“Start every day with intentional gratitude, and watch how your life and thinking transform.”
….
— Malisa —
“Have you eaten, femme?”
My stomach answered before I could, a soft rumble betraying my hunger. I blushed.
“Not yet. You?” I asked, looking up at him.
“Not yet, either.”
He lifted my chin and pressed a lingering kiss to my lips. The atmosphere shifted—more intimate, more charged. That’s when it hit me. This wasn’t the open expanse of his living room. Here, in the quiet of the duplex, it was just us. Enclosed. Alone.
What if…?
“Relax, Mali,” he murmured, his hands cupping my face as if he could feel the tension creeping into my shoulders. “I promised to wait for you, remember?”
“Um...”
“So we’ll wait.”
He pulled me off his lap and led me to the kitchen—a space I still hadn’t used.
“What should we make?” he asked, turning to face me.
“Macaroni and meatballs,” I said without much thought, watching him move with practiced ease. I had never seen a man cook before. It was foreign to me, yet mesmerizing. So I let myself enjoy the sight—like the shameless fangirl I was.
“Who taught you how to cook, Aiden?” I asked as he placed a pot on the stove, dropping the macaroni in before adding water.
He turned on the gas, his voice laced with nostalgia. “My mom. My dad was an amazing cook too, so I promised myself I’d be just as good as he was.”
“Were you closer to your mom, or was it just your dad?” I perched on a kitchen stool, watching him from a slight distance.
“I was more of a mama’s boy,” he admitted with a soft, reminiscent smile. “She used to call me her second husband because of how close we were.”
“She must have loved you deeply.”
“Yeah, very much. She always wanted another child, but when Mary took longer to come along, she just poured all her love into me.”
“Obviously.” I grinned. “How did it feel, being an only child for so long?”
“It felt normal. My parents were both workaholics, but they always made sure to spend at least two hours with me every day. And weekends? Those were for reflections.”
“Sounds nice.”
“It was,” he said, leaning back against the counter. “Sundays were my favorite. We’d dress in our best clothes and ride in my dad’s Jeep to church. Sitting between my parents during the sermon was always the highlight of my week.”
“Your parents were strong believers?” I asked, a little surprised.
“Yeah. They believed that everything—good or bad—works together for the good of those who love God and are called according to His purpose.”
“Are you still a strong believer?” I treaded carefully, already suspecting his answer.
“I was,” he admitted. “Or I thought I was. Until I lost my parents. Until Mary and I became orphans, shuffled through the foster system.”
“How did that feel?”
“Like anyone grieving, I went through all the stages. But I didn’t handle it well. I started believing that maybe God didn’t care as much as everyone said He did. That maybe things just happen, and we’re forced to accept them, whether we like it or not.”
I watched him cross his arms, his expression unreadable.
“And now?” I asked.
He exhaled slowly. “I think I'm starting to have a change of heart.”
“Why?”
“Because of you, Malisa.”
His words startled me. I wasn’t a strong believer myself. I knew God existed. I knew He loved us. But sometimes, it was hard to comprehend that the Creator of the universe saw me—really saw me.
“How?” I whispered.
He glanced at me, his gaze unwavering. “You’re like a shooting star in a dark sky. You brought light back into my life. And for the first time, I’m starting to wonder... What if my parents were right? What if everything really does happen for a reason? Maybe it doesn’t look good at first, but eventually, the pieces fit, and we see the bigger picture.”
I swallowed.
“What about you, Mali?” He turned off the stove and moved on to cutting the meat. “Are you a strong believer?”
“Not really,” I admitted. “My parents were free thinkers, and their beliefs rubbed off on me. But my best friend was a Christian, and because of her, I almost became one too.”
“Almost?”
I hesitated. “Do you really think spirituality is that important, Aiden? Is it necessary to put in the effort to grow spiritually?”
“I do,” he said without hesitation. “Science explains a lot, but there are things it still can’t. Like why some couples conceive easily while others—equally healthy—struggle. Or how we all have an inner voice pushing us toward goodness. That craving for something more, something beyond us. How do we explain that, without acknowledging that something greater exists?”
I thought about it for a moment. “I guess you have a point.”
“I know I do.” He smiled, then continued working in silence.
And I? I kept watching, my fascination with him growing, unfiltered and unhidden.
….
A/N: How beautiful! What do you think, guys?