That morning I didn't give in to the storm
By Jérémie Tchindebe
Summary
This is a heartfelt story of healing, faith, and rebirth. The narrator begins her journey amid an emotional storm, symbolized by an actual tempest outside. After a painful and unexpected breakup, she makes the difficult decision to get up and take her first step toward the light.
The days that follow are heavy with sorrow, but she begins to find comfort in small, everyday moments. The quiet kindness of strangers—a baker, passing children—offers her unexpected encouragement. One day, in a park, she meets David, a photographer who also carries the weight of personal loss. Their initial conversations are honest but not romantic—just two wounded souls recognizing each other.
As they continue to meet, sharing silences and struggles, a sense of peace gradually returns to her. Her faith, prayer life, and David's quiet authenticity help her rebuild from within. Yet, when a memory or message from her past resurfaces, she is shaken. Though tempted to retreat, she begins to write poetry in a journal and discovers a healing voice in herself.
David later invites her to a photo exhibition. One image deeply moves her: a tree bent by the rain, yet still standing. She realizes it was taken the day they first met—an image that mirrors her own resilience.
One starlit evening, they finally speak of love—not the fairy-tale kind, but a love that chooses to hope again despite the scars. She silently prays, asking God if she's ready to love. Peacefully, she receives her answer.
The story closes on a calm morning. She's making coffee with a lighter heart. David arrives with warm bread. No words at first—just a look, a smile. That morning, she didn't give in to fear. And so, their true story begins.
Chapter 1 : The day it all fell apart
The wind was howling that morning, carrying away everything in its path. The rain was hitting the window with such force that I felt like the outside world was being destroyed. Inside, the storm was no less violent. It beat against my heart, devastated my thoughts, destroyed every piece of serenity that I thought I had acquired. That morning, everything had collapsed.
I had just read the message, the one that broke everything: "It's over."A few words, so simple, but so impactful. Like a slap. A sudden farewell. No explanations, no reason. Just a deep emptiness, a sudden breakup. How did we get here? How could a story that I thought was indestructible, a love that I thought was eternal, be destroyed so quickly, so suddenly? My eyes were lost in the gray sky, as if the landscape outside could reflect what was happening inside me.
The pain was invading me. It was an immense emptiness, a feeling of total helplessness. Every breath was hard to take. With a heavy heart, I let myself fall on the couch. The memories swirled in my mind: the happy moments, the promises of the future, the dreams that we had shared. Everything seemed so distant now, like a mirage that had dissipated. This emptiness, this heavy silence, that was the reality now.
Then, in the silence, a thought arises, unexpected but clear: to get up. I knew I had no other choice. Even if every fiber of my being told me to let myself be swallowed up by pain, I had to do something. A simple decision. A gesture of resistance. I had to get up.
With an effort, I straightened up. My legs were weak, my body exhausted. But my hands knew what they had to do. They instinctively guided me towards the kitchen, towards a daily gesture: to prepare a coffee. Such a simple act, but which, at that moment, seemed to be an act of rebellion against pain. A small step towards normality. A gesture that allowed me to cling to something, no matter how insignificant it may seem.
I watched the water boil, concentrating on the warmth of the cup that would bring me some semblance of comfort. I breathed slowly, forcing myself to calm this inner turmoil. Every movement was heavy, every thought a weight. But I knew that this first step, however tiny, was necessary. I had to start rebuilding, even if everything around me seemed destroyed.
I took the cup, observing the landscape in the rain, and I heard a small voice inside me, almost imperceptible : not to give in to the storm. I knew that the pain would not disappear in a day, but we had to confront it, accept it. It was necessary to move forward, even with an uncertain step, even with a timid step.
I looked at the cup of coffee, this little daily gesture, and I thought that maybe, over time, these simple gestures would allow me to put the pieces of what had been broken back together. The storm would eventually calm down, I was sure of it. The rain would eventually stop. There was a future, maybe not right away, but one day, one day when I would find peace again.
