They took their time.
They spoke about expectations, fears, the jealousy that had nearly undone them. Adrian admitted his habit of emotional restraint. Elara admitted her instinct to protect herself by withdrawing. Neither apologized for who they were—but both acknowledged who they needed to become.
Trust rebuilt itself slowly, through consistency rather than promises.
Mara, passing briefly through the city again, observed the change with quiet approval.
"This feels different," she said to Elara one afternoon.
"It is," Elara replied. "We're not pretending anymore."
The love that followed was not dramatic. It was steady. It showed up in conversations, in disagreements resolved without retreat, in the deliberate act of choosing each other even when fear resurfaced.
Jealousy no longer felt like a threat. It became a signal—something to examine, not hide from.
For the first time, Elara felt grounded rather than guarded.