"Just listening," he replied, reaching out to cover her hand with his. The song reached its peak, stripping away the pretense of certainty. He didn't have a map or a contract, just the sudden, rhythmic pulse in his chest that matched the bassline.

“Is this love?” the song challenged, the synth-pop beat driving against the vulnerability of the lyrics.

She wasn't a whirlwind. She was the steady hum of a radiator in winter. She was the person who knew he took his coffee with too much milk and never teased him for his fear of heights.

Elias realized then that he had been looking for a storm when he had actually found a harbor. Love wasn’t the dramatic "high" he’d chased in his twenties; it was this quiet, terrifying realization that he didn't want to be anywhere else. Sarah caught him staring and offered a small, tired smile, pushing a plate of chips toward him. "You're quiet tonight," she said over the chorus.