I made a decision, simple but decisive. I would not give in to fear. I would not let myself be swallowed up by this infinite pain. That morning, I had chosen to get up. It was only a beginning, a small step, but it was already something. And that was enough for now.
Chapter 2 : The tenuous breath of life
The morning was rising slowly, timidly, as if the sky itself was hesitant to show its light. The sound of the rain, which had been drumming against the windows the day before, had subsided, but the heaviness of the air remained. It was the type of morning where we wake up, but the world around us still seems to be half asleep. For the narrator, it was difficult for everyday life to resume its course. She felt like an automaton who, although having the usual gestures, had not regained the vivacity of yesteryear. The pain of departure was still there, suspended, ready to arise at any moment. But today, she didn't want to be swallowed up by it.
She had got up in silence, her gestures slow and clumsy, and had put water to heat for her coffee. Nothing spectacular. It was almost as if she was following a ritual by default, without really paying attention to it. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with that of the croissants she had bought earlier in the morning, just out of the oven. There was this small, very simple bakery at the end of the street, where the smell of hot bread always seemed a little more comforting.
With each bite, she rediscovered a taste, a forgotten flavor. Things that had seemed trivial to her before suddenly made sense. She realized that there were times when the beauty lay in the simplicity of the little things. A flower that is just emerging from the earth, the play of shadows and light in the street, or the smiles exchanged with strangers. These minute gestures, these fleeting encounters, were beginning to take an important place in his life.
When she went out to do her shopping, she ran into the baker. She smiled at him, a warm smile, full of kindness. "Good morning, miss. "It wasn't much, an exchanged smile, a banal sentence. But for the narrator, this simple exchange was an anchor in reality, a moment of comfort in pain. These small gestures had an immense power, that of reminding that beyond the inner storm, there was a life that continued, which offered itself to her in new forms.
While crossing the street, she noticed a group of children who were playing in a park, carefree. Their burst of laughter, innocent and spontaneous, touched her. It reminded him that there were moments of pure lightness, moments when life was not tinged with suffering. She stopped for a moment to observe them, listening to their joy and their complicity. She realized that, even in sadness, life still offered moments of beauty, if we knew how to seize them.
But this lightness, although comforting, did not last. The pain came back in waves, like a calm sea that suddenly breaks loose. The narrator was exhausted, tired by the duality of her existence : the will to get up, but the fear of collapse at every moment. How to move forward when the road seemed endless and fraught with pitfalls? How to rebuild a daily life when the shadow of the past hovered at every step?
However, that day, she took one more step. It may not have been much, but for her it was huge. She decided to take a walk in the park, a place she hadn't visited in weeks. She went there on foot, walking slowly, almost mechanically. The fresh air hit her gently. She stopped by the old wooden bench, where she used to sit with her ex, before everything broke. She sat down, her eyes closed, and took a deep breath. The scent of damp earth, trees, and flowers mingled with the fresh air. It was like a faint, almost imperceptible breath that guided her towards a form of peace.
She hadn't healed everything yet. The pain persisted, but she realized that, even in this difficult daily life, there were moments of grace. She could still appreciate the beauty around her, even if it was only a tiny fraction of what she had known before. But these moments, fleeting as they were, were the promise of a slow and possible healing. That morning she had not yielded to the storm. She had simply chosen to breathe, to cling to life, even in its most fragile form.
Chapter 3 : The Unexpected encounter
The wind blew gently through the park, caressing the trees that seemed to both resist and submit to its force. The rain had fallen earlier, but the clouds had dissipated, giving way to a soothing blue sky. It was one of those moments when nature seemed completely in harmony, while the narrator's mind was still restless, beaten by the waves of emotions that had been overwhelming her for weeks. But that day, an inconspicuous light crept through his dark thoughts.
