Stormlight

The storm outside raged, rain pelting the windows in relentless sheets, thunder rolling through the air like the low growl of some distant beast. Inside, the room was swathed in darkness, save for the occasional flash of lightning that spilled its silver light across the two of them, casting their bodies into fleeting brilliance. For a moment, their faces glowed, their eyes searching each other’s in the flicker of the storm, and then the light was gone, leaving them in the deep black once more.

She nestled into him, her head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, a calming contrast to the chaos outside. His fingers traced soft circles on her back, his touch gentle, as if afraid of breaking the fragile spell that had fallen between them. The sheets beneath them felt cool, grounding them amid the storm’s fury, while the air, thick with the scent of rain, wrapped around them like an invisible cocoon.

Neither could sleep. The storm was too wild, too loud, and their hearts too full. There was something magical about the night, about the way the storm seemed to reflect the tempest inside them—an energy that was both fierce and tender. They didn’t speak for a long time, content in the closeness, in the silence broken only by the sounds of the storm.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the room, brighter this time, casting long shadows across the walls. She lifted her head, her eyes catching his, and in the darkness, a soft smile played on her lips.

“What do you think we’ll be doing five years from now?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of the rain.

He let out a soft chuckle, the sound low and warm in the dark. “Hmm, five years?” he mused, his hand stilling on her back. “That’s a long time. But I think we’ll be happy. Maybe we’ll live by the sea, somewhere quiet, with a view of the horizon.”

“I’d like that,” she said, nestling closer. “But what else? Something wild.”

He smiled into the dark. “Something wild? How about this—we’ll live in a treehouse. A huge one, bigger than this whole apartment. It’ll be way up high, above the world. We’ll wake up to the sunrise every morning, and we’ll spend our days swinging from the branches, living like birds.”

She laughed softly, the sound bright against the storm. “A treehouse? I like it. We’ll need wings to get around.”

“We can make that happen,” he said, the grin audible in his voice. “We’ll have wings. Golden ones.”

“And we’ll have a pet dragon,” she added, her tone playful, leaning into the fantasy.

“Obviously,” he agreed. “A small one though, just big enough to roast marshmallows for us.”

Their laughter rose softly, mingling with the thunder’s low rumble. For a while, they let their imaginations run wild—flying over cities, living in the clouds, and building homes on distant planets. The lightning flashed again, briefly illuminating her face, and in that moment, he saw the light in her eyes, the way they sparkled with hope, with dreams. Yet, in the quiet, beneath the laughter, there was something more. A question neither of them had voiced but that lingered between the lines of their fantasy.

“What do you really want?” she asked after the laughter died down, her voice softer now, more serious.

He was quiet for a moment, his hand finding hers in the dark. The storm seemed to quiet too, as if waiting for his answer. “I want this,” he said finally, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “I want nights like this. Just us, together. Talking about impossible things. Laughing. Dreaming. And I want to make at least one of those dreams come true.”

Her heart swelled at his words, the simplicity of them wrapping around her like a warm embrace. She pressed her lips softly to his chest, a silent acknowledgment of the love she felt, of how much he meant to her. But still, the unspoken fears lingered.

“Do you think we’ll always be like this?” she asked, her voice barely above the whisper of the rain.

He paused, considering. The thunder rolled faintly in the distance. “I hope so,” he said. “But… sometimes I worry. Life can change so fast. What if one day we wake up and everything’s different?”

Her fingers found his face, gently tracing his jaw. “Then we’ll dream up a new world,” she whispered, her words soft but strong. “Like we always do.”

The storm outside seemed to rage in answer, a violent crash of thunder shaking the windows as the wind howled. They held each other a little tighter, both knowing that life was full of unexpected turns. But here, now, in the darkness, with their bodies entwined, it felt like nothing could touch them.

“What about kids?” she asked, her voice tentative. “Do you ever think about that?”

He was quiet again, considering. “I do,” he admitted. “Sometimes. But not yet. I want us to live a little more, to chase some of these wild dreams first. What about you?”

“I think about it too,” she said softly. “Someday. I like the idea of a family. Of raising kids together, teaching them how to dream big.”

He smiled into the dark. “Yeah. We’ll have a whole house full of dreamers.”

Another flash of lightning lit the room, bright enough that they could see each other clearly for a moment, their faces alight with the kind of love that needed no words. She reached up, cupping his face in her hands, and kissed him softly. It was a slow kiss, lingering, filled with all the promises they had just spoken aloud and all the unspoken ones that still hung between them.

When she pulled away, she rested her head back on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. Outside, the storm raged on, fierce and untamed, but inside, they were calm, their world reduced to the softness of each other’s touch and the quiet hope of the future they would build together.

Eventually, the storm began to subside. The rain softened, and the thunder grew distant, fading into the night. They lay there, still awake but now closer to sleep, their bodies wrapped around each other, the wildness of their dreams settling into something more tangible, more real.

In the darkness, with the last rumble of thunder echoing in the distance, he whispered, “I love you.”

She smiled, her eyes already closed, drifting into the peaceful space between sleep and waking. “I love you too.”

As the storm passed and the world outside grew quiet, their hands found each other’s in the dark, fingers intertwined. The last flash of lightning lit the room, but neither of them stirred. Together, in the fading storm, they held onto their dreams—and each other—just a little tighter.