I Said Sorry For Kissing You Suddenly… But She Said “Don’t Be Sorry… Do It Properly This Time”

Beyond the Rainy Night

Time seemed to stop. The rain outside, the ticking of the clock on my wall, and the whole world faded away.

There was nothing but Ellie and me. The words were hanging in the air between us.

“What?” I whispered, certain I’d misheard.

She moved closer, eliminating that careful space I’d maintained for so long.

“I said ‘Do it properly this time.'”

And so I did. I kept her face in my hands and kissed her the way I’d wanted to for seven years.

I did not kiss her hesitantly or apologetically. I kissed her with every ounce of love I’d kept hidden away.

She kissed me back with equal fervor. Her hands were tangling in my hair, pulling me closer.

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathless. She rested her forehead against mine.

“What took you so long?” she asked, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

“Fear,” I admitted. “I was afraid of losing you.”

“You could never lose me,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you to catch up.”

It turns out while I’d been silently loving her for years, she’d been doing the same. All those boyfriends and relationships that never quite worked out had one thing in common.

They weren’t me. But our story wasn’t as simple as a kiss in the rain and a happily ever after.

Real life rarely is. The next morning brought with it doubts and questions.

Was this just a rebound for her, a moment of vulnerability after her breakup? Could I really risk our friendship, the most important relationship in my life, for the chance at something more?

We agreed to take things slow to figure out what this new dimension to our relationship meant. But slow proved difficult when every touch felt like coming home.

Every conversation seemed to reveal new layers to a person I thought I already knew completely.

Two weeks after that rainy night, we had our first real date. I took her to the botanical gardens.

I remembered how she’d once mentioned wanting to see the night blooming Sirius. It is a flower that blooms for just one night a year.

I’d called ahead and confirmed they had one about to bloom. I planned our evening around it.

When the flower finally opened, unfurling its petals in the moonlight, Ellie turned to me with wonder in her eyes.

“How did you know?” she asked.

“I listen to you,” I said simply. “I always have.”

She kissed me then, surrounded by exotic plants and the sweet scent of flowers.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” she whispered against my lips.

My heart soared, but a small voice of doubt still lingered. “Are you sure it’s not too soon after Ryan?”

She placed a finger over my lips.

“Ryan was me trying to get over you.” “So was David before him and Michael before that.”

“I’ve been in love with you for years, Alex. I just never thought you felt the same way.”

It seemed impossible that we’d both been harboring the same secret feelings. We had both been too afraid to speak them aloud.

As we walked hand in hand through the gardens, I realized that perhaps this was exactly how it was meant to happen.

We needed those years of friendship to build trust and understanding. We needed to create the foundation for something deeper.

But our new relationship wasn’t without its challenges. Our friend group was surprised.

Some were supportive. Others were concerned about what would happen if things didn’t work out.

Ellie’s parents, who had always treated me like a son, suddenly viewed me with suspicion. They worried I’d break their daughter’s heart.

Then there was the biggest challenge of all. I had to learn to be vulnerable with someone who knew all my flaws and all my weaknesses.

It was one thing to present a polished version of myself to a new partner. But Ellie had seen me at my worst.

She knew about my fear of failure. She knew my tendency to withdraw when hurt and my stubborn pride.

Three months into our relationship, we had our first major fight. It was about something trivial, though I can’t even remember what now.

It escalated quickly. Years of unspoken tensions were suddenly finding their voice.

“You always do this,” she shouted, pacing my living room. “You shut down instead of talking to me.”

“And you pushed too hard,” I fired back. “Not everything needs to be discussed to death.”

We glared at each other at an impasse. Then she grabbed her jacket and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” I asked, panic rising in my chest.

“Home. I need space.”

“So you’re just leaving? That’s your solution?”

She turned, her hand on the doorknob.

“No, that’s your solution, to shut down and push people away.” “I’m just not going to stand here and let you do it to me.”