Clara’s POV

Hope had become something I wore without noticing like a perfume that lingered on my skin long after the bottle was gone.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t glittering. It didn’t come in the shape of a diamond ring or the sweep of a white aisle. My hope was quieter. It was him. Still guarded. Still flawed. Still avoiding too much eye contact in public and never once giving me the safety of a label.

But there he was, choosing me anyway. Needing me, even if he never said it ...