Chapter 147: " I love Ava, it’s natural for me to worry about her."
The night had sunk into stillness, the kind of silence that wraps around a house like a heavy blanket.
The street beyond the gates of Ava’s family home was deserted, the lamps casting pale yellow circles on the asphalt, shadows stretching into emptiness.
The air was cool, almost damp, carrying the faint smell of dew forming on the leaves of the garden shrubs.
Inside, the elder couple had been readying for sleep.
Theresa, Ava’s mother, was about to climb into bed when a flash of headlights swept across the curtains.
She paused, her hand lingering on the fabric, curiosity tugging her forward.
Leaning to the side, she pulled the curtain just enough to peek through.
"Who is parking his car in front of the gate?" she murmured, her voice puzzled but edged with concern.
Benjamin, her husband, had already reached for the lamp switch, intending to cast the room into darkness for the night.
He stopped at her tone, turning toward her with a furrowed brow. "A car? At this hour?"
She nodded, her face faintly illuminated by the lamp’s soft glow.
The lines of her forehead deepened as she peered out again, her expression shifting between suspicion and unease.
"Let me take a look," Benjamin said, his tone steadier, though his curiosity matched hers.
He stepped to the window beside her, pushing the curtain further aside.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he focused on the dark outline of a car stationed directly in front of their gate.
The sound came moments later—a knock.
Not harsh, not frantic, but firm enough to ripple through the quiet house.
Theresa flinched, her hand instinctively touching her chest.
"Who do you think would come this late at night?" she asked, her voice now threaded with worry.
Benjamin only shrugged, his mouth tightening as if he didn’t want to alarm her. "Let me check."
His steps were deliberate, the floorboards creaking faintly under his weight as he descended toward the gate.
Outside, Azazel stood bathed in the dim light of the streetlamp.
His shoulders were tense, his eyes scanning left and right as though every shadow might be hiding something.
The night pressed in on him, cool and still, and though unease prickled at the back of his neck, the stronger pull was what had driven him here—Ava.
He lifted his hand, intending to knock again, when the faint scrape of footsteps reached his ears.
Relief mingled with anticipation, and his chest tightened as the gate creaked open.
Benjamin appeared, his features stern in the half-light until his gaze settled on the young man before him.
"Sorry for coming this late at night, sir," Azazel blurted immediately, bowing his head slightly in apology.
His voice carried urgency and sincerity, betraying the weight of worry that had pulled him from his own home.
Benjamin’s eyes softened, surprise flickering in them. "It’s okay," he said after a pause. "Please, come in."
Azazel didn’t hesitate. He stepped quickly inside, his polished shoes crunching lightly against the gravel of the front yard.
His posture was polite but restless, his movements betraying the storm inside him.
"Oh my!" Theresa exclaimed when she saw him enter with her husband.
She had been waiting in the living room, her night robe drawn close around her.
"What brings you at this time of night, my son?" Her brows knitted in surprise, though her tone was gentle.
Azazel immediately dipped his head again. "Ma’am, I’m sorry for disturbing you at this late hour."
His words were deliberate, respectful, yet beneath them, his expression was lined with worry that he could not mask.
Theresa gave him a small nod, encouraging him to continue.
"Earlier, I received a call from Ava," he explained, his voice low, strained. "She didn’t say it outright, but I could hear it... she was crying. I couldn’t just wait until morning. I had to come. I was worried about her."
His face, usually so composed, now carried raw emotion—tension in the jaw, eyes shadowed with concern, lips pressed into a thin line that trembled faintly as he exhaled.
Theresa and Benjamin exchanged a look, and in that shared silence, something unspoken passed between them.
Their daughter’s pain, mirrored in the devotion of this young man, revealed more than words ever could.
"Oh, my," Theresa whispered softly, her hand pressing against her chest.
"Thank you, son." Her voice wavered, touched by his sincerity. Her heart, already softened by Ava’s earlier confessions, melted further.
"There’s no need to thank me, ma’am," Azazel replied quickly. "I love Ava. It’s natural for me to worry about her."
Benjamin’s lips curved into a small, approving smile. He stood a little taller, regarding the boy with newfound respect.
"Come," Theresa said, her voice warm now. "Let me lead you to her room."
She glanced at him once more, noting the way he carried himself—not careless, not reckless, but heavy with the weight of care for her daughter.
Benjamin remained behind, lingering in the living room.
His eyes followed Azazel’s back with a quiet smile tugging at his lips, pride swelling in his chest.
