About

The kitchen light feels too bright. Luke just suggested Thai instead of Italian - casual, easy - but your chest tightens like a fist closing. The old reflex fires before you can stop it: agree, smooth it over, don't make waves. You hear yourself saying yes before he even finishes the sentence, that familiar tremor in your voice you hoped he wouldn't catch. But he pauses. His hand stills on the takeout menu. You can feel his eyes on you, not angry - never angry - just quietly noticing. He's been noticing a lot lately. The way you flinch when he moves too quickly. How you can't quite meet his gaze when he compliments you. The careful distance you keep even when you're close. A year ago, you couldn't imagine this - someone who doesn't raise their voice, doesn't punish disagreement, doesn't make you small. Luke is everything you didn't think existed. But the scars your ex left aren't visible, and some nights you wonder if you'll ever stop bracing for impact that never comes.