She sat down on a bench, a place she had frequented since her youth, but which she had not seen in the same way since her separation. The weight of loneliness was still heavy on his shoulders, but there was something comforting in the tranquility of the place, a bit as if the park itself, with its old trees, had the power to soothe him.
That's when she noticed it for the first time. David. A man who seemed out of time, with a camera hanging around his neck and a distant gaze. He walked slowly, stopping from time to time to observe the details of the landscape, looking concentrated, as if every moment was of paramount importance to him. He settled a little further away, landing against a tree, and began to photograph the birds that flew away at regular intervals.
She didn't expect him to come to her. He was far from the stereotypical image of the seducer or the charmer, and yet, something in his posture and in his gaze captivated the narrator's attention. After a long silence, he turned to her, smiling softly, without haste.
"Do you like to come here to find peace too? ", he asked with a low voice, but full of benevolence.
The tone of his question slightly unsettled her. She was not used to someone engaging in conversation in this way, without any other ulterior motive than the desire to share a moment of calm. She looked at him, hesitating for a moment before answering.
"Yes, it is... one of the few places where I still feel a bit at home. "His voice betrays the fragility of his words.
David nodded slowly, as if he understood much more than she wanted to say. He sat down next to her, leaving enough space so that the distance did not become too intimate. There was no pressure in the air, only a shared curiosity and a tacit respect for the other's personal space.
"It's funny," he said after a moment of silence, "I feel like this place is a little magical. As if he offered everyone what they were looking for, without ever forcing it. »
The narrator gave her a slightly surprised look, but this sentence, so simple, seemed to strike an echo deep inside her. He didn't have an easy answer or a comforting cliché to offer, but his words were like an invitation, an open door to listening without judgment.
"Are you a photographer? "She asked to break the silence.
David smiled. "Yes, I have always liked to capture those moments that, at first glance, seem banal, but which, when you look at them more closely, become completely unique. »
He then showed the screen of his camera where an image had just been taken: a tree branch immersed in the morning light, the shadow of its leaves spreading on the ground. It was a simple image, but it gave off something calm, restorative.
"You see," he added, "it is this simplicity that inspires me. Sometimes we look too far, when in fact, everything we need is there, right in front of our eyes. »
A silence settled between them, but it was not an awkward silence. It was rather a space where everyone could get lost without fear. The narrator felt, for the first time in a long time, that she didn't need to explain everything. That her pain, although still present, did not totally define her. This moment with David, although stealthy, seemed to lay the foundations for a silent complicity.
Before getting up to leave, David looked at her one last time and offered her a light smile, imbued with understanding. "Sometimes we have to know how to take the time to observe what is right in front of us, without judgment, without expectation. »
She nodded, her heart still trembling, but this time with a new emotion. He had attempted nothing more. Just a meeting, but a meeting that, perhaps, was going to mark the beginning of something deeper, more significant. The narrator also got up, feeling that this park, that day, had a little more light than before.
She did not yet know what the future held for her, but one thing was certain: the inner storm, although still present, no longer seemed so overwhelming. She was not alone in her pain, and sometimes the most unexpected encounter could ignite a small flame of hope.
Chapter 4 : The Slow healing
The days followed one another, often in silence, interspersed with small routines that, little by little, hinted at a less threatening horizon. The first few weeks had been a whirlwind of pain, a constant struggle to stand up to a grief that seemed to swallow everything up. But over time, an insidious transformation was taking place. Every morning, when she opened her eyes, she felt as if she had been reborn, even if the shadow of the old life continued to hover. The memories, although still present, no longer burned with the same intensity. The fire of suffering had slowly subsided.
David was one of those little sparks that lit up his days. He was not yet a pillar, but a comforting presence, an unexpected encounter that had pulled her out of her isolation. Every conversation with him, whether on a park bench or in a cafe around the corner, had become a special moment. He wasn't forcing her to speak, he was listening. Sometimes he wouldn't say anything, just staring at the horizon, as if to help him refocus. There was no pressure, no expectations. He was only there to be. This simple fact, in itself, had a soothing effect on her ragged heart.
