting.

Her fingers were laced together in front of her, her posture tall but soft. Her eyes scanned the people in front of her like she was memorizing them.

And then she looked at me.

Just one look.

Like an anchor dropping deep into my chest.

Then she turned back to everyone else.

“Okay,” she said, her voice clearer now… steadier. “So… first of all, thank you for coming back upstairs. I know some of you were already halfway to sabotaging the grill.”

Laughter echoed around the deck.

Mama waved her off. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I am,” Lamia said with a quick wink. Then her expression shifted.

Softer now. Realer.

“I know this isn’t our usual setting for big announcements,” she continued, gesturing to the yacht, the sea, the spread of coconut shells and half-empty cans of soda on the side tables. “But I figured… what better place than here? With everyone who matters. Our family. Our people.”

My throat went dry.

I could already feel it.

That she was about to change everything.

Again.

“So here it is,” she said.

She inhaled.

Held it.

Then…

“I’m pregnant.”

The world cracked in half.

Silence fell.

Even the sea seemed to stop.

I blinked. Once. Twice.

Faisal was the first to gasp.

“You’re gonna have a baby again?!”

My mouth parted.

I couldn’t even breathe.

“Yes,” Lamia said, eyes locked on mine now. “I’m two weeks pregnant.”

Mama clutched her chest. “What?!”

Babba straightened like he’d been electrocuted. “How the hell…”

“I went through IVF again,” Lamia said calmly, gently. “This time using one of Rani’s frozen eggs. The donor was Arabian. Same program. Same clinic.”

My hand flew to my mouth.

I didn’t even know I was crying until I tasted salt.

Mom was already tearing up beside me. “You… when… how?! You didn’t tell us anything…!”

“I wanted to surprise everyone,” Lamia said, smiling now, her voice barely holding back her own emotion. “And I wanted to be sure first. We got the blood test result yesterday. It’s confirmed. It’s early, but it’s real. It’s happening.”

My world blurred.

She was pregnant.

With my egg.

With our child.

Again.

Oh my God.

I stood up without realizing it. My legs moved before my brain could catch up. I crossed the deck, my sundress brushing against my knees, my chest rising and falling so hard it almost hurt.

And then I was in front of her.

Lamia didn’t speak.

She just opened her arms.

And I walked straight into them.

My head found her neck.

My arms wrapped around her waist.

I held her like I was afraid she’d vanish.

She held me back like I was the only thing holding her up.

I felt her breath against my temple.

“I wanted to give this to you,” she whispered. “To us.”

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

I just nodded, crying too hard, too full to speak.

Behind us, the world exploded.

Laughter.

Gasps.

Clapping.

Cheers.

Faisal shouting, “I’M GONNA BE A BIG BROTHER AGAIN?!?!” and running in circles.

Rebecca squealing without understanding anything but the joy.

Rawid and Rabina both screaming and hugging at the same time.

Latif whistling while Lameel blinked like she was about to cry.

Mama gasped and grabbed Babba’s arm. My Dad let out a deep laugh while my Mom wiped her eyes and muttered, “You girls never stop with the surprises.”

I was still crying.

Ugly, hiccuping, wet-faced crying, mascara surely gone, my breath stuttering in my chest as Lamia’s arms held me like string pulled taut against the wind.

And still… she kept kissing me.

Over and over.

Tiny, urgent kisses.

On my forehead.

On my cheek.

The tip of my nose.

The corner of my mouth.

Her lips pressed into my skin like she was trying to seal something holy there, whispering in between each one, “I love you… I love you… I love you so much, Rani.”

I laughed through my tears, a weak, shaking sound, still gasping.

“I’m a mess,” I whispered.

She cupped my face. Her thumbs brushed under my eyes.

“You’re the most beautiful mess I’ve ever seen.”

Behind us, the family hadn’t stopped clapping. Or gasping. Or squealing. Even Babba was wiping the corners of his eyes and pretending it was just sweat.

But of course,

Of course,

Now that the tears were drying, now that reality was setting in,

The debate began.

“So wait,” my mom said, raising both hands, still holding a paper napkin soaked with her tears. “Have you thought of a name already?”

“We haven’t” Lamia grinned.

“Don’t make that face,” I warned her softly, trying to sniff the emotion back into place. “Don’t you dare.”

“What face?” she blinked innocently, though her mouth was already doing that thing, crooked, smug, about to cause trouble.

“That face where you look like you’ve made decisions without me.”

“I haven’t,” she said, kissing me again, this time a quick one right on the lips. “I swear.”

“You did it before,” I said, letting her hold my hand even though I was still sniffling. “With Faisal. Remember?”

