Forbidden Desire

Chapter 14: Safe doesn't mean happy

The silence between us had grown louder than the words we used to say. It clung to the walls of our apartment, echoing through the space like a ghost of what we used to be. Logan sat across from me at the dining table, his fingers absentmindedly tapping against the edge of his coffee mug. The tension had become a third presence in our home, one that lingered even when we tried to pretend everything was fine.

It wasn’t.

On paper, we had everything. The upscale apartment with high windows that poured in sunlight, the steady jobs, the couple friends who called us perfect. But inside? Inside, I was crumbling. Safe, yes. Logan was safe. He never raised his voice. He was reliable, responsible, always there. And maybe that was the problem. Because I was starting to realize that being cared for didn’t always mean being seen.

Logan had become a routine. Predictable, polished, and precise. And somewhere in between the nightly dinners and weekend brunches, I had started to feel like a guest in my own life. I wanted more. Or maybe less of what we had, and more of what once was—the thrill, the spark, the unexplainable pull that couldn’t be tamed.

And then there was Daniel.

The memory of his hands on my waist still lingered in my skin like a burn I couldn’t soothe. Daniel was chaos. Daniel was color in a grayscale world. He made me feel like I was on the verge of something dangerous and beautiful, all at once. The contrast between the two men was suffocating. Logan was the warm bed I could always crawl into. Daniel was the fire that dared me to jump.

I pulled my gaze away from Logan and stared at my untouched breakfast. Logan finally broke the silence.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, not accusingly, just observantly. That was Logan—always measured.

I nodded. “Just tired, I guess.”

A lie. But not a full one.

He studied me for a moment before speaking. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

I wanted to. I really did. But how do you tell someone who has done nothing wrong that they might not be what you need anymore?

I managed a small smile. “I know.”

He nodded, clearly not convinced, and went back to his coffee.

Later that day, I wandered through the city, my mind churning like a storm-tossed sea. I found myself in the bookstore where I had first met Daniel. Back then, it had been an accidental encounter. We both reached for the same copy of a forgotten poetry book. Our fingers brushed, and he had laughed, apologizing with a crooked grin that made my heart race.

“Take it,” he had said.

“No, you go ahead,” I replied.

“Well, how about we share it? Coffee and poetry?”

I should have said no. I was already with Logan. But something about Daniel—his voice, his eyes, the way he saw through me as if he’d known me in another life—it pulled me in. And I went. Again and again. Until coffee turned into conversations that lasted hours. Until I was texting him more than I did Logan. Until the first kiss.

I never told Logan. It wasn’t physical beyond that kiss, but emotionally, I knew I’d crossed a line. And now, standing in that same bookstore, I realized I was trying to feel something again. Something real.

A part of me longed for the simplicity of Logan’s love. He never faltered. He never wavered. But I was restless. I wanted passion. I wanted to feel undone. And yet, I couldn’t just abandon someone who had been nothing but good to me.

Back home, I found Logan reading in bed. He looked up and smiled, a tired kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

I climbed into bed beside him, the sheets cool and familiar. He reached for my hand and held it gently.

“You know,” he began, “I may not always know what to say, but I see you. I know something’s off. I just want you to be happy.”

His words pierced me. I turned to face him. “Even if happy means not with you?”

The silence that followed was heavy. “If that’s what it comes to,” he said finally. “But I hope it doesn’t.”

I blinked back tears. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

Logan nodded. “Then let’s figure it out. Together.”

But that was the thing. I wasn’t sure if it was something we could fix. I wasn’t sure if it was broken or just... not enough. The next day, I met with Daniel.

We sat in a park, hidden beneath the rustling trees. He looked at me, searching my face for an answer.

“Are you going to leave him?” he asked.

I exhaled slowly. “I don’t know. I wish I could take pieces of both of you and make something whole.”

Daniel laughed bitterly. “Doesn’t work like that.”

“I know.”

“I want to be with you. You know that, right?”

I nodded. “But I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Sometimes you hurt people by staying, too.”

That night, I lay awake for hours. Logan was asleep beside me, breathing deeply, peacefully. I watched the way the moonlight touched his face. I thought of the life we built together—the birthdays, the holidays, the quiet mornings. And then I thought of the life I might have with Daniel—unpredictable, thrilling, filled with a kind of love that burned brighter, but maybe wouldn’t last as long.

Was it selfish to want more? Was it cruel to leave someone who had done nothing wrong?

I finally understood the difference between safe and happy. Safe was knowing you’d never fall. Happy was the feeling of flying—with all the risk of crashing. And I didn’t know if I was brave enough to choose the fall.

Days passed. I tried to bury myself in routine, hoping clarity would come. But clarity, it seemed, didn’t arrive in grand epiphanies. It crept in slowly, whispering truths I had tried to avoid.

One evening, Logan came home with takeout from my favorite restaurant. He lit candles. He played the music we danced to on our first date. He was trying. God, he was trying.

Midway through dinner, he looked at me. “I love you,” he said simply.

My eyes welled up. “I love you too.”

But love, I was learning, wasn’t always enough.

We talked for hours that night. Really talked. I told him everything—about Daniel, about the emptiness, about my confusion. It hurt. It was ugly. But it was honest.

Logan didn’t yell. He didn’t storm out. He sat there, taking it all in like the steady rock he’d always been.

“You deserve to feel alive,” he said at last. “And if that’s not with me, then I’ll let you go. Because I love you that much.”

I sobbed into his arms.

We decided to take a break. Not a dramatic breakup, not yet. Just space. Time. A chance for me to figure out if the spark with Daniel was real or just a symptom of what I was missing with Logan.

And now, sitting alone in a small apartment I rented on the other side of the city, I’m beginning to understand.

Safe doesn’t mean happy.

But maybe—just maybe—happiness isn’t in the fire or the comfort. Maybe it’s in finding the balance between the two.

I don’t know where this road will lead. I don’t know if Logan and I are done for good, or if Daniel is a chapter or a catalyst.

But for the first time in a long while, I’m finally listening to myself.

And that, I think, is the beginning of something real.