She had begun to find her own voice again, gently, without haste. Prayer, once a simple routine, had become a real anchor. In the solitude of her room, she addressed simple words to God, words of confusion, of pain, but also of hope. She wasn't sure what the future held, but she knew she wasn't alone. The Scriptures, which she had left out for too long, were coming to life again. The passages that she had memorized in her youth took on a new meaning, a depth that she would never have imagined. The promises of healing, of consolation, were now realities that she could touch with her fingertips.
She had also returned to reading books that had once brought her comfort. There was something comforting about the idea that others had gone through similar trials and come out of them. She particularly loved poems, these little pearls of wisdom that sometimes said more in a few verses than years of therapy. And it was in the words that her mind found peace, slowly but surely. She also wrote, words that she did not show to anyone, reflections that, like stones thrown into water, created circles in her mind.
Meetings with David, meanwhile, were becoming more frequent. She passed him at the park, always with her camera in her hand. Sometimes they would sit in silence, just observing the world around them. The idea of talking about his feelings, or even his progress, never crossed his mind. There was no need to verbalize anything. The simple fact of sharing the space and feeling the presence of the other was enough. David, with his peaceful gaze and calm voice, seemed to understand what she needed without her having to say it.
One afternoon, as they were sitting side by side, a question came to her. "Do you believe in complete healing?"She didn't know why this question came to her, but she asked it all the same. David turned slowly to her, a soft smile on his lips.
"I believe that healing is a path. Not a final destination," he replied. "And every day that you spend getting up, even if it's barely a step, you move forward."
His words echoed in her with unexpected force. It was exactly that: healing would not be a radical transformation, but an accumulation of small victories over oneself. There was no shame in moving slowly, in taking small breaths. She had often reproached herself for not being stronger, faster, but these words freed her from this pressure.
As the days passed, she was learning to live with her scars. They were there, invisible but present. She no longer sought to erase them, but to accept them. They were part of her, part of her story. And maybe these scars, these past pains, were the foundations on which she could rebuild something more solid.
That evening, after another meeting with David, she returned home with a lighter heart. She realized that she was no longer the one she had been before the storm. No, she had changed. She wasn't whole yet, but she was getting closer. She had not given in to the storm, and today she was coming out stronger. And, for the first time in a long time, she felt ready to accept the next day.
Chapter 5 : The ashes and the flowers
The rain was beating against the windows, a familiar melody that, in normal times, would have been comforting. But today, she was just another ordeal to endure. The wind was blowing hard, as if to remind the narrator that the storm, although less noisy than before, was still very present in her heart. The night, however peaceful, had been disturbed by a strange dream, a memory of the past that she had not been able to chase away. The face of his ex-companion had appeared, as marked by pain as by regret. A message had popped up in his mind: "What if we had made a mistake? »
She had found this memory overwhelming. How could a simple mental message reopen a wound that she thought was healed? How to get rid of the shadow of the one who had abandoned her without warning, without comfort? That morning, something had revived in her, an insidious doubt. Was she really ready to move on ? And David, was he a temporary refuge or the promise of a new life ?
In the quiet of her apartment, she got up slowly, with a heavy heart, her thoughts tangled. She instinctively walked to the window, observing the outside world, like a helpless witness. The world seemed to be spinning as before, people were moving around, life was taking its course, but for her, everything was different. She was suspended between the past and the future, between pain and healing.
Yet a little flash of light crept into his mind. She remembered the first days after the breakup. Those moments when she had the impression that everything was falling apart, that nothing made sense anymore. And yet, she was still there, standing. If she had survived these internal storms, why would she give in today, when peace had made a timid appearance in her life? She had regained her breath, but the storm in her was far from being dissipated. Every day was a battle, an ordeal in which she had to choose between letting herself be overcome by fear or moving forward, even if the steps were hesitant.
