He didn't realize how heavy it all was until she came along. For years, he'd carried it - the self-doubt, the silence, the ache of never feeling enough. Always bracing for the next disappointment, the next reason to prove his worth. Then she appeared. And for the first time, he didn't have to explain himself to be understood. She didn't flinch at his honesty or his quiet. She didn't need him to perform to be loved. It wasn't fireworks. It was calm. It was the kind of love that made his nervous system exhale. The kind that said, you can rest here. Because sometimes love isn't loud or dramatic - it's safety. It's being seen without needing to earn it. It's being loved without having to apologize for who you are.