Lyra
I didn't expect the knock.
It's past nine. I'm still in my studio, still in leggings and an oversized tee with charcoal on my fingertips and half a sketch unfinished on the table. I almost don't answer. I almost pretend I'm not here.
But something about the knock…
It's too familiar.
Too calm.
Too deliberate.
When I open the door, my breath leaves my body.
Kairo.
He stands there in all black, hair slightly disheveled, his jaw tight, his hands deep in his coat pockets like if he lets them move, they might do something reckless.
My heart thuds so loudly I wonder if he can hear it.
He doesn't speak. Just looks at me.
And suddenly I hate him for it.
Hate that he thinks he can show up now—after everything—after the silence, the almost, the nothing that followed it.
I fold my arms, trying to stay composed.
'What are you doing here?'
---
Kairo
I expected her to slam the door.
I almost hoped she would.
But now that I'm standing in front of her, all I can think is how wrong it feels not to be near her. How pale the world has felt since I stepped away.
She's barefoot. Her hair's pulled up messily. Her lips are slightly parted like she wasn't expecting to say anything tonight.
She looks soft. Untouched by pretense. Beautiful in a way that makes me feel completely off-balance.
She asks what I'm doing here.
I don't know how to answer without ruining something.
'I needed to see you.'
---
Lyra
I laugh, bitter and small.
'Really? Now?'
He doesn't flinch.
'I know I messed up.'
'You didn't just mess up, Kairo. You vanished.'
He steps forward slightly. Not close enough to touch. Just close enough that I feel the shift in the air.
'I thought I was protecting you.'
'From what? From you? From how I felt? From the fact that maybe it wasn't just in my head?'
He doesn't answer.
And that's worse.
I look away, wrapping my arms around myself.
'I waited, you know. That night. I waited for you to turn around. To say something. Anything.'
'I know.'
'Then why didn't you?'
He's silent for a long moment.
Then—
---
Kairo
'Because I've never wanted anything good in my life and not ruined it.'
She looks at me. Really looks.
And in that moment, I see something shift.
She's still angry. Still hurt. But she understands something now.
That this wasn't about disinterest.
It was fear.
I take a breath.
'I don't expect you to forgive me. I just… needed you to know it wasn't nothing. That night. You. All of it.'
---
Lyra
I don't know what to say.
Because every part of me is still trembling from his words.
From the confession.
From the way he's standing in front of me like he's not sure he deserves to be here.
I don't forgive him.
Not yet.
But I also don't close the door.
And somehow, that feels like the most honest thing I've done in weeks.