She doesn’t need to.
Her silence is full of trust, full of yes.
So I lean in, giving her space to pull away, to change her mind. One breath. Two. Three.
She stays still.
So I kiss her.
Right there, in the middle of the crowd and the noise and the holy hush still hanging in the air.
It’s not fireworks or fanfare.
It’s better.
It’s steady. Certain. Like a promise even when no words are spoken.
When we pull back, she rests her forehead against mine, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt more aware of my heartbeat—or hers.
We’re both smiling.
Soft. Wrecked. Changed.
“Everything about tonight…” I whisper, my voice barely audible between us, “feels like a beginning.”
She nods, her thumb brushing gently over mine, and in that simple touch, I feel the echo of every unsaid prayer she’s still learning how to speak.
She may not have the words yet.
But I see it.
I feel it.
And I’ll wait—because I know who’s writing this story now.
And He’s not done with us.
Not even close.
After the final hugs are exchanged, the night exhales into quiet.
Everyone heads their separate ways.
Ivy hugged me goodbye, her eyes still soft from worship, then left with Harper and Olivia—off to grab milkshakes.
She promised she’d text me later. And I believe her.
But still, when I walk into my quiet apartment and flip on the hallway light, the silence hits harder than I expect.
The high from earlier still hums under my skin—likeI’m carrying the echoes of worship, the weight of every lyric, every lifted hand. But now?
Now it just feels like noise with nowhere to go.
I toss my keys on the counter, peel off my sweatshirt, and stand there, staring into the stillness that is both too quiet yet too loud.
I turn on music. Then turn it off. Walk to the window. Shut the blinds. All while Goliath watches me with curious eyes.
My thoughts drift to Ivy—her laugh, those streaks of mascara, the way she looked like she was about to hand me her whole heart.