An inner cry was heard: "Don't run away."It was a soft but firm voice, like a promise of healing. There was no question of running away this time. No, she had to face the storm, face it, accept that she was part of the process.
She turned to the wooden table where a notebook sat enthroned. It had been given by her sister, a gift that had been placed there to encourage her to write. She had not touched this notebook for several weeks. Perhaps, she thought to herself, writing could help her get out of this torpor. In all honesty, she had never believed that writing would help her, but this day seemed to mark a turning point. Without thinking further, she opened the notebook, taking her pen. The first words came with difficulty, then, like a slowly rising tide, thoughts began to flow in. The words turned into poems, fragments of his soul, subtle observations about the life around him.
She began to write about "ashes and flowers". The ashes symbolized the pain, the loss, the fire that had consumed everything. But the flowers, they, embodied the beauty that is reborn from the ruins. The narrator knew that the pain would not disappear in the blink of an eye, but she was beginning to understand that, just like nature after a fire, her heart could find a path to rebirth. And, perhaps, like these flowers, it would begin to bloom unexpectedly, right in the middle of the ashes.
The words flowed freely, without judgment, without constraint. The pages filled slowly, but with a kind of new certainty, a light that shone in the darkness. She wasn't healed yet, but she wasn't the same anymore. She had decided to cling to life, to see it from another angle.
The truth was that she didn't have to figure it all out right away. She didn't have to have all the answers. She could not erase her past, but she could choose how it would influence her future. The fear of love, the fear of vulnerability, all this was very real, but now she refused to let this fear rule her life. She knew that, despite the scars, she could learn to love again. It wasn't an easy path, but it was one she was willing to take.
Closing the notebook, she felt a little lighter. That morning she had not yielded to the storm. She had chosen to get up, to regain control, to write her own story. And in this story, there was room for flowers, for beauty, for hope, even after the ashes.
Chapter 6 : The Promises of the wind
She was standing there, in front of the gallery, her heart beating a little harder than usual. David had invited her to this exhibition, and she wasn't quite sure why she had accepted. Maybe out of curiosity, maybe to see a side of him that she still didn't know. The gallery was small, intimate, softly lit, almost intimate. The white walls welcomed the black and white photographs, images loaded with simplicity and raw beauty.
David stood near her, with a slight smile, observing how she reacted to the works on display. She was not a great connoisseur of art, but each photo spoke to her in a different way, like an echo in the depths of her soul. When they arrived in front of a particular photo, his gaze lingered, frozen by emotion.
It was a picture of a lonely tree, bent over in the pouring rain. The wind was blowing so hard that you could almost hear the rustle of leaves in the air. The tree seemed to be fighting against the elements, its roots deeply rooted in the earth, its branches stretched towards the sky despite the storm. He was bent over, almost to break, but he was still there, standing.
She felt a soft warmth in her chest, a shiver of recognition. This image upset her inexplicably. It was as if the tree represented its own life : broken, weakened by the storm of its trials, but still standing. This quiet strength, this resilience that persisted despite everything, she saw in her, even if she sometimes struggled to recognize it.
"Do you remember that day?"David asked, his quiet voice breaking the silence of his thoughts.
She turned her head slowly towards him. His eyes were soft, imbued with the same serenity that he exuded every time they met. She looked at him, a glimmer of questioning in her eyes. He pointed to the photo with a discreet gesture.
"I took this photo the day we met. It was the moment when I saw you for the first time, alone under the tree, with the rain falling hard, and I watched you without daring to approach. It's like the whole scene captures what you were going through at that moment."
She remained silent, touched. She had never known that this moment had meant so much to him. He had never told her. She looked at the tree again, this time seeing it in a different light. He was not simply an image of nature, but a symbol of a life that persists, even in the worst storms.
