Elia read Kael's message again.
> "I'm sorry. For the silence. For not choosing you when I should have."
It sat there in her inbox like a ghost.
Soft. Regretful.
Too late.
She didn't cry.
She didn't smile.
She just… felt still.
There was a time she would've replied instantly.
With paragraphs.
With emotion.
With hope.
But that version of her lived in the past.
In rooftop nights.
In unsent letters.
In playlists that no longer played.
Now, she was someone else.
Someone who had learned to breathe without him.
Someone who had stitched her own heart back together—thread by thread, sketch by sketch.
She didn't delete the message.
She didn't block him.
She just let it sit.
Because not every apology needs a response.
Not every wound needs a reopening.
Not every story needs a sequel.
She spent the day sketching.
A girl standing in the rain, umbrella closed, face turned upward.
Not hiding.
Just… accepting.
She added gold ink to the edges.
Not for Kael.
For herself.
Her friends asked if she'd heard from him.
She nodded.
"He messaged."
"Did you reply?"
She shook her head.
"I didn't need to."
Because healing isn't about confrontation.
It's about peace.
It's about choosing silence when silence feels like strength.
That night, she played a new playlist.
No Kael songs.
Just soft piano, quiet vocals, lyrics that felt like beginnings.
She journaled.
Not about him.
About herself.
> "I didn't reply.
> Because I'm not waiting anymore.
> Because I'm not hurting anymore.
> Because I'm not his anymore."
She tucked the page into her sketchpad.
Folded it beside the torn letter.
A quiet archive of everything she survived.
Kael's message stayed unread.
Not because she didn't care.
But because she cared enough to let go.
---