The morning light filtered through Mira's curtains, casting warm golden stripes across her bed. But there was no warmth in her chest—only the cold ache of uncertainty.
Noah had left before sunrise, a quiet kiss pressed to her forehead, no note, no message. Just silence.
She wrapped the sheets around herself and sat up, her mind racing. Last night had felt like a breakthrough. For once, she'd let herself fall—into his arms, into honesty. But the morning brought back doubt, creeping in like a tide that refused to be ignored.
Across the city, Noah stood at the cemetery gates, a bouquet of white lilies in his hands. He hadn't been back since the day he buried his sister. Guilt had kept him away. But after last night—after seeing the raw vulnerability in Mira—he knew it was time to face his own.
He knelt beside the gravestone, brushing his fingers over the etched letters.
"I met someone," he said quietly. "She's... stubborn, brilliant, and she terrifies me. Because when I'm with her, I feel like I don't deserve her."
The wind stirred, a soft breeze that lifted a petal from the bouquet and carried it across the grass.
"I messed up," he continued. "I let my pride keep me from seeing the damage I caused. I pushed her away because I didn't want to feel again. But I do. And it hurts."
Meanwhile, Mira stood at her kitchen counter, staring at her phone. A hundred thoughts crossed her mind, each one heavier than the last.
Should I call him? Should I wait? What if he regrets last night?
Before she could decide, a knock echoed through her apartment.
Noah.
He looked tired, his hair ruffled, his shirt creased, but his eyes—those dark, intense eyes—were clear.
"I owe you an apology," he said without waiting to be invited in.
"You do," Mira agreed, arms folded. "But I'm not the only one who's been holding back."
He stepped inside, his voice calm. "I went to see my sister this morning. Told her about you."
Mira blinked. "Your sister?"
"She died. Years ago. And I've been carrying that grief around, pretending it doesn't still haunt me. Just like you've been carrying your fears."
She lowered her gaze. "I don't want to be scared anymore. I want to try... with you. But you have to be honest with me, Noah. No more disappearing."
He stepped closer. "And you have to let me in, Mira. Even when it hurts."
For the first time, the weight between them began to lift. There was no dramatic kiss, no sweeping music. Just a look. An unspoken apology. And a promise in their silence:
They were both broken. But maybe, together, they didn't have to stay that way.