He didn't come in.
I stood there for five full minutes after he walked away, still gripping the edge of the door like he might change his mind. Like I imagined it. Like the floor would shift, and I'd hear his footsteps coming back, one by one, slow and certain, and he'd look at me like he did before—with that quiet hunger, that heat behind his eyes, that silent command that made my whole body listen. But the hallway stayed still. The silence didn't break.
And suddenly, I didn't feel wanted anymore. I felt stupid.
I closed the door slowly, pressing my back against it, trying to breathe. I couldn't. Not properly. My chest felt tight, like something had snapped and all the tension he left behind was clinging to my skin.
Why didn't he stay?
My fingers brushed the hem of the hoodie again, his scent still clinging to the fabric like a ghost. I should've been relieved. He respected me, right? He stopped before it went too far. He did the right thing. The safe thing. The honorable thing.
But it didn't feel like safety. It felt like abandonment.
Like I had opened something and he slammed it shut.
Maybe I read it wrong. Maybe it was all in my head. The glances. The texts. The tension. Maybe I was just a girl in her feelings, desperate for attention, spinning a fantasy from nothing. Or maybe he wanted me—but not enough to ruin his perfect friendship with my brother.
My eyes burned, but I blinked it away. I wouldn't cry. Not for this. Not for him.
Instead, I walked to my mirror and looked at myself. Hair messy, lips slightly parted, skin still flushed from expectation. I didn't look innocent. I didn't look sweet. I looked like someone waiting to be touched.
And I hated how empty I looked now that he was gone.
I pulled the hoodie over my head and tossed it to the floor, like that would make the memory fade. Like that would erase the way he whispered my name. The way his voice dropped just low enough to ruin me.
I climbed into bed, curled my legs under the blanket, and stared at the ceiling like it held the answers. But the only thing I could think about was the way he hesitated at the door. The way he looked at me like he was already sorry. Like he wanted something he didn't think he deserved to have.
'Why did you stop?' I whispered to the dark, even though I knew he couldn't hear me.
But part of me hoped he'd text. Call. Say something. Anything.
He didn't.
The night passed slowly. Quietly. And when the morning came, the space between us was wider than ever.