Tell me how to love you

He wanted to speak. He had to speak. He couldn't hold this in any longer. But the words were stuck in his throat, tangled in a mess of doubt and fear. His chest felt tight, like he was suffocating on his own anxiety. His mind raced, spiraling with insecurities, wondering if he could ever say what he truly felt, wondering if it would even matter. He wasn't good at this. Relationships. Vulnerability. Opening up.

The truth was, Mark had always kept his emotions bottled up. It was easier that way, to hide behind the walls he'd built over the years. It was safer to pretend that everything was fine, that he didn't need anyone, that he could handle it all on his own. But sitting here, in front of Emma, those walls felt flimsy. She had a way of making him feel seen in a way he wasn't used to. And that was terrifying. Because what if she saw everything? The parts of him he kept hidden? The parts that weren't enough?

He swallowed, his throat dry, and finally, the words spilled out, barely above a whisper. "I… I don't know how to do this," he said, his voice sounding smaller than he intended. His eyes dropped to his coffee cup again, not daring to meet her gaze. "I've never been good at relationships." The words sounded clumsy, heavy in his mouth, and he felt exposed. Like he had just pulled back a curtain, and she was seeing the raw, messy part of him that he usually kept hidden.

The silence stretched between them, and for a moment, Mark wondered if he should just stop talking. Maybe it was better to retreat back into the safety of his silence, where the vulnerability wasn't so suffocating. But then Emma spoke, her voice soft but steady, like a quiet anchor in the storm of his thoughts.

"Mark," she said, and he looked up at her, finally meeting her gaze. Her eyes were calm, understanding. There was no judgment there, no impatience, just the kind of gentleness that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he wasn't alone in this. "How many times do I have to tell you, You don't have to be perfect," she continued, her words wrapping around him like a warm blanket. "You don't have to have it all figured out."

Her words were simple, but they hit him with more force than he expected. It was like a weight had been lifted off his chest, just a little. She wasn't asking him to be someone he wasn't. She wasn't demanding that he fix everything or have all the answers. She was giving him permission to be imperfect, to be real.

"I…" Mark's breath caught, and he could feel the tears threatening to rise, but he pushed them down. He wasn't sure why he was so emotional all of a sudden. Maybe it was the relief of hearing her say that, or maybe it was the weight of everything he had been holding inside for so long. "I'm scared. I'm scared I'll mess it up. I'm scared I'll hurt you," he confessed, the words coming faster now. They tumbled out of him, unfiltered, the fear in his voice unmistakable. "I'm not good at this, Emma. I don't know how to be what you need."

His hands were trembling again, and he set the coffee cup down, afraid he might spill it if he kept holding it. His fingers fumbled in his lap, unable to settle. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck, his face flushing with embarrassment. He hated feeling this vulnerable, hated feeling like he was spilling all his fears into the open. But at the same time, it felt like a release, like something inside of him had been suffocated for so long, and finally, it had space to breathe.

Emma was quiet for a moment, and Mark felt the panic surge in his chest. Had he said too much? Was she going to pull away now? He couldn't blame her if she did. He'd just dumped all his insecurities on her, and that was a lot to take in. But then, as if sensing his anxiety, she reached out, her hand gently brushing against his. The touch was so small, so simple, but it made his heart skip a beat.

"I'm not in a hurry, Mark," she said, her voice steady but full of warmth. "I don't expect you to have it all figured out right now. I just want you to be honest with me. To be real." Her eyes locked onto his, and for a moment, it felt like she was looking straight into the very core of him, seeing all the parts of him he had never let anyone see. "I don't need perfection. I don't need you to have all the answers. I just need you to show up and be yourself."

Mark's heart was hammering now, his pulse racing. The pressure in his chest was still there, but it was different now. It was softer, gentler. She wasn't pushing him. She wasn't rushing him. She was giving him space to breathe, space to take things at his own pace. She was offering him something he hadn't known he needed: patience. Understanding.

"I want to take things slow," she continued, her voice a little quieter now, as if she was letting the words sink in. "I don't want you to feel like you have to be something you're not. I just want us to be open with each other. To trust each other."

Mark felt a strange sense of calm wash over him, like he had just been given a key to something he had been searching for without even realizing it. The fear was still there, but it didn't feel as suffocating anymore. It didn't feel as overwhelming. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he could breathe. Like he could take a step forward, even if he wasn't sure what was waiting for him.

"I…" Mark's voice broke for a moment, but he pushed through it. "I can do that," he said softly, his words barely more than a whisper. He was surprised by the steadiness in his own voice. "I'll try. I'll try to be real with you."

Emma smiled then, and it was the kind of smile that made his heart swell. It wasn't a big, grand gesture. It wasn't some declaration of love. But in that moment, it felt like everything he had been afraid of, everything he had been hiding from, was starting to fall away. Slowly, gently, but surely.

"That's all I need, Mark," she said, her voice full of warmth. "That's all I'll ever need."

He exhaled, a long, slow breath, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn't feel like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He didn't need to be perfect. He didn't need to have all the answers. He just had to be himself.

And for the first time in a long time, Mark realized something he had never allowed himself to believe before. Maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

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A/N: I guess the main character is dumb why isn't it saying her "I love you" she is trying to help her in saying that why can't he.

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