The Soft Places We Break
1158 Words
Chapter Six: The Soft Places We Break
For the first time in weeks, Isla didn’t wake up with a tight knot in her chest.
She woke up remembering the way Adrian’s fingers had curled around hers like he didn’t want to let go. The way his voice dropped when he said he believed in her—not because he had to, not because it served a purpose—but because he meant it.
It was dangerous to hope. She knew that.
But it was even harder not to.
Still, she didn’t rush to text him. Didn’t plan to see him today. They needed to move slowly. Carefully. Or they’d ruin this before it could become anything real.
Instead, she spent the morning reviewing campaign metrics and preparing her notes for the investor presentation coming up next week—a project Adrian had trusted her to lead. That alone was still surreal.
By noon, she was seated at her favorite café with her laptop, scribbling adjustments on a storyboard layout when Jules slid into the chair across from her.
“You ghosted me for a week,” Jules said, waving for the waiter. “You better spill everything.”
Isla glanced around. “Can we not talk about my possibly doomed love life in public?”
Jules smirked. “So it is a love life now.”
“It’s not. We’re not even…” She trailed off. “We’re figuring things out.”
“Is he a jerk?”
“No.”
“Manipulative?”
“No. Surprisingly honest.”
“Is he secretly married with five kids and a yacht named after his ego?”
Isla laughed. “No.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Isla stirred her tea. “I don’t trust myself to let someone that close. Not again.”
Jules leaned forward, serious now. “You’re allowed to be scared, Isla. But don’t mistake fear for instinct. And don’t let your past write your future.”
Isla blinked. “When did you get so wise?”
“Since watching you fight happiness like it’s a full-time job,” Jules replied, then softened. “Just don’t run from this unless you’re sure it’s wrong. Okay?”
She nodded slowly. “Okay.”
---
Later that day, Adrian called.
He didn’t text. Didn’t send some vague email request.
He called.
And her heart jumped when she saw his name on the screen.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.” A beat. “You busy?”
She paused. “Only if you’re about to tell me the brand color palette needs to be reworked again.”
He chuckled. “No. I wanted to see if you were free tonight.”
Her pulse quickened. “Why?”
“I want to show you something.”
---
She met him at 7:00 PM, outside a sleek, black car parked just across from a narrow street lit with warm, flickering lights.
He was already waiting, leaning against the hood in a dark coat, his tie undone and eyes full of something almost... tender.
He opened the door for her without a word.
She slid in. “You always this formal?”
“I’m trying not to screw this up.”
She glanced at him. “Then maybe stop treating me like a fragile project.”
He looked over, amused. “Noted.”
---
They drove without speaking much, the city giving way to quieter neighborhoods and then to a stretch of wooded road Isla hadn’t seen before.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
Eventually, they pulled into a small gravel lot. In front of them stood a low, modern building wrapped in soft exterior lights. It looked like an art gallery or some kind of creative retreat.
Adrian led her inside.
The space was beautiful—clean lines, glass walls, curated pieces on pedestals and hanging canvases glowing under warm lights.
But it was empty. No other guests. No curators. Just them.
He walked ahead and paused in front of a large, framed photo near the back.
Isla stepped closer and sucked in a breath.
It was a black-and-white portrait of a woman sitting on a fire escape, sketching on a notepad. Her eyes were full of light, her smile caught mid-laugh.
“I took that,” Adrian said quietly.
“You’re a photographer?”
“I was. A long time ago.”
She stared. “She’s beautiful. Who is she?”
“My sister.”
Isla turned to him slowly.
“She died ten years ago. She was twenty-four.”
“Oh, Adrian…”
He looked at the photo, jaw clenched. “This was her dream. A gallery of forgotten moments. She believed the world moved too fast to notice the beauty in ordinary things.”
“She was right,” Isla said softly.
He nodded. “I never had the courage to open this place after she passed. Until recently. I finally finished what she started.”
Isla reached for his hand. He let her take it.
“She would’ve been proud of you.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “She was the brave one. The soft one.”
“You’re soft too, you just hide it better.”
He glanced at her, a flicker of something warm and broken passing through his eyes. “With you, it’s harder to hide.”
Her chest ached.
Adrian turned, both of them still holding hands, and looked down at her.
“I’ve never done this,” he said. “Not like this.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let someone in.”
She stepped closer. “You don’t have to be perfect with me.”
“I’ll probably mess it up.”
“Good. So will I.”
They stood there for a long moment. Then his hand cupped her cheek, hesitant, reverent.
“May I?” he whispered.
She nodded.
And when he kissed her, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t fiery or desperate. It was slow and warm and terrifyingly gentle.
The kind of kiss that said I see you.
The kind that said please stay.
When they finally parted, she rested her forehead against his chest.
“I don’t know what this is,” she whispered.
“Me neither,” he said.
“But it feels like something.”
He smiled against her hair. “It feels like everything I didn’t know I was missing.”
---
They didn’t talk much on the way back. The quiet wasn’t awkward. It was safe. Full of unspoken understandings.
When he pulled up outside her building, she turned to him.
“Are you going to kiss me again?”
“Do you want me to?”
She grinned. “Desperately.”
He did.
And when she walked up to her apartment, she didn’t feel like she was running anymore.
She felt like maybe—just maybe—she was home.
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