Love Was Never Enough

The Night Before Everything Changed

Elaris's POV

The drive back to my apartment was quieter.

Not because we had run out of things to say, but because silence had never been uncomfortable between us.

The grocery bags rested in the back seat while soft music drifted through the car. Outside, the city slipped past in streaks of warm lights and familiar storefronts.

I glanced at Evren.

His eyes stayed on the road, but the tiredness hadn't left his face. It lingered in the slight crease between his brows and in the quiet sighs that escaped him every now and then.

"You've been thinking this whole drive," I said.

He looked at me briefly before returning his attention to the road.

"Was that obvious?"

"A little."

A faint smile tugged at his lips.

"I was hoping I hid it better."

"You've never been very good at hiding things from me."

His smile faltered for the smallest moment.

"I wish that were true."

I turned to look at him.

"What does that mean?"

He was quiet.

Then he shook his head.

"Nothing."

"It didn't sound like nothing."

"It's work, Lari."

"You've been saying that since yesterday."

"Because that's what it is."

I studied him for another second before nodding.

"Okay."

His hand reached across the console until it found mine.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For letting work follow me home."

I intertwined my fingers with his.

"You don't have to apologize."

"I wanted tonight to be different."

"It already is."

He glanced at me.

"How?"

"I get to spend it with you."

The tension in his shoulders eased a little, and a genuine smile finally appeared.

"I needed to hear that."

"I know."

For a while, we simply watched the city pass by.

Restaurants glowed beneath the evening sky.

A florist was bringing in her display.

Couples strolled along the sidewalks, talking quietly as they made their way home.

Everything felt calm.

Ordinary.

The kind of evening I wished could last forever.

A few minutes later, Evren turned onto my street and slowed to a stop outside my apartment building.

"We're home."

I looked up at the familiar brick building.

The paint around the entrance had started peeling again.

Mrs. Lane's flowerpots still lined the steps, and the porch light flickered exactly the way it always had.

"It doesn't look like much," I admitted.

He switched off the engine and looked at it for a moment.

"It looks like home."

I smiled.

"You always say that."

"Because it's true."

He climbed out before I had the chance, opened the trunk, and reached for the grocery bags.

"I'll take these."

"I can help."

"I know."

He handed me the lighter bag.

"But I'm still carrying the heavy ones."

I laughed as we walked toward the building.

"I think you just enjoy pretending to be a gentleman."

"Pretending?"

He looked genuinely offended.

"I am a gentleman."

"Oh?"

"I even carried the groceries."

I nudged his arm with my shoulder.

"You're setting the bar very low."

He laughed, the sound lighter than it had been all evening.

"I'll do better tomorrow."

I unlocked the apartment door and stepped inside first.

The familiar scent of lavender lingered faintly in the air from the candle I'd burned the night before.

It wasn't much.

A small living room, a tiny kitchen tucked into one corner, one bedroom, and furniture I'd bought one piece at a time over the years.

Still...

It was mine.

Evren followed me in, setting the grocery bags on the kitchen counter before taking a slow look around.

"You know," he said, loosening the cuffs of his shirt, "I don't think I've ever told you how much I like this place."

I smiled as I slipped off my shoes.

"Really?"

He nodded.

"It feels... peaceful."

I laughed softly.

"I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said about my apartment."

"I'm serious."

His eyes met mine.

"It feels like you."

I felt my cheeks warm.

"Is that your way of saying it's small?"

He grinned.

"No."

"It's cozy."

"That's just a polite way of saying it's small."

"It is small."

He walked over until he was standing in front of me.

"But it's warm."

His hand brushed lightly against mine.

"And every time I walk through that door..."

He glanced around the apartment before looking back at me.

"...you're here."

I smiled.

"I think you're just trying to flatter me."

"It's working, isn't it?"

"A little."

"A little?"

"Maybe more than a little."

His grin widened.

"I'll take it."

I shook my head, laughing under my breath.

"So..."

I untied my hair, letting it fall over my shoulders.

"Are you going to stand there charming me all evening?"

"I could."

"But then we'd never eat."

He placed a hand dramatically over his heart.

"A tragedy."

I pointed toward the sink.

"Wash the vegetables."

He looked from me to the grocery bags.

"That's a very unromantic assignment."

"I have potatoes that need peeling if you'd prefer."

His eyes widened.

"I'll wash the vegetables."

"Good choice."

He rolled up his sleeves and carried everything to the sink.

Meanwhile, I unpacked the rest of the groceries, placing each ingredient where it belonged.

The kitchen was so small that every few minutes one of us had to step aside to let the other pass.

When I reached for the garlic, I bumped into his shoulder.

"Sorry," I said automatically.

He smiled.

"I think that's my line."

A minute later he turned around, nearly walking into me.

"There it is."

"What?"

"The fifth collision."

I laughed.

"You've been counting?"

"I had to entertain myself somehow."

"Oh? Washing vegetables isn't exciting enough?"

"Not nearly."

I nudged him gently with my elbow before reaching into the cupboard for a frying pan.

"You're impossible."

"I've heard that before."

"From me."

"More than once."

I smiled to myself as I placed the pan on the stove.

Soon the kitchen filled with familiar sounds.

The soft hiss of butter melting.

The steady rhythm of a knife against the chopping board.

Running water from the sink.

It was ordinary.

Comfortably ordinary.

I seasoned the chicken while Evren finished rinsing the vegetables.

When I turned around, I caught him watching me again.

I smiled without looking up.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You're staring."

"I know."

"So?"

He leaned one shoulder against the counter.

"I like watching you."

I looked over at him.

"Why?"

"Because you always look happy when you cook."

I paused.

"I do?"

"You don't even realize it."

He smiled.

"But you smile more here than anywhere else."

For a moment, I didn't know what to say.

Then I looked back at the pan before the warmth creeping into my cheeks became too obvious.

"You're trying to distract me."

"It seems to be working."

I laughed quietly.

"It won't when dinner burns."

"I trust you."

His answer came so easily that it made me smile all over again.

Maybe that was why home had never really been a place for me.

It had always been a person.

And standing there in my tiny kitchen, laughing over vegetables and dinner, it was impossible to imagine wanting anything more.