A deep feeling of gratitude rose in her. It was not so much the photo that had upset her, but the fact that David had seen her in her own state of fragility, of devastation, and that he had understood her without even saying it. This simplicity of allowing him to discover himself, without judgment, without expectations, it was this same simplicity that had been the common thread of their exchanges until today.
She turned to him, a slight smile on her lips, a sincere smile. "You saw me, even when I didn't see myself."
David nodded silently. "I think we have both been trees, a little bent, a little broken, but still standing. And there's something powerful about that, even if it doesn't always show."
His words resonated in her like an ancient truth that she had just finally understood. Yes, she had been broken, lost in the storm, but today she knew that there was something in her that had always kept her upright. A stubborn hope, like that tree that resisted the winds. Faith, resilience, love ... these invisible but strong elements that support the soul even in the darkest moments.
They stayed there, in front of the image of the tree. The wind was blowing outside, but here, in this gallery, in this suspended moment, peace reigned. A fragile, but true peace.
She had not yielded to the storm, nor to the one that had shaken her heart. She was still standing, and today she understood better why. Because there was always a promise, even in the worst winds. And she was ready to seize it.
"Thank you," she whispered, almost to herself, before looking away from the photo and plunging her gaze into David's. "Thank you for showing me, even when I was just a shadow of myself."
David smiled, a glint in his eye, as if he understood exactly what she meant. And together they continued to walk in this gallery, without haste, just two souls at peace, stronger and freer than before.
Chapter 7 : A fragile, but true light
There are moments in life when words seem insufficient to express what we feel, moments suspended between the past and the future, between doubt and certainty. It was one of those evenings when the sky seemed larger than usual, when the stars shone with an almost unreal intensity, as if whispering ancient secrets, promises of healing. She and David were standing there, under that sky dotted with stars, surrounded by the calm of the night, but also by an imperceptible breath, a sweetness that came from somewhere, somewhere beyond this world.
They were in silence, but this silence was not heavy. It was, on the contrary, soothing, like a warm blanket. It had already been several months since they had crossed paths, spoken to each other, but they had never touched on this burning topic, this love emerging between two wounded souls, who, despite everything, were beginning to tend towards the light. That evening, something had changed. Maybe it was the sky, maybe it was the way the moon reflected in David's eyes, or even the moment when, for the first time, she was not afraid to accept what she was feeling.
David, who had been by her side since the beginning of her reconstruction, gently told her: "I know it's difficult. But sometimes you have to accept being vulnerable in order to rediscover yourself. "He hadn't said "I love you," but those words already said a lot more than any statement. He spoke of their shared pain, of their flaws, of the beauty that is born of suffering when we choose to accept it, to look at it in the face without looking away.
She felt crossed by a multitude of feelings, an encounter between fragility and strength. Her hands trembled slightly, but it was not fear, it was the recognition of a gentle and discreet grace that, little by little, was making its way into her heart. She prayed inwardly, as she had done so many times before, but that evening her prayer was different. She had no words to say everything, so she settled for this simple, sincere question: Lord, am I ready to love again? She closed her eyes, trying to listen to the answer. There was no heavenly voice, no bright answer, but a deep peace, a soft whisper at the bottom of his being. Yes, you're ready. That was all. No more, but enough.
The cool wind caressed his skin, but it was no longer the wind of uncertainty. It was the wind of acceptance, of trust. She turned her eyes to David, who, in his simplicity, also seemed to be looking for words that he did not need to pronounce. They understood each other now without words. Their relationship, their friendship, their connection, everything had been a slow healing process, a reconstruction of the broken pieces of a past history. And that evening, it was no longer a question of what they had lost, but of what they could still win together.
She put her hand on her heart, and a soft warmth settled there. Yes, there was something fragile in this nascent love, something still hesitant. But it was real. She had not given in to the storm of fear, uncertainty, pain. She had chosen to believe in this light, however fragile it might be. She had chosen to give love a chance, not that of fairy tales, but a true love, which accepts the scars and chooses to heal, a love that does not promise perfection, but which seeks, on the contrary, to rediscover itself in the truth.