“That was one time…”

“You put ‘Faisal’ on the hospital form before I even woke up from the epidural!”

“It was a nice name!”

“You named him after your grandfather because he gave you land.”

“Well, it was very good land.”

My dad laughed loudly from behind us. “Oh no. Here we go again.”

Babba crossed his arms and leaned back, clearly settling into the drama. “At least let them argue with a list.”

“We don’t have a list,” I muttered. “Because she didn’t wait for me.”

“I will wait this time!” Lamia said, raising her hand dramatically like she was making a political pledge. “This time… this child, we do this as a democracy.”

“Democracy?” I scoffed, wiping my eyes. “Since when do you even believe in democracy? You run the house like a queen!”

“She runs the house like a Sultana,” Latif muttered under his breath, which earned a laugh from Rawid and Rabina.

Then Lamia raised her brows, turning to Faisal, who was now standing on the bench, pretending to wave like a king to his “people.”

“Actually,” Lamia said, voice turning mischievous, “you know who should name the baby?”

Faisal gasped like she had just handed him the sun. “Me?!”

“You,” she said, pointing at him like she’d just chosen a champion in a gladiator ring. “You’re the big brother. You decide.”

“No, he doesn’t…!” I started, but I was already too late.

Everyone had turned toward him like an audience awaiting a royal proclamation.

Lamia crouched down a little, hands on her knees. “Okay, my little prince. What name would you choose if the baby is a boy?”

Faisal squinted dramatically, rubbing his chin like an old professor.

“Hmmm…”

Then, “Mustafa!”

The reaction was instant.

Laughter erupted. Babba started clapping. Mama said, “Oh, classical!” while my Mom just shook her head in half-pride, half-dread.

“That’s… actually not bad,” I admitted.

Lamia winked at me. “You hear that? My boy has taste.”

“I was the one who carried him,” I mumbled under my breath.

Lamia kissed my cheek again. “But my egg.”

Then she turned back to Faisal, still holding the stage.

“And if it’s a girl?”

Faisal puffed his chest out. “Sultana.”

And I swear…

I lost it.

The entire deck burst into a chorus of claps, cheers, and someone, probably Rawid spilled their soda laughing too hard.

“Ay, anak,” Mama said, covering her mouth. “That’s too big of a name!”

“Sultana?!” Rabina repeated, nearly choking. “You’re naming her like she’s coming out wearing a crown!”

“I like it!” Faisal grinned.

“Of course you do,” I said, still giggling between sniffles. “You want someone to boss around like you do your toy army.”

Then Babba cleared his throat from the side, raising one finger like a scholar correcting a lecture.

“If you’re going to name her Sultana,” he said matter-of-factly, “then at least do it right.”

Everyone quieted a little. Even Faisal tilted his head.

Babba raised his glass. “Farah Sultana. That’s a name.”

“Oooohhhh!” came a collective echo.

I blinked.

And suddenly, I couldn’t even breathe again.

Farah Sultana.

Joy of the Queen.

Peace and power, all in one.

I looked at Lamia.

Her eyes were on me.

Soft.

Shining.

We both smiled at the same time.

Not saying anything.

Because we didn’t need to.

That was it.

That was her.

Whether she was inside us as a dream or already forming cells beneath Lamia’s heartbeat, she already had a name.

And it was beautiful.

——

The celebration was soft and golden, like the last stretch of sunlight before maghrib.

The yacht was glowing in the orange light, paper plates and banana leaves now full of grilled fish, sweet corn, sticky rice wrapped in palm, and three different kinds of salad. Someone turned on the portable speaker, and a low hum of music melted into the air like sugar in tea.

Latif was already trying to teach Faisal a dance that made him trip over his own sandals. Babba was telling a story loudly and dramatically to our parents at the center table, making them laugh and swat his arm. Rebecca was asleep on my mom’s lap, curled up like a kitten, her lemon dress now soft with sleep.

And Lamia…

Lamia looked at me like I was still glowing from the news.

Like I had given her the miracle, when it was clearly the other way around.

“You okay?” she whispered, brushing her fingers against the inside of my wrist as we walked.

I nodded, smiling. “More than okay.”

She leaned over and kissed my shoulder. “Come with me?”

I followed her across the deck, stepping past the scattered sandals, the half-eaten mangoes, the kids still pretending to be pirates with paper plates as shields.

Near the bow of the yacht, the laughter and music faded into the sound of waves again. And that’s where we saw them… Rabina and Lameel.

The two of them stood side by side, their backs to the chaos, looking out toward the sea. Lameel’s elbow was just slightly touching Rabina’s, and Rabina’s hand was loosely holding a piece of coconut husk, mindlessly picking at it.

They were… quiet.

