Chapter Twenty: Time to Weigh a Heart
The silence stretched, heavy with possibility.
For the first time in her life, Freya felt the weight of choice pressing down on her. Not about books or schedules or whether to do laundry today—but about galaxies, about love, about a bond that could reshape her very existence.
She rose slowly from her chair, hugging her arms around herself. “Axir…” Her voice trembled. “I hear you. And I… I believe you. But I need time to think this through. It’s too much, too fast.”
His gaze softened, though she could see the disappointment in the set of his jaw. He inclined his head in a solemn nod. “Of course. I will wait, Freya. As long as it takes.”
She hesitated, then whispered, “I'll see you later.”
“Until then,” he answered, his voice low and almost reverent. “My Rhez'hara”
The word wrapped around her like a silken thread she couldn’t untangle. Even as she retreated to her room and closed the door behind her, it lingered in her chest—terrifying, beautiful, and impossible to ignore.
Freya sat in her room, staring at the ceiling until the afternoon light faded into amber. The words Axir had spoken at breakfast spun through her like a storm she couldn’t calm. Kythera’lun. Soulmates.
Her. Of all people.
She had asked for time—because what else could she have said? Her heart felt torn in two directions. One part of her burned to say yes, to leap into his world no matter the danger. The other part clung to fear, to doubt, to the quiet familiarity of the only life she had ever known.
She rolled onto her side, clutching a pillow. Surely, there were dozens of beautiful, otherworldly women waiting for him back home—women who knew how to stand beside a leader, not some shy librarian who still got nervous ordering takeaway. Why me?
Her phone buzzed, pulling her from the spiral. She blinked at the screen:
Ian: Hey, just a reminder about that local band playing tomorrow night. Hope you’ll come. Would be good to catch up.
Freya let the phone fall back onto the bed. Ian’s message was so normal, so small-town, compared to the galaxy-sized decision looming over her. But maybe normal wasn’t so bad. Maybe…
She didn’t respond. Not yet.
⸻
Just before the sun disappeared entirely, a gentle knock came at her door.
“Freya.” His voice carried through—low, steady, but hesitant. “Will you join me for dinner?”
She hesitated before rising, smoothing down her sweater as though it mattered. When she stepped into the hall, the smell hit her first: tomato, garlic, herbs. Pasta. Her heart gave a little lurch.
In the kitchen, Axir stood by the stove, stirring sauce with an awkward seriousness that almost made her laugh. On the table waited two plates of pasta bolognese—her favourite.
“You cooked?” she asked, genuinely surprised.
He nodded, almost sheepish. “You once said this was your comfort food.”
Freya’s chest tightened. She slipped into her seat, picking up her fork. The first bite was… actually good. She glanced at him, and his lips quirked into a rare, tentative smile.
⸻
For a while, they ate in silence, the only sounds the scrape of forks and the faint simmering from the stove. But Axir eventually set his utensils down, watching her with that intense, unwavering gaze.
“Freya,” he said, “if you have questions… or doubts… now is the time. Ask anything.”
Her fork paused midway to her mouth.
Questions. She had a thousand. What would happen to her if she accepted? What if she couldn’t handle his world? What if she wasn’t enough? But the words tangled in her throat, and all she managed was a shake of her head.
“Not now,” she murmured. “I don’t even know what to ask yet. I just… need more time.”
He nodded, though disappointment flickered in his eyes before he masked it.
⸻
After dinner, she rose slowly, ready to retreat again. But before she left the kitchen, she turned back to him. “Ian invited us to a concert tomorrow night,” she said carefully. “Do you… still want to go?”
Axir froze. His jaw worked as though wrestling with the words. The idea of her with Ian—human, familiar, safe—scraped at him like glass. But he swallowed it down.
If Freya needed time, if she needed the comfort of familiarity to make her choice, then he would not stand in her way.
“Yes,” he said at last, voice firm. “We will go.”
She searched his face, but he offered no further explanation. She nodded once, whispered a soft, “Goodnight,” and slipped back to her room.
⸻
Axir remained at the table long after she left, staring at the half-empty plate across from him. His chest ached with the knowledge that she was slipping farther into uncertainty.
But still, he would wait.
Even if it tore him apart.