"I'll make it tonight," Alexander had said quietly.
"Into tomorrow."
Those words stayed with Eliora all day—settling deep in her chest like a promise that refused to be small.
By the time evening arrived, the city had softened. The sharp edges of the world blurred under amber lights and slow-moving clouds, as though even time itself had agreed to slow down for them.
Alexander didn't take her out.
He brought the world to her.
When she arrived, the space had been transformed not extravagant, not loud, but intentional in a way that felt almost sacred. The room was washed in warm candlelight. Soft instrumental music hummed in the background, low enough to breathe between thoughts. Two easels stood near the window, canvases blank and waiting. Paints were arranged neatly, brushes laid out like invitations.
And in the center—a small table.
Two glasses.
A bottle of wine.
Quiet.
"A sip and paint?" Eliora asked softly, eyes wide with surprise.
Alexander smiled one of those rare smiles that didn't carry armor.
"Just us," he said. "No noise. No audience. No shadows."
Her heart tightened.
They sat across from each other, sleeves rolled up, fingers brushing occasionally as they reached for colors. At first, they painted in silence watching brushstrokes take shape, colors bleed into one another, stories forming without words.
Eliora painted something abstract. Storm tones softened by light. A sense of movement trapped in stillness.
Alexander noticed.
"That looks like conflict," he said gently. "But hopeful."
She met his gaze. "It's how things feel lately."
He nodded slowly.
They sipped wine. Talked about small things at first music, childhood memories, moments that felt safe enough to share. He listened in a way that made her feel seen, not studied. She laughed more than she expected to.
Then the question came.
"Eliora," Alexander said quietly, setting his brush down. "What would you do… if you knew I was dangerous?"
The air shifted.
Her fingers stilled around the glass. For a moment, she felt cold like someone had opened a door inside her and let the wind rush through.
Dangerous.
She looked at him. Really looked. The calm in his posture. The restraint in his eyes. The weight he carried so effortlessly.
Tears welled before she could stop them.
"I'd be scared," she admitted, her voice trembling. "Not of you… but of what loving you might cost."
He didn't interrupt. Didn't move.
She swallowed, forcing herself to continue.
"But I would walk through the darkest storm with you," she said softly. "Even if it meant getting hurt. Even if it meant risking myself. Because I'd rather face the danger with you than live safely without you."
Her tears fell then silent, honest.
Alexander stood abruptly, crossing the space between them in two strides. He cupped her face gently, thumbs brushing away the tears with reverence.
"You have no idea," he whispered, voice breaking for the first time, "how long I've lived without anyone willing to say that."
He pulled her into his arms not tight, not urgent but grounding. Like someone who had finally found shelter.
"I'm not proud of everything I've had to become," he said into her hair. "But I would burn it all down if it ever put you in danger."
She clung to him. "I'm not asking you to change who you are overnight."
He exhaled slowly. "My mother asks me to."
That caught her attention.
He pulled back slightly, his eyes darker now not with desire, but grief.
"She's getting worse," he said quietly. "India didn't give us the miracle we hoped for. Every day, she talks about wanting me to live differently. Softer. Kinder. Like the boy I used to be."
Eliora's chest ached.
"She's afraid of the world swallowing you," she said.
"Yes," he replied. "And she's afraid of what I've done to survive it."
Eliora reached for his hands, holding them firmly. "Then let me stand with you. Let me be something real in the middle of all that."
He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to hers.
"I want this forever," she whispered.
His breath shuddered.
"So do I," he said. "And that terrifies me more than anything."
They stayed like that wrapped in quiet, in paint-scented air, in the fragile hope of something lasting.
The night stretched on.
Brushes dried. Candles burned low. Conversations deepened. They talked about fears, about dreams that felt too dangerous to name before now.
The soft candlelight of the sip-and-paint evening didn't diminish the weight Eliora carried in her heart. Even as she laughed at Alexander's awkward attempt to paint a sunset, her mind drifted to her mother—the woman whose love was steady, protective, and unyielding.
Earlier that week, before this private night, Eliora had been with her mother. She had noticed the worry etched into her mother's face, lines deepening with every unanswered question.
"You look… brighter than usual," her mother had said softly, adjusting the scarf around Eliora's shoulders. "But why? What's going on with you?"
Eliora had forced a small smile. "Just… work, mama. That's all."
Her mother's gaze had lingered, sharp yet gentle. "It's not just that, baby. You carry something different now. Something heavy. You're… entangled with someone, aren't you?"
Eliora's chest had tightened. She didn't want to tell her mother not yet not when she still barely understood the magnitude herself. "Maybe," she whispered, "but it's nothing you need to worry about."
Her mother's eyes had softened, but her worry remained. "I just want you safe. Whoever he is, I need to know you're not alone in this. Not just physically… but emotionally too."
The words had struck Eliora in a way nothing else had. She loved her mother's care, her instinct to protect but she also wanted Alexander to be real, to see the truth, to know that her love wasn't naive.
And now, sitting across from Alexander, brushes in hand, the memory of her mother lingered. He noticed her momentary distraction.
"You're thinking about her," he said quietly.
Eliora nodded, unable to hide it. "She… she worries, Alex. She doesn't know you like I do. She only knows the world's version of danger, and… she's protective. Always protective."
Alexander's hand brushed hers, grounding her. "She has every right," he said softly. "But she doesn't know me yet—not fully. And I want her to, because… I love you. And loving you means she has to trust me."
Her eyes welled. "It's not that easy. Mama… she's sharp. She'll see everything, and she'll question it all. Every word, every glance."
"That's okay," he murmured. "I want her to see the truth. I want her to see how real this is… how I feel for you."
Eliora's heart thudded. "And what if she doesn't approve? What if she thinks I'm stepping into something… dangerous?"
Alexander's grip tightened on her hand. "Then I'll show her that I'm worth the risk. That my intentions are pure. That you are… the most important thing in my life, and I will protect that no matter what. Even from myself if I have to."
Her tears fell then, slowly, silently, not from fear but from the intensity of his words. The thought of her mother's judgment mingled with the raw honesty of Alexander's love it was overwhelming.
She whispered, almost to herself, "I don't know if she'll ever understand… but I trust you. And I'm ready to face whatever comes."
Alexander's thumb brushed across her cheek. "That's all I need. You by my side… and I promise, I will never let you regret that choice."
The mother's voice echoed in her mind again: "I just want you safe, Eliora."
And Eliora realized that safety wasn't just about avoiding danger it was about being brave enough to love fully, to trust fully, to step into the storm even when the wind howled.
Alexander leaned closer, pressing his forehead to hers, and whispered, "We'll face the storm together. And when she meets me, she'll see why I'm not just danger. I'm the one who will stand by you, always."
Eliora closed her eyes, letting the warmth of his presence fill the spaces her mother's worry had carved. She was scared, yes but she was also certain. Certain that she had someone who would not flinch, not even in the face of fear.
And in that moment, she knew she could meet her mother with Alexander by her side. They would face the questions, the doubt, and the warnings together and she would not be alone.
The night stretched on.
And when tomorrow finally came, it did not arrive as an ending.
It arrived as a beginning neither of them could turn away from.