"…Are you serious, Sylvia?"
Dave's voice didn't rise.
He didn't lash out.
He didn't accuse.
But somehow, that quiet disbelief hurt more than anger ever could.
The hallway stretched endlessly in both directions, empty and echoing. Yet in that long, silent corridor, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the two of us.
I swallowed hard and looked away. "Dave… I just need time. I'm not asking you to keep this forever."
"Time for what?" he asked softly.
There was no irritation in his voice just a quiet, unsettling patience.
Dave stood with his hands in his pockets, shoulders barely tense, as if he were trying not to overwhelm me. Yet his eyes… they were sharp, searching, like he wasn't going to let me slip away with half-answers this time.
"Because I don't understand what's stopping you," he continued, his tone low and steady. "I know I'm just… a stranger to you. And I'm not your friend—let's be honest about that."
