Chapter 104: Rekindled Passions
Lisa’s POV
By the time we finally walk out of the office that night, the sun is already setting on the horizon, drawing the sky in lines of tangerine and violet.
But as soon as Leo’s fingers wrap around mine while we’re walking to the car, the weight lifts.
I feel so strange -- I mean, how your whole body resets because of one simple thing: touch.
Strange and Wonderful.
“You did great today,” Leo says when we're in the car. His voice is low, weary, but filled with pride.
“There’s no way I could have done half of it without you.”
Laughing softly I said. “You would’ve managed. You always do.”
He looks at me and says, “Maybe. but it would not have been as easy. As usual.”
His candor warmed me, melting the last pockets of tension clinging to my shoulders. The ride home is silent — not tense, not tired, but simply tranquil. Our unison dētente after a day that pushed too hard.
The house feels different when we get home. Not as heavy as it was in the past. I slide my shoes off and make my way to the living room, Leo vanishing momentarily into the bedroom. I just rest for a moment on the couch and breathe. I hadn’t known how much room work had carved for itself inside me all these years—how I’d allowed it to suck the life out of every other part of my life.
But today, there’s a quiet clarity humming somewhere inside me. maybe it’s because the work crisis has reminded me that life can change at any moment.
Maybe it’s because Leo and I are, at long last, working our way back up to solid ground. Maybe because his faith in me opened doors I’d long ago lost track of.
I glance at the small-cabinet by the book shelf—this is one I haven't opened for years.
There it is a dusty sketchbook.
My fingers twitch.
“Hey,” Leo shouts from the hallway.
I turn. He’s dressed in a soft dark T-shirt and grey pajama bottoms. His off wet hair is tousled as if he rinsed his face or splashed water in it.
“Are you okay?” he says, coming into the living room.
“Yeah.” I hesitate, then nod toward the cabinet. “I was just thinking of something.”
He follows my gaze. “Your art.”
I blink in surprise. “You remember that?”
“Of course I do.” His voice gentles.
“There was so much happening in my life,” I whisper. “Oh, I’m sorry. There was a lot going on in my life.”
“Things were hectic,” I say.
“This is different. Not anymore.”
He goes to the cabinet, opens it, and takes out the sketchbook with care. Dust swirls faintly in the grease on the cover as he sweeps his palm across it.
A mild thrill runs through me — the thrill of recognizing a part of myself I had forgotten I even missed a very gentle high comes over me.
I don’t even know when Leo has shifted until I hear something soft and rhythmic following after me.
He’s at the piano.
The piano he had hardly played at all these past few years. The one he picked up in college, but dropped when he was overwhelmed by work.
At first, his fingers talk softly on the keys. Testing. Remembering.
Warm nostalgia breezes in, a low melody occupies the room. It isn’t perfect, it isn’t clean — but it is deeply and intimately him.
I shift slightly, eyes on him. “You’re playing again,” I say
With a small smile, he glances at me. “I thought I’d go back to an old passion myself.”
He opens a tin of mints and I about chuckle, from the way the moment feels like it’s been sprinkled with magic dust. Two people, unlocking old pieces of themselves – each in their own space, if not their own worlds.
His melody deepens, thicker and more solid. The memories becoming bolder.
In a house that never hosted a sound, our neglected desires travel through the space as if they’re made of light, binding us together in a way that talking never quite did.
Twenty minutes pass. Maybe thirty.
Leo finishes his piece with a soft, lingering chord. It's fading softly between us.
He returns to the couch.
Everything was about him now.
Not the polished CEO version.
Not the guarded, remote version.
But from tonight: Soft. Focused. Reconnected with himself. playing the piano with gentle intensity.
“Lisa,” he whispers, shocked.”I love you.”
I press into his touch, my chest expanding. “And I love watching you fall in love.”
He nods, the warmth in his eyes full. “That’s what it’s about Maybe that’s why rediscovering ourselves makes us better for each other.”
“Maybe it brings us whole, too.”
His mouth is on mine — not hurried, not eager — just soft and sure. It’s the kind of kiss that feels like knowing. Acceptance. Partnership.
“I’m proud of you,” he whispers. “For putting down that pencil and picking it up again.”
“You’ve made me proud too,” I whisper. “For playing that piano.”
We spend the rest of the evening swathed in a quiet tranquility—me scribbling, him strumming from time to time, both of us so lost and found in our individual but intertwined passions.
And as night falls, I’m struck by something simple but profound: But relighting these fires from the past doesn’t just bring us back to us.
It brings us back to each other.