Amara called him that night, her voice soft and shaky.
"Timi… can we talk?"
He didn't want to.
But he also couldn't bring himself to ignore her.
They met at a small park near her house.
The air was quiet, cold, and heavy with everything unsaid.
"I should have told you," she whispered, avoiding his eyes.
"I just… I liked our friendship. I didn't want to lose it. I didn't want to lose you."
Timi swallowed hard.
He felt a sting in his chest, like a bruise pressed too hard.
"You should have trusted me," he replied gently.
"I cared about you. I still do. But you didn't give me the truth I deserved."
Amara looked up, eyes red with guilt.
"I didn't mean to hurt you."
"I know," he said calmly. "But you did."
There was no shouting.
No insults.
Just a quiet kind of heartbreak—the kind that comes from honesty arriving too late.
Timi wasn't angry at her.
He was angry at himself for believing a future she never planned to give.