When he stepped closer, my breath caught. His eyes stayed on me, steady, unreadable, but something in them made my chest tighten. For a moment I let myself believe he would stay. The silence between us felt fragile, like the next words could shatter it either way.
I waited. My pulse climbed, heat rushing to my cheeks. I thought I knew what was coming.
Then he pulled back. Not forward. Back. Two measured steps that stole the air I had been holding.
"I'm sorry," he said at last. His voice was calm, almost too calm. "I have to go. There are things I need to handle. Don't be afraid. I've left people close by. And if anything feels strange, no matter how small, text me. I'll come."
His words should have reassured me. They didn't. They only widened the space between us.
I stayed still, listening as his footsteps moved away. The rejection was quiet, almost gentle, but it cut deep. How could someone come that close, want something that much, and still choose to walk away?
