Selina didn’t expect tonight to feel heavier — not in a bad way, but in a meaningful way. The kind of weight that comes from truth. The kind of weight that comes from letting someone see the parts of you that aren’t polished or easy.
She met Elias at the community garden again. The warm Brisbane night wrapped around them, cicadas humming, the sky deep blue and soft. Lanterns glowed faintly over the mint beds, casting gentle light across the path.
Elias was already there, sitting on the bench where they’d shared their first honest moment. When he saw her, his smile softened — warm, steady, familiar.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
They sat together, close but not pressed, letting the quiet settle. Elias didn’t rush. He didn’t fill the silence. He waited — patient, present, open.
Selina took a slow breath.
“I want to tell you something,” she said.
Elias turned toward her, attentive but calm. “Okay.”
She looked at her hands, then at the basil plants swaying gently in the warm air.
“I haven’t always had people who listened,” she said. “Or people who stayed. Or people who were gentle.”
Elias didn’t interrupt. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t try to fix anything.
He simply listened — fully, quietly, respectfully.
Selina continued, her voice steady but soft.
“I’m learning how to trust again. How to let someone close. How to believe that someone can care without hurting me.”
Elias’s expression warmed, his eyes softening with something tender but not overwhelming.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly. “And I don’t need you to rush. I just want to know you.”
Selina felt something shift inside her — a quiet unlocking, a soft release she hadn’t expected. She wasn’t being pitied. She wasn’t being pressured. She wasn’t being handled.
She was being known.
She looked at him — really looked — and saw the steadiness in his posture, the gentleness in his eyes, the patience in his smile.
“I want to know you too,” she said.
Elias exhaled softly, like he’d been holding a breath he didn’t realise he’d taken.
He reached out — slow, careful — and rested his hand lightly over hers.
Selina didn’t pull away. She didn’t freeze. She didn’t shrink.
She let herself be known — fully, quietly, bravely.
They sat like that for a long time, hands resting together, the warm night humming around them. No rush. No pressure. No fear.
Just two people choosing to know each other.
At home, she cooked something that tasted like being known.
Something warm, steady, and comforting. Something that didn’t hide its flavour. Something honest.
She found chicken drumsticks, tomatoes, garlic, herbs, and rice.
Perfect.
Tonight she would make Tomato‑Garlic Known Chicken Drumsticks, a dish she’d invented during a week when she needed grounding but now cooked because she had grounding — and someone she wanted to share her truth with.
As she browned the chicken, she felt her thoughts settle. As the tomatoes simmered into a rich sauce, she felt her chest loosen. As she plated the dish, she felt known — fully, quietly known.
She sat at her table, took a slow bite, and smiled.
She wasn’t just honest. She wasn’t just trusting. She wasn’t just wanting.
She was letting herself be known — and she was safe.
RECIPE — TOMATO‑GARLIC KNOWN CHICKEN DRUMSTICKS
Warm, steady, cheap, and perfect for nights when you let yourself be known.
Ingredients
3–4 chicken drumsticks
2 tomatoes, chopped (or ½ tin)
2 cloves garlic (or garlic powder)
1 tsp mixed herbs
Salt & pepper
2 tbsp oil
1 cup cooked rice
Method
Season drumsticks with salt, pepper, and herbs.
Heat oil in a pan and brown drumsticks on all sides.
Add garlic and tomatoes; cook until tomatoes soften.
Reduce heat, cover, and simmer until chicken is tender.
Serve over warm rice.
Notes
Costs around $6 for two servings.
Add spinach or peas for colour.
Tastes like honesty, steadiness, and emotional courage.
and then Add to home screen.