The waves of love in my life

Aaron never liked talking about his past.

He was the kind of man who listened more than he spoke, who let people assume he had it all together. Most days, that was easier than telling the truth.

The truth was, he'd seen the inside of silence long before he met Mira.

He was thirteen when his father left.

Not with a fight. Not even a note. Just… a coat missing from the rack and the sound of a car that never came back. His mother tried to make up for it—worked two jobs, smiled too hard, and told Aaron he was "strong like her."

But strength, he learned, could be lonely.

He grew up craving steadiness, chasing calm. Not the kind you find in quiet rooms, but the kind that lives in knowing someone won't vanish when it gets hard.

And then he met Mira.

At first, she wasn't calm—she was chaos. Beautiful, bruised chaos. Her smile flickered like candlelight, her eyes carried storms, and she spoke like every sentence was a secret she wasn't sure you could handle.

And yet… she never tried to hide her cracks.

She just didn't know how to name them.

That was what drew him in. Not her scars—but the strength it took to carry them.

He didn't fall for the polished version.

He fell for the girl who flinched at thunder.

The one who cried during sunsets and kept apology notes in her journals.

But loving Mira wasn't easy. There were nights when she pulled away, mornings she'd forget how to smile, days where even silence between them felt too loud.

And still—he stayed.

Not out of pity. Not to "fix" her.

He stayed because he saw something no one else waited long enough to see:

She was still trying.

Still breathing.

Still building herself from the ashes of all the versions she thought she'd never escape.

When she handed him her first public piece—the one about her brother—he didn't speak for a while. He just held her hand and reread the last line over and over:

"For the fall I survived."

She didn't know, but those words felt like his own reflection.

Because in loving her, he was healing too.

Loving Mira didn't fix his past.

But it gave it meaning.

And maybe… that's what love really is.

Not rescuing. Not saving.

Just staying—long enough to witness the parts someone thought were unlovable.