I didn't cry when he left.
I just stood there.
Motionless. Breathless. Unspoken.
Like if I moved, the fragile thread holding everything together would finally snap.
Kairo walked out with a promise I didn't ask for. I'll be back, he said.
But that's what I'm afraid of.
That he'll come back.
That he won't.
That either way, I'm already too deep.
I walk around the studio like a ghost, touching fabric I don't feel, staring at designs that no longer speak to me. My body is here. My mind? Still back in that moment. His hand on my face. The way he looked at me like I was a question he couldn't answer.
He didn't kiss me.
And that's what hurts the most.
Because I wanted him to.
Even now, I can feel the air between us—the almost of it all—pressing into me like a bruise I don't know how to treat.
I grab my sketchbook and flip to a blank page.
Then pause.
What am I even drawing for?
Nothing feels right.
Not the lines. Not the dresses. Not the silence.
I toss the book aside and curl into the couch, knees to chest, staring at the wall like it might offer me some kind of answer.
My phone buzzes.
Maya.
I ignore it.
I know she'll ask what's wrong. I know I won't be able to say his name without something cracking in my throat.
Another buzz.
Elijah.
I do answer that one.
Because guilt is louder than grief.
'Hey,' I say, my voice dull.
'You sound tired.'
'I am.'
He pauses. Then: 'I was thinking of doing dinner at mine this weekend. A few people. Some wine. Just chill. You should come.'
I freeze.
'Is… is Kairo going to be there?'
'Probably. But if that's weird—'
'No,' I interrupt, too quickly. 'It's not. I'll come.'
A beat of silence.
Then he laughs. 'Good. I'll let you know the time.'
I hang up and stare at the phone.
What the hell did I just agree to?
Dinner.
With Elijah.
With Kairo.
With people.
With silence.
With everything I've been trying to escape sitting across the table from me.
I bury my face in my hands and exhale.
I didn't cry when he left.
But I feel like I'm about to now.