Lydia didn't expect to see him again so soon.
She had left the Limson estate early the next morning. No goodbyes. No note. Just packed her bag, slid on her coat, and slipped out while the fog was still clinging to the grass. She told herself it was better this way. Before anything could be said. Before the quiet between them broke into something irreversible.
But three days later, he was at her door.
It was a gray afternoon. Light rain traced lazy lines down the windows of her small apartment, and the air smelled like coffee and old paper. She had just sat down at her desk when the knock came.
And somehow-she knew.
She opened the door to find him standing there, hands in his coat pockets, his hair damp with rain.
"Hi," Max said, his voice softer than usual.
Lydia stared at him for a moment too long. Then stepped aside.
He walked in, familiar like he belonged there, like he'd been coming to her place for years-though he never had. She closed the door behind him, heart tight.
"I didn't think you'd come," she said.
"You didn't say goodbye."
She swallowed. "I didn't know how."
Max stood in the middle of the room, taking it all in — the scattered books, the half-finished sketch on the table, the worn-out sweater draped over the chair. Little pieces of her.
"I thought you'd draw more than this," he said gently, pointing at the sketch.
"I haven't been drawing much lately."
He looked at her. "Why not?"
She met his eyes. "Because some feelings are too hard to put on paper."
Silence.
It sat between them like it always did-aching, patient, waiting.
Max walked over to her shelf, ran his finger over the spines of her books, then turned around.
"That night," he said. "By the fire. What were you about to say?"
She looked down at her hands. "I don't remember."
"I think you do."
He took a slow step toward her. And then another.
Now he was standing so close she could feel the warmth of his breath, even in the cold air.
"Lydia," he said, almost like a plea. "Sometimes I think if I touch you, the truth will spill out of you.
Like it's hiding in your skin."
Her breath caught.
She didn't move.
Didn't blink.
And in that stillness, something cracked inside both of them.
But even now-she said nothing.
Because she was afraid.
Afraid that if she spoke, everything would change. That if she admitted it, she would fall too hard, and he might not be there to catch her.
Max stepped back.
Just slightly.
And nodded, like he understood.
But there was sadness in his eyes now. Not frustration. Not confusion.
Just quiet, exhausted sadness.
He picked up his coat.
"I'll see you soon," he said.
But she knew he wouldn't.
Not until he had something more to say.
And when he did — it wouldn't be quiet.