But not stiff.

There was a softness there. Like language was passing without being spoken. The way Lameel’s shoulder tilted ever so slightly toward Rabina’s. The way Rabina smiled without even looking.

I reached for Lamia’s hand and squeezed it.

She smiled back at me and nodded, then quietly called out, “Hey, lovebirds.”

Rabina turned first, cheeks immediately blooming pink. “We are not…”

“You are,” Lamia said, cutting her off with a raised brow. “Come on. You think we didn’t notice how Lameel accidentally ended up seated beside you three family lunches in a row?”

“I thought she was just always early,” I teased.

Lameel groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Can’t we have like… five minutes of peace without being interrogated?”

“You’re on our yacht,” Lamia said sweetly. “There is no peace here. Only nosy love.”

They laughed. Nervous. But not denying it.

And that’s when Lamia stepped closer, lowering her voice, her tone gentler now. “Seriously though. Are you two… okay?”

She tilted her head slightly. “I mean it. You’ve both had a strange few months. Family’s been up and down, the tension’s been weird, and I know the secrecy thing is exhausting. So… how are you? Honestly.”

Rabina looked down for a second, her fingers tightening around the husk.

Then Lameel answered first.

Quiet. But certain.

“We’re okay now.”

Rabina looked up at her.

And then at us.

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “We’re… we’re in love now.”

I blinked.

Something like warmth flooded my chest.

Not the same fire that Lamia gave me not the overwhelming, tidal wave kind but a quieter, glowing kind. Like seeing the first star at night.

“You’re sure?” I asked, my voice barely above the waves.

Rabina nodded, a little breathless. “I wasn’t sure at first. It started… weird. Quiet. Like I was scared to say anything, even to myself .”

Lameel smiled a little. “But then she started missing me when I wasn’t around. Even if I was just gone for a weekend.”

“And I started feeling safe with her in a way I never felt before,” Rabina said. “Even when we weren’t talking. Even when we were just doing nothing.”

Lameel reached out and gently, subtly, took Rabina’s hand in hers.

And that simple act, quiet, no hesitation, felt like thunder beneath the sea.

“I love her,” she said, still watching Rabina. “And she loves me.”

Lamia smiled wide, that same proud-sister kind of smile she only brought out for rare occasions, like graduations, or Faisal’s first word, or when the mango tree in the backyard finally bore fruit.

“Good,” she said softly. “Because you both deserve to be loved like that.”

I nodded, feeling the tears again, those traitorous things. I wiped at my cheek, laughing. “Why is everyone making me cry today?”

“Because you’re pregnant by proxy,” Lamia teased.

“And because we love each other too much,” Rabina added, her smile sheepish, but real.

Lameel chuckled. “Don’t tell Latif. He still thinks we’re in a secret fight club.”

We all laughed, this soft, real, giddy laughter.

And behind us, the sunset kept falling.

Pink. Orange. Blue melting into violet.

And right here, in the golden hush of the bow, love hung in the air like incense. Silent. Warm. Unmistakable.

Lamia reached for my hand again.

But this time, she didn’t speak.

She just gently tugged me away, away from Rabina and Lameel, away from the scattered laughter, away from the soft chaos of our families still celebrating and passing grilled corn and teasing Faisal about what kind of kuya he’d be.

We crossed to the other side of the yacht. The side where it was quieter. Where the water stretched out, unbroken, in every direction, soft blues giving way to deeper hues, as if the ocean itself was bowing to the fading sun.

There was no one else here.

Only us.

And the wind, brushing past like a whisper too intimate to belong to anyone else.

I stopped near the rail, my fingers brushing the metal.

Then I felt her.

Lamia slipped in behind me, arms winding around my waist like a ribbon being tied.

She pressed her cheek to the back of my head, nuzzled gently against my skin.

And then without words she breathed me in.

That breath said everything.

I leaned into her, my back fitting against her chest like we were made to lock this way.

And for a moment, we didn’t speak.

Just stood there.

Listening to the sea slap softly against the sides of the yacht.

Her thumbs moved gently across my stomach, circling slowly, tenderly, resting there. I didn’t need to ask what she was thinking.

Because I was thinking it too.

That inside her, deep in that soft, holy place, was our
third chance.

Our third child.

Our dream, growing again.

“I don’t even know what to feel,” I whispered.

Lamia’s voice came warm and low behind me. “It’s okay not to know.”

I nodded slowly. “I feel like I’m still… catching up to it. Like I’m scared to hold it too tightly in case it disappears.”

She kissed the back of my shoulder. “It won’t disappear.”

“You don’t know that,” I whispered, my voice catching. “We said that before.”

Her arms tightened around me.