The boy had declared his love not in grand gestures, but in the most human way—by showing up when it mattered.
Upstairs, Theresa paused at Ava’s door. She turned to Azazel, her hand resting lightly on the frame.
With a knowing smile, she stepped back, giving him space.
She knew her daughter well enough to understand that no comfort could match his presence now.
Azazel stood before the door, his heart pounding hard enough to echo in his ears. He raised his knuckles and knocked softly.
No response. The silence pressed heavy against him, suffocating in its stillness. He knocked again, this time more firmly, but again—nothing.
Then, faintly, he heard it. A sound so small it might have been missed if he hadn’t been straining—sniffling. Quiet, muffled, but undeniably there. His chest constricted.
That was all the confirmation he needed. Slowly, carefully, he turned the handle and slipped inside.
The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the moon filtering through the curtains.
Ava lay curled on her bed, her shoulders trembling with quiet sobs. The sight froze him where he stood, his breath catching.
For a heartbeat, he wondered if this was real, if he was intruding into some fragile dream.
But then her eyes lifted, glassy with tears, and without hesitation she reached out.
Her arms wrapped around him with desperate force, pulling him close as though she feared he might vanish.
Her body shook against him, her face pressing into his shoulder.
He didn’t think—he simply melted into her embrace, arms folding around her with equal intensity.
Time blurred. The world outside the room ceased to exist.
When at last she eased her hold, pushing him back slightly, Azazel’s gaze lingered on her face.
Tear-streaked cheeks, lashes heavy with moisture, lips parted as though struggling for breath.
The way she averted her eyes, shy and flustered, only deepened the ache in his chest.
Her embarrassment was written in every line of her body—the way her fingers twisted the blanket, the way her shoulders hunched as though she wanted to vanish beneath it.
Yet her earlier desperation clung to the air between them, undeniable.
Azazel’s voice came, steady but weighted. "Are you alright?"
She nodded quickly, though her face betrayed the fragility of her assurance.
And then he did what his heart demanded—drawing her close again, his arms circling her waist, pulling her against him.
Her body tensed, eyes widening in startled surprise, but the warmth of his embrace soon seeped into her.
Her rigid posture softened, her head lowering, and then she yielded, her arms sliding up to hold him just as tightly.
They clung to each other, unmoving, as though time itself had slowed to grant them this reprieve.
Their breathing fell into rhythm, her tears dampening his shirt, his hand steady against her back.
In that fragile stillness, they poured unspoken words into the simple act of holding on.
Minutes stretched—five, then ten—yet neither loosened their grip. For them, it wasn’t nearly enough.
They were two souls filling the empty spaces left by regret, stitching wounds not with apologies, but with closeness.
And in the dim quiet of Ava’s room, their hearts, once heavy with distance, found solace in the simple truth of being together.
Author’s Note
Love has a way of arriving in silence, often when we are too bruised to recognize it, and too afraid to claim it.
In this Chapter, we see Ava at her most vulnerable—caught in the quiet storm of her own regret, remembering every misstep and every sharp word she once threw toward Azazel.
For so long she believed love was something she needed to chase, something that kept slipping from her grasp with those who did not value her.
Yet here stands Azazel, unwavering, waiting, loving her in a way that feels almost too steady for her to trust at first.
Her tears were not just for the pain of the past, but for the fear that she had been too late. And yet, life has a gentle way of showing us that love, when true, is patient.
Azazel’s arrival in the middle of the night, his presence in her pain, and his refusal to let her suffer alone, are all testaments of a love that does not waver even when bruised by silence or distance.
As readers, we are invited to witness a moment that is not grand in gesture, but powerful in its simplicity—a hug, a whisper of comfort, a pair of arms that refuse to let go.
Love, after all, is not always loud. It does not always need fireworks or declarations.
Sometimes it is found in the stillness of the night, in the sound of someone breathing beside you, in the way two hearts can finally rest because they are no longer alone.
Ava’s journey teaches us that regret is not the end of love, but often the beginning of a deeper truth.
She learns, slowly, that the person who sees her tears and still chooses to stay is worth more than all the fleeting romances that once left her broken.
Azazel’s silent devotion reminds us that love is not only about being chosen—it is also about choosing, again and again, even when it hurts, even when the other person is trembling in doubt.
This Chapter is a gentle reminder for us all: never underestimate the quiet power of being present for someone.
Sometimes the most profound form of love is simply staying when others would walk away.