"So…"
His voice was barely steady.
"Am I too late?"
I hate that question.
Because no matter how strong you pretend to be… when someone you love asks that?
Your chest melts instantly.
And I did love him.
Maybe not the loud, crazy, movie type.
But the quiet kind.
The kind that sits in your chest and refuses to leave.
The dangerous kind.
We stood there outside the shop.
Streetlights flickering on.
Evening breeze soft against my skin.
And Ethan in front of me looking like a man waiting for a sentence.
Like I was about to decide his future.
I looked at him properly.
Really looked.
Dark circles under his eyes.
Hair messy like he kept running his hands through it.
T-shirt wrinkled.
He didn't even look like he planned this.
Like he just woke up one day and said, I can't take this anymore and drove straight here.
My stupid heart whispered,
He came for you.
Not a text.
Not a call.
He came.
Still…
Pain doesn't disappear just because someone shows up.
"You really stopped talking to her?" I asked quietly.
"Yes."
"Completely?"
"Yes."
"No late night calls?"
"No."
"No 'checking up on you' messages?"
He shook his head. "Nothing."
I searched his face.
"You're not lying to me, right?"
He stepped closer.
Slow.
Careful.
Like approaching a scared animal.
"If I lie now," he said softly, "I lose you forever. I'm not stupid."
Fair point.
But trust doesn't grow back in one day.
It crawls.
Slowly.
Painfully.
"I was scared," he continued. "Not of her. Of you."
"Me?"
"You make me feel too much."
I blinked.
"What does that even mean?"
He let out a small breathless laugh.
"It means when you're mad, my whole day is ruined. When you ignore me, I can't sleep. When you smile at someone else, I get jealous like an idiot."
My lips twitched.
He kept going.
"And when you walked away… it felt like someone pulled the ground from under me."
My chest tightened.
"I've never felt like that with anyone," he said. "Not even Lena."
That name didn't sting the same anymore.
Weird.
Maybe because this time…
He wasn't comparing.
He was choosing.
"But you still hesitated," I whispered.
He nodded immediately.
"Yeah. I did."
No excuses.
No defense.
Just honesty.
"I grew up losing people," he said. "My dad left. Friends moved away. Relationships ended. So I got used to holding onto whatever stayed."
His voice got lower.
"So even when something's already dead… I still hold it."
That broke something inside me.
Because now I understood.
He wasn't stuck in the past because he loved her more.
He was just… scared of emptiness.
Scared of being alone.
And somehow that felt more human than anything.
"I didn't want to be another person you lose," I said softly.
"You're not," he said immediately. "You're the person I'm fighting for."
Silence wrapped around us.
Heavy.
Warm.
Dangerous.
He reached out slowly and held my hand.
Not tight.
Not possessive.
Just… there.
Like he was saying I'm here if you want me.
My fingers didn't pull away.
Traitor.
"You know what scared me the most?" I admitted.
"What?"
"That if you chose her… I'd still love you anyway."
His grip tightened slightly.
"And I hate that," I continued. "I hate loving someone that much. It makes me feel weak."
"You're not weak," he said.
"I cried for days, Ethan."
"So did I."
I looked up fast. "You what?"
He smiled sadly. "Yeah. Ugly crying too. Not cool crying."
I accidentally laughed.
"Shut up."
"I'm serious. My neighbor knocked to ask if I was okay."
"Stop lying."
"I swear."
For the first time in weeks…
It felt normal.
Like us.
Just talking nonsense.
Laughing quietly.
Like nothing ever broke.
And that scared me too.
Because it's easy to fall back.
Easy to forget the hurt.
Easy to repeat the same mistakes.
So I squeezed his hand and said the one thing that really mattered.
"If we try again…"
His eyes locked on mine instantly.
"…you don't get to half love me."
"I won't."
"You don't get to run back when things get hard."
"I won't."
"You don't get to keep me and still emotionally hold someone else."
"I won't," he said again, softer this time.
I swallowed.
"And if you ever make me feel second again… I'm gone for real. No speeches. No fights. Just gone."
He didn't hesitate.
"Fair."
Then he stepped closer.
So close I could hear his breathing.
"Mira," he whispered.
"Hmm?"
"I don't want safe anymore."
My heart started racing again.
"I don't want history."
His thumb brushed my knuckles.
"I want you."
God.
Why does he talk like this?
"You're trouble," I muttered.
He smiled. "Only for you."
I rolled my eyes.
But my chest felt warm.
Too warm.
Dangerously warm.
"So…" he said softly, "what happens now?"
I looked at our hands.
Then at him.
Then sighed.
"You're not forgiven yet."
"Okay."
"You're on probation."
He nodded seriously. "That's fair."
"And you're buying me food. I'm still mad."
He laughed. "Done."
"And Ethan?"
"Yeah?"
I held his hand tighter.
"Don't break me again."
His expression softened in a way I'd never seen before.
Gentle.
Careful.
Like I was something precious.
"I won't," he said quietly.
"Not this time."
And for some reason…
I believed him.