Selina didn’t expect to see Elias again so soon.
She woke early, sunlight spilling across her sheets, her plants glowing on the windowsill. Her morning felt steady, warm, familiar — the kind of morning she’d earned through months of rebuilding herself.
But something inside her hummed with a quiet anticipation she didn’t want to name yet.
She walked to the café, completed her shift with calm confidence, and headed home through the warm Brisbane dusk. The sky was streaked with gold, the air soft and fragrant. She passed the community garden, expecting it to be empty at this hour.
It wasn’t.
Elias was there, kneeling beside a row of mint plants, gently pressing soil around their roots. He looked up when he heard her footsteps, his smile blooming instantly — warm, genuine, unmistakably pleased.
“Oh,” he said, brushing soil from his hands. “Hi.”
Selina felt something flutter in her chest. “Hi.”
He stood, wiping his palms on his jeans. “I was hoping you’d come by.”
She blinked. “You were?”
He nodded, a little shy but not uncertain. “You seemed… nice. And I wanted to talk again.”
Selina wasn’t used to being wanted. Not like this. Not gently. Not without expectation. Not without fear.
But she didn’t shrink. She didn’t apologise. She didn’t deflect.
She stepped closer.
They talked — about work, about plants, about the course she was taking, about the stray cat that kept visiting his clinic. He listened to her like her words mattered. He laughed easily. He asked questions that weren’t intrusive but thoughtful.
And Selina felt something she hadn’t felt in years:
She felt seen.
Not for her struggles. Not for her past. Not for her fears.
For who she was now — steady, growing, becoming.
When she finally said she needed to head home, Elias nodded.
“Can I walk you?” he asked.
She hesitated — not out of fear, but out of surprise. Then she nodded. “Yes.”
They walked side by side through the warm evening, their steps easy, their conversation soft. When they reached her building, he paused.
“I’d like to see you again,” he said.
Selina felt her heart open — not dramatically, not recklessly, but gently, like a door she’d kept closed for years finally letting in light.
“I’d like that,” she said.
He smiled — warm, relieved, hopeful. “Good.”
When she stepped inside her apartment, she leaned against the door, letting the moment settle into her bones. She wasn’t rushing. She wasn’t panicking. She wasn’t doubting.
She was letting herself be seen — and it felt right.
She walked to the kitchen, wanting to cook something that tasted like connection — something warm, rich, and comforting. Something that matched the quiet spark inside her.
She found chicken mince, tomatoes, garlic, herbs, and pasta.
Perfect.
Tonight she would make Garlic‑Herb Connection Chicken Pasta, a dish she’d invented during a week when she needed warmth but now cooked because she had warmth — unexpected, gentle, real.
As she browned the chicken, she felt her chest loosen. As the tomatoes simmered into a rich sauce, she felt her future widen. As she plated the dish, she felt open — fully, quietly open.
She sat at her table, took a slow bite, and smiled.
Her life wasn’t just hers anymore. It was beginning to intertwine — softly, naturally — with someone else’s.
And she was ready for that.
RECIPE — GARLIC‑HERB CONNECTION CHICKEN PASTA
Warm, rich, cheap, and perfect for nights when you let yourself be seen.
Ingredients
250g chicken mince
2 tomatoes, chopped (or ½ tin)
2 cloves garlic (or garlic powder)
1 tsp mixed herbs
Salt & pepper
2 tbsp oil
150g pasta
Method
Cook pasta according to packet instructions.
Heat oil in a pan and brown chicken mince.
Add garlic and cook until fragrant.
Add tomatoes, herbs, salt, and pepper.
Simmer until tomatoes break down into a thick sauce.
Toss pasta through the sauce.
Serve warm.
Notes
Costs around $5 for two servings.
Add spinach for extra colour.
Tastes like warmth, openness, and the beginning of something tender.
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