They stayed there, together under the stars, in this peaceful silence, a silence that was no longer heavy but full of meaning. That evening, she knew that what she was experiencing was not a dream. It was a path, a fragile but true light that illuminated their steps, and it was up to them to accept it and nourish it.
Chapter 8 : That morning I chose to love
That morning, the sun seemed softer, like a promise of a quiet day. The rays streamed through the slightly drawn curtains, casting dancing shadows on the kitchen walls. She got up early, earlier than usual. A simple gesture, but in her, everything had changed. She had regained a rhythm, a form of calm that she had not known for a long time. The inner storm that had shaken her so violently seemed now to have subsided. The winds of fear, doubt and pain were still present, but their strength had diminished.
She settled down in front of the window, a cup of coffee in her hands. The black liquid seemed to link his past and his present in a kind of soothing continuity. She no longer needed to get lost in her dark thoughts. The wind outside was blowing gently, as if to confirm the inner peace that she felt. It was not the end of the pain, nor the departure of a life without shadows, but it was a beginning, a transition, a decision. She had chosen to get up, not to let herself be swallowed up by the storm, but to come out stronger.
She had gone through months of uncertainty, suffering and loneliness. But that morning she knew that something had changed in her. She wasn't the same woman she was a few weeks ago, or even a few days ago. She had accepted her own vulnerability, she had accepted her scars, not as burdens, but as testimonies of her resilience. She had also accepted something that she had not dared to admit earlier: she was ready to love again.
The sound of the front door opening softly pulled her out of her thoughts. She stood up, a smile forming on her lips. David was there, as he had been every morning since he had crossed his path. This time, he was not carrying his camera or his great artistic ambitions. No, he had simply brought a hot bread, just out of the oven. He put the bag on the table without a word, but the look he offered her spoke volumes. This look charged with understanding, gentleness, and a silent question. Was she ready?
She took a deep breath. The weight of the past, of wounds, of fear, seemed to have lightened, as if a veil had been lifted. She had chosen not to give in to the temptation to flee, to the fear that always arose when love was close to her heart. That morning, she had not given in to the storm of her emotions, her past, her wounds. She had chosen to open herself up to the possibility of loving, even with the scars, even with the uncertainties.
David watched her, waiting without pressure, without waiting for her to launch into explanations. He knew, just as she did, that some things were not said immediately, but felt. After a moment that seemed suspended in time, she smiled at him, a sincere smile, almost shy. He replied with a little smirk, a smile that said it all. No words were necessary. The hot bread was a small gesture, a symbol, a beginning.
She felt serene, lighter. She knew that the road would not be without pitfalls, but she had taken a step, a decisive step, towards something new. That morning, she had chosen not to let herself be devoured by the fear of loving. She had chosen to let the light penetrate her heart, even fragilely. She knew that this love, if it were to be born, would not be perfect. But it would be true. He would be the sum of their experiences, their wounds, their silences and their words.
She turned to him, took a handful of crumbs from the bread and placed them in David's hand. He burst out laughing, and she suddenly felt more alive, more connected to this world, to this relationship that was slowly emerging. The fragility of this moment, the sweetness of this moment, the simplicity of their exchange, all this was a form of healing. They didn't need to understand or master everything. What they had was each other. And that morning, she had decided to embrace this truth.
David gently put his hand on hers. This gesture, simple and delicate, was a testimony of the trust he placed in her. She knew it, he was looking for nothing other than to be there, present, sincere, in the moment. The love he offered her was not a promise of eternity without trials, but an invitation to move forward together, one step at a time.
That morning she had not yielded to the storm. She had chosen to get up, to let herself be loved, to believe in the possibility of pure and simple love. And in this choice, she had found the strength to be reborn.