He'd spent years telling himself he was better than the kind of man who hurt people when he felt powerless. And yet… there he was, proving himself wrong in a single, terrible instant.
By morning, the guilt was unbearable. He found himself at her door again, not to beg forgiveness… he didn't deserve that… but because she deserved an apology that meant something.
He stood there for a long time before knocking. Once. Twice. Silence. Then, faintly, the creak of a floorboard from the other side. She was there. He didn't need to see her to know.
Ren exhaled slowly, his voice low but steady. "I shouldn't have come," he began, speaking to the quiet space between them. "But I needed you to hear this from me. I was wrong. Completely. What I did wasn't love. It was selfish and cruel… and I'll carry that with me."
He pressed his palm lightly against the door, not to open it, just to feel the distance he'd created. "You don't have to forgive me," he said softly. "I just wanted you to know that I know how badly I hurt you. And that I'm done being the person who makes you afraid."
A long pause followed. Then, barely audible through the wood, came her voice. "You did make me afraid of you, Ren," she whispered. "Not just of you… but of how much I let you affect me."
Ren closed his eyes, the words cutting through him. "I know," he said, voice breaking just slightly. "And I'll spend however long it takes proving that I'll never be that person again. Even if it means you never look at me the same way."
From behind the door, her voice came again, quieter this time. "Maybe you can change," she said. "But not for me. For you. Because love isn't supposed to break people, nor about owning them."
The words were soft, almost gentle even, but they hit him harder than any shout could.
Ren stood there for a long moment, the weight of her silence after that final sentence pressing against him like the air before rain.
He didn't knock again. He didn't call her name. For once, he understood that the only way to love her was to let her choose freely without fear.
So he lowered his hand from the door, whispered a hoarse "I'm sorry," and turned to leave, knowing she was still standing on the other side, listening but not ready to open it yet.
Weeks passed. Ren kept his distance, throwing himself into school, work and long walks meant to quiet the noise in his head. But every time he saw Noelle across the courtyard or heard her laugh from down the hall, guilt twisted inside him.
She didn't avoid him anymore, not exactly. They have no reason to meet as they have no common classes and their worlds wouldn't have collided if he hasn't approached her. They spoke when they had to, polite and careful. Yet every word between them felt fragile, like glass that could break with one wrong tone.
One afternoon, Ren saw her talking to Han outside the café. Han's easy grin hadn't changed; he leaned against the doorframe, sunlight catching in his hair as he said something that made her smile. For a moment, she looked light again and Ren realised how much he'd missed that.
Later, alone in his apartment, he caught himself wondering why. Why she'd started smiling again. Why she didn't look as angry when she passed him in the hall. And, most painfully, why she still haunted every thought he had.
Meanwhile, that evening, Han texted Noelle:
Come out with me tonight before I leave for Perth. There's a new bar by the river. You could use some air.
Noelle hesitated, staring at the message. She wasn't sure if she wanted a distraction or a chance to remember what it felt like to be wanted without fear.
When she finally typed okay, she didn't know if it was courage or confusion that guided her fingers.
Across town, Ren sat by the window, the city lights flickering in his reflection. He didn't know where she was going or with whom but the ache in his chest told him he still wasn't free.
The jazz bar sat tucked beneath a canopy of warm lights and soft brass. The low hum of conversation mingled with the smooth notes of a trumpet, filling the space with something that felt both nostalgic and safe.
Noelle arrived just after eight. Han was already there, waving her over with that same easy charm that had drawn her in before
"You came," he said, smiling. "I was afraid you'd change your mind."
Han grinned as the waiter passed. "You know what? Tonight calls for champagne," he said. "To new starts… and to you finally saying yes to a night out."
Noelle laughed, a little embarrassed. "Only because you said that you will be leaving for Perth soon."
"Exactly why we're celebrating."
The waiter poured and the bubbles caught the glow of the candlelight between them. Noelle lifted her glass, hesitating for only a heartbeat before clinking it against Han's.
The first sip was light and bright. Deceptively harmless. But by the time they reached the bottom of the bottle, Noelle's cheeks were pink, her laughter looser than she meant it to be.
"I should probably slow down," she admitted, setting her glass down carefully. "I don't… I don't usually drink."
Han smiled, his tone gentle rather than teasing. "Then we'll stop there. No need to prove anything."
She nodded, a little dizzy, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The music blurred pleasantly, the saxophone's low hum wrapping around the edges of her thoughts.
For the first time in a long while, she wasn't weighed down by what had happened, just floating, if only for a night.
The music had softened into something slow, the kind of tune that wrapped around the room like warm smoke. Noelle felt lightheaded, her thoughts fuzzy from the champagne. Han reached for her hand.
"Come on," he said, smiling. "Let's dance."
She hesitated but let him lead her to the small patch of open floor. The room swayed gently and so did she, her laughter quiet and uncertain.
He held her close at the small of her back, guiding her gently as they swayed to the music. The warmth of his hands, the press of his body against hers, was unfamiliar yet intoxicating. Noelle's breath caught, a flutter of panic and confusion mingling with the remnants of the dance.
But now, as she lingered in the memory of those moments, she realised something felt… off. The way her chest fluttered, the nervous excitement she remembered, didn't feel quite right anymore. There was a hollowness beneath it, a part of her that wondered if she had been mistaking infatuation for something real.
She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the uncertainty twist inside her. Maybe she had liked him once, yes. But now, thinking about him, about that closeness, she wasn't so sure. The feeling didn't settle in her like it used to; it didn't feel necessary or right.
"Han, I think I've had enough," she murmured.
He leaned closer, his hand still on her waist. "You're beautiful, you know that?"
Before she could respond, he kissed her.
Noelle froze. It took her a heartbeat to register what had happened, then she pushed him back hard, eyes wide with disbelief.
"What— what are you doing?" she stammered, her voice trembling between shock and anger.
Han's smile faltered instantly. "Noelle, I thought— I'm sorry, I thought you—"
"You thought wrong," she snapped, her hands shaking.
The people around them pretended not to notice but the tension was sharp enough to cut through the music. Noelle turned away, heading for the door, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and confusion.
Han stood rooted to the spot, realising too late that he'd crossed a line that couldn't be blurred by excuses.
Outside, the night air hit Noelle like a cold, clear and sobering slap. She took a deep breath, knowing this time she wasn't the one who'd done something wrong.
Noelle's phone buzzed in her trembling hand as she stood just outside the jazz bar, the night air spinning around her.
Ren flashed on the screen.
She hesitated, then answered. Her voice was shaky. "Ren?"