Not in fear.

But in promise.

“I do know this,” she said, softer now. “This baby… it’s here for a reason. I can feel it. And I know you feel it too.”

My breath shook.

I looked out at the sea, at the way the light danced on it like the world couldn’t help but sparkle.

“I want to believe,” I said.

“Then believe,” she said, her lips brushing my neck now. “Believe because I’m here. And you’re here. And this time, we’re not fractured. We’re not pretending anymore. We’re whole, Rani.”

I swallowed.

That word.

Whole.

I hadn’t felt it in so long.

And yet… wrapped in her arms, hearing the pulse of her breathing against my back, I realized something…

I did feel whole.

I felt it in the way she held me.

In the way she wasn’t rushing this.

In the way she didn’t try to fix my sadness, just stood inside it with me.

“You know,” I murmured, my fingers reaching up to touch her arms wrapped around my middle, “when you were gone that afternoon… when I didn’t know you were doing the test yet…”

“Mm?”

“I went into nursery room,” I said softly. “And I sat there for an hour. Just… sat. And I cried. And I prayed. But mostly, I just kept thinking… ‘I’m ready now.’ Not because I was brave. But because this time, I wasn’t alone.”

Her breath hitched.

And then I felt her lips, slow and trembling, kiss the back of my neck.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Tiny, reverent, grateful kisses.

“I’ll never let you be alone again,” she said into my skin.

“I know,” I whispered, eyes closing.

She swayed me gently, as if we were dancing to music that only the sea could hear.

And we stayed like that, two women, one love, two hearts beating in rhythm with something ancient and kind and meant.

She held me like she’d waited a lifetime.

I leaned into her like I had no other home but her.

And somewhere behind us, our families still laughed.

But here… on this side of the boat… there was only us.

Just us.

“I keep thinking about the day I hated you.”

My own voice surprised me.

But I said it anyway. Because if there was ever a moment to say it, it was here, with her holding me like this, with the sea behind us and a baby between us.

Lamia didn’t tense.

She didn’t pull away.

She just breathed against the side of my head and asked gently, “Which one?”

That made me smile, even as my eyes blurred again.

I turned in her arms slowly, and she let me, her hands sliding from my waist to my lower back.

I faced her now.

Her face, warm from the golden hour sun, was impossibly soft in its stillness. Like the sea wind carved it from something older than time.

“The one where you came home smelling like him,” I whispered.

Her eyes closed.

Not in guilt.

But in grief.

“I remember.”

“I remember,” I said too. “Because I was holding the first ultrasound photo in my hand.”

She exhaled.

It wasn’t defensive.

It wasn’t proud.

It was just real.

“I’m sorry, Rani.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “I know. You’ve said it before. But today, hearing you say it while I can feel our child inside you… it feels different.”

Lamia looked at me then… really looked. “Do you forgive me?”

I didn’t answer right away.

Because it didn’t feel like a yes or no question.

It felt like an unraveling.

I stepped closer.

My palms cupped her cheeks.

She leaned into them instantly like she’d been waiting her whole life for that touch.

“I did a long time ago,” I murmured. “Even before I admitted it to myself. Even before I admitted I loved you.”

Lamia’s eyes softened, brimming. “You loved me even when I didn’t deserve it.”

“You made me love you,” I said. “Even when I didn’t want to.”

She laughed through her nose. “Sounds like something I’d do.”

I smiled. “Definitely.”

The wind tousled her hair again. Strands clung to her cheeks.

I reached up, brushing them behind her ears, slowly. “You remember what you told me the night we moved in together?”

“The night we fought about the sheets?” she grinned.

“No,” I said, chuckling softly. “The night you told me you’d never be anyone’s wife.”

“Oh,” she said, eyes dipping a little. “Yeah. I said that.”

“You were wrong,” I whispered.

Her eyes came back up to meet mine, suddenly so full I thought they might spill.

“I was wrong about everything,” she whispered back.

My thumbs stroked her cheeks. “You’re a wife, Lamia.”

“I am,” she said, voice catching. “And I want to be better at it every day.”

“You already are,” I said.

She leaned forward slowly, and our foreheads touched. The space between our lips barely a breath.

“I want to be yours, over and over and over,” she whispered.

“You are,” I said back.

Her hands moved to my hips again.

Mine slipped behind her neck.

I tilted my head slightly.

And before we kissed, I said it one more time…

“You are mine, Lamia.”

Her lips met mine like it was the first time and the last time and every time in between.

And I let myself fall into her again.

Not with fear.

But with faith.

Because in that kiss, gentle and slow and sacred… I knew,

This wasn’t the end of a chapter.

It was the beginning of everything.

THE END….