She’d been afraid to call it love the second time.
The first time had been loud and fast and had ended in the particular wreckage of two people who were right for each other at the wrong time, years ago. She’d rebuilt herself after. Done the work, genuinely done it. She wasn’t afraid of being alone. She wasn’t even looking.
And then she’d met Rafael at a conference on a Tuesday in April and he’d disagreed with her about something in a way that was intelligent and not unkind, and something in her had gone very still.
She’d been careful. He’d been patient — not strategic, she understood the difference, just genuinely patient in the way of someone who understood that some things couldn’t be rushed.
Now it was late autumn. Fourteen months. She was in his kitchen making tea while he read in the other room, and she was thinking about the word *love*.
She’d been thinking about it for three weeks.
She brought him his tea and sat beside him and waited until he looked up.
“I need to tell you something,” she said.
His face did not change into alarm. It went the other way — into the quiet attention she’d learned to recognize.
“I’m in love with you,” she said. “I was afraid to say it. I’m done being afraid.”
He set his book down.
“I know,” he said. “I’ve been waiting.”
“You’ve been—”
“Waiting for you to be ready.” He took the tea from her hands, set it down. “I’ve been in love with you since April.”
The second time, she understood, doesn’t have to be smaller. It just has to be braver.
✦ Today’s Reflection
Is there something you’ve been waiting to say to your partner — not because the moment isn’t right, but because saying it feels vulnerable? What would happen if you said it tonight?
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Sonia M. Rompoti, MSc, Bsc 
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