Leah's pov:
Since Eva was found, an unsettling quietness had settled over her. It was like she had retreated into a shell, her usual fire and spirit dimmed to a mere flicker. The silence between us was heavy, filled with all the words she wasn't saying. I had taken some time off to be with her, to make sure she had the support she needed, but Eva's withdrawal was palpable, a chasm growing between us.
I watched her from the doorway of our bedroom, where she sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the floor. Her posture was hunched, shoulders drooping as if the weight of everything was pressing down on her. I walked over and sat beside her, reaching out to gently place a hand on her knee.
"Hey," I said softly, trying to catch her eye. "Do you want to talk about anything?"
She shook her head almost imperceptibly, her eyes still fixed on some invisible point on the floor. The ache in my chest grew. Eva had always been the strong one, the fiery one, but now she seemed so fragile, so distant.
"Okay," I whispered, squeezing her knee lightly. "Just know that I'm here, alright? Whenever you're ready."
She gave a small nod but said nothing. The silence stretched on, each passing second feeling like an eternity. I wished I could do more, could say something to bring her back to me, but I knew this was a battle she had to fight in her own time.
Days turned into a weeks, and still, Eva remained locked away in her own mind. I stayed by her side, trying to coax her out with small gestures, cooking her favorite meals, sitting with her in the living room, even just holding her hand. But her responses were minimal, a ghost of the woman I loved.
One evening, as we sat together on the couch, I decided to try once more. "Eva," I began, my voice gentle yet firm, "I know things have been really hard. And I know you're hurting. But I'm worried about you. Please, let me in. Let me help you."
For a moment, she didn't respond, and I feared my words had once again fallen on deaf ears. But then, she turned to look at me, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
"I'm sorry, Leah," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I just... I don't know how to talk about it."
My heart broke a little more at her words, but at least she was speaking. "You don't have to say everything at once," I assured her, reaching out to gently cup her face. "Just take it one step at a time. I'm here for you, no matter what."
She nodded slowly, a tear slipping down her cheek. I wiped it away, pulling her into a hug. For the first time in days, I felt a tiny flicker of hope. It would be a long journey, but we would face it together. And no matter how long it took, I would be there, supporting her every step of the way.
Eva was slowly starting to talk more, her words trickling out like a hesitant stream. It wasn't her usual lively self, but it was a step in the right direction. I held onto that progress, knowing that healing was a process that couldn't be rushed. Since what happened, we hadn't shared even the tiniest kiss. I understood that Eva needed time, and I was willing to wait as long as it took for her to come around.
One night, as I finished brushing my teeth and changed into my pyjamas, I noticed Eva already lying in bed, her eyes fixed on the door, waiting for me. There was a quiet expectancy in her gaze that tugged at my heart. I climbed into bed beside her, careful to move slowly, not wanting to startle her.
She stayed silent, her eyes following my every move. I settled in, pulling the covers up and turning on my side to face her. Eva's gaze softened, and she hesitated for a moment before moving closer. Without a word, she leaned in and kissed me. It was a tentative, almost shy kiss, and when she pulled away, I could see the uncertainty in her eyes.
"Eva, we don't have to if you don't want to," I said gently, wanting to make sure she felt no pressure.
But Eva shook her head and pulled me back in, this time with more conviction. The kiss was deeper, more loving and caring, and I felt the warmth of her emotions pouring through. It was as if she was telling me through that kiss how much she needed me, how much she wanted to reconnect.
When she finally pulled away, her eyes were glistening, and she laid her head on my chest. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her close, feeling the rise and fall of her breath against me. The steady rhythm was soothing, a reminder that we were here, together, and that no matter what, we would get through this.
As we lay there, the room enveloped in a comforting silence, I felt Eva's body relax against mine. I placed a soft kiss on her forehead and whispered, "I love you, Eva. We're going to be okay. I promise,"
Eva didn't say anything, but the way she held onto me, the way she snuggled closer, told me everything I needed to know. We fell asleep like that, wrapped up in each other, finding solace in our shared warmth and the unspoken promise that we would face whatever came our way, together.
A few months later:
A few months had passed, and Eva was almost back to her normal self. Her laughter was beginning to fill our apartment again, and the shadows that had loomed over her eyes were slowly starting to fade. She was talking more, engaging in conversations, and even making the occasional joke. It was a relief to see her spirit returning, even if it wasn't fully restored yet.
Despite the progress, Eva still hadn't spoken about what happened. I knew better than to push her; she would talk when she was ready. I reminded myself daily that healing takes time and that her silence wasn't a sign of failure but a part of her process.
One morning, as we sat together at the kitchen table, Eva absentmindedly stirred her coffee. I watched her, noticing the familiar spark in her eyes as she glanced up and caught me looking.
"What?" she asked with a small smile, a hint of her old playfulness.
"Nothing," I replied, smiling back. "Just happy to see you smiling."
Eva's smile widened, and she reached across the table to squeeze my hand. It was moments like these that reassured me we were on the right path.
Training had become easier for her too. She was more focused, her old determination shining through. The girls welcomed her back with open arms, supporting her without prying. It was a delicate balance, but one that everyone respected.
One evening, as we lounged on the sofa watching a movie, Eva nestled against my side, her head resting on my shoulder. It felt so natural, so right. She looked up at me, her eyes reflecting the soft glow of the TV screen.
"Thank you, Leah," she said quietly.
"For what?"
"For being patient. For being here. For everything."
I kissed the top of her head. "Always, Eva. I'm here for as long as you need."
She snuggled closer, and I could feel her relax completely, a sign of the trust she had in me. We sat like that for a while, the movie forgotten, just enjoying each other's presence.
Though she still hadn't spoken about what happened, I knew that each day she was getting stronger. And when she was ready, I would be there to listen. For now, all that mattered was that we had each other, and together, we could face anything.
