Iris knew something had changed when she started waiting for answers she had never asked for.
Not messages.
Not promises.
Not anything specific.
Just… presence.
It was a quiet, irritating expectation that showed up in small moments: when leaving work, when sitting on a bench, when passing by the bookstore. She didn't think *I hope he's there*. She thought *it shouldn't matter if he is*.
And that was worse.
She hadn't planned to see him that day.
She had gone out for a walk to clear her head. The sky was gray—the kind of gray that doesn't threaten rain but doesn't promise anything either. She walked without direction, hands in her pockets, trying to organize thoughts that refused to fall into place.
She stopped at a traffic light.
And saw him.
Ethan was on the other side of the street, leaning against a pole, looking at his phone without much attention. He didn't seem to be waiting for anyone. He didn't look in a hurry either.
Iris felt an immediate tightness in her chest.
She could have turned around.
She could have pretended she hadn't seen him.
She didn't.
The light changed.
They crossed at the same time.
They recognized each other halfway across the crosswalk. They didn't smile. They didn't greet each other right away. They just looked at each other, as if both were confirming something they already knew.
"Hi," he said when they reached the sidewalk.
"Hi."
They walked a few steps in silence, without deciding who was going where.
"I wasn't expecting you," Iris said.
"Me neither," Ethan replied. "But it seems neither of us is very good at avoiding things."
She exhaled slowly.
"That's not a good thing."
"No," he agreed. "But it's honest."
They walked together. Not exactly side by side, but close enough to feel accompanied. The noise of the street filled the spaces neither of them wanted to fill completely.
"Have you ever wondered why you do this?" Iris asked suddenly.
"This?"
"Getting close when you know you shouldn't."
Ethan took his time answering.
"Yes," he said finally. "And almost always the answer is the same."
"Which is?"
"Because not doing it feels worse."
Iris clenched her jaw.
"That sounds dangerous."
"It is."
They stopped in front of a café neither of them usually went to. They didn't go in. They just stood there, as if the place were only an excuse to stop walking.
"I don't usually talk like this with people," Iris said. "I don't say what I think. I don't say what I feel. I don't let it show."
"I know."
She looked at him.
"How can you know that all the time?"
"Because I watch you when you think no one does."
The sentence was too soft.
Iris felt a shiver.
"That shouldn't make me feel better," she said.
"It wasn't meant to."
They looked at each other.
There was something different now. It wasn't just curiosity. It was a kind of mutual recognition that was starting to weigh on them.
"Tell me something," Iris said. "Something you wouldn't normally say."
Ethan frowned slightly.
"That's not fair."
"I know."
"And you're asking anyway?"
"Yes."
Ethan hesitated. Not for long. But long enough.
"I don't like you in a simple way," he said. "You're not easy. You're not comfortable. And still, when you're not around, something feels empty."
Iris swallowed.
"That's not something you say lightly."
"No, it isn't."
She looked at him for a long second.
"Then it's your turn to listen," she said.
"Go ahead."
"I don't like you," she began. "Not in the way people usually mean it. But when I'm with you, I don't feel the need to hide as much. And that… doesn't make me feel safe."
Ethan didn't smile.
"Me neither."
The silence that followed was different from all the others.
It wasn't comfortable.
It wasn't expectant.
It was decisive.
"This is crossing a line," Iris said quietly.
"Yes."
"And we don't know which one."
"No."
"Or where it leads."
"No."
They stayed there for a few more seconds.
"We should stop," she said.
"Probably."
Neither of them moved.
The line wasn't crossed with a big gesture.
There was no touch.
There were no promises.
They just stayed there, knowing something had already changed.
"See you," Iris said at last.
"Yeah."
This time, they parted without looking back.
---
That night, Iris couldn't fall asleep right away.
She wasn't thinking about what had happened.
She was thinking about what hadn't.
About how easy it had been to say things she always kept to herself. About how dangerous it felt not wanting to close that door completely.
She didn't ask herself what Ethan was to her.
She asked herself what she was starting to become.
Ethan, on his end, opened the file without hesitation.
He wrote a single line:
*Some lines don't look dangerous until you cross them.*
He left it there.
He didn't delete it.
He turned off the screen and stayed in the dark, an uncomfortable certainty growing in his chest.
This was no longer a coincidence.
And neither of them was walking backward anymore.