Lila is glowing.
She hasn't stopped smiling since dinner ended. She leans against my shoulder on the taxi ride home, humming to some song in her head, probably imagining their wedding already.
> "He's so… intense, Lu. Like, mature intense. Mysterious, confident, loaded. God, thank you for this."
My throat tightens.
I force a smile. "He liked you, didn't he?"
She shrugs bashfully. "He barely talked, but I think that's just his type. Quiet, controlled… masculine. You know?"
I do. Too well.
Because he wasn't quiet. Not to me. He told me to eat like it was a command. He looked at me like I was something he already owned. His voice still echoes in my head:
> "Don't bring anyone else into our conversations."
Conversations? We barely talk.
And yet… it felt like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like I was a misbehaving child, and he was the only one who could bring me in line.
> "Do you think he'll call me?" Lila asks, dreamy-eyed.
"I hope so," I say, and it almost sounds real.
---
Later that night, I sit on my bed, phone in hand, but there's no message. Not for me. Not for Lila. Nothing.
Why would there be?
I'm just the sick girl dragging her best friend into a future I might not even get to see. Elias Ward probably just pitied me. Maybe this is his way of feeling generous—feeding two desperate women for an evening and watching them squirm.
I hate how I think of him.
I hate how he feels like more than he should. How one look from him silences every voice in my head.
Lila walks past my door humming again.
I should be happy. She deserves this. A real chance with someone who's solid. Who might take care of her when I no longer can.
So why does it feel like I gave her something I didn't have the right to give away?
And why do I feel like he noticed?
---