It didn't feel like a victory.
That was the first thing I noticed.
Standing there after he left, with Kairo beside me and silence filling the corridor, I expected something different. Relief, maybe. Clarity. Something that told me I had made the right decision.
But instead—
There was just… space.
And it felt wrong.
"You're quiet."
I exhaled slowly. "You keep saying that like it's unusual."
"It is."
I glanced at him. "How?"
"You're not arguing."
I almost laughed. "You want me to argue?"
"No."
"Then what do you want?"
Kairo didn't answer immediately. His gaze stayed on me, steady, like he was trying to read something beyond my thoughts.
"You're not satisfied," he said.
That caught me off guard.
"What?"
"You made your choice," he continued. "But you're not satisfied with it."
My chest tightened.
"That's not true."
"It is."
I looked away. "You don't know that."
"I do."
"Because you can hear my thoughts?"
"Yes."
I clenched my jaw slightly. "Then maybe stop listening."
"No."
Of course not.
Silence settled again, but this time it wasn't heavy—it was sharp. Like something was being exposed whether I wanted it to be or not.
"I don't regret it," I said.
"I didn't say you did."
"Then what are you saying?"
"That something's missing."
The words hit too directly.
Too accurately.
I didn't respond.
Because I couldn't.
Because he was right.
Again
I didn't realize when I started walking.
Only that I needed to move.
Away from that spot.
Away from that moment.
Kairo followed.
Of course he did.
"You're avoiding it," he said.
"I'm thinking."
"You're avoiding."
I stopped, turning to face him. "Why does everything have to be that simple for you?"
"Because it is."
"No, it's not," I said. "This isn't simple."
"You chose me."
"That's not the complicated part."
"Then what is?"
I hesitated.
Because saying it out loud made it real.
"He left," I said quietly.
Silence followed.
Not denial.
Not correction.
Just acknowledgment.
"That's what you wanted," Kairo said.
I shook my head. "No."
His gaze sharpened slightly. "No?"
"I didn't want him to leave like that."
"Like what?"
"Like it didn't matter."
"It did matter."
"Then why does it feel like it didn't?" I asked.
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
And once it was out—
I couldn't take it back.
Kairo didn't answer immediately.
For once—
He hesitated.
That alone made my chest tighten.
"You're thinking about how he feels," he said finally.
"Yes."
"That doesn't change anything."
"I know."
"Then why focus on it?"
"Because I'm not you," I snapped.
The words came out sharper than I intended.
But I didn't take them back.
Silence followed.
Tense this time.
Real tension.
"I don't just decide things and ignore everything else," I continued. "I don't just—move on like nothing happened."
"I didn't say you should."
"It sounds like it."
"That's because you're complicating it."
I let out a frustrated breath. "You keep saying that like it's a bad thing."
"It is."
"Why?"
"Because it makes you hesitate."
"And what's wrong with that?"
"It makes you weak."
The word hit harder than anything else.
I froze.
Then laughed quietly.
"Of course you'd see it that way."
"It's the truth."
"No," I said. "It's your version of the truth."
"And yours is better?"
"It's not about better," I replied. "It's about real."
Silence.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
"You think I'm not being real," Kairo said.
I looked at him. "I think you're being selective."
A pause.
Then—
"Explain."
I exhaled slowly. "You chose me. That's clear. You don't regret it. Also clear."
"Yes."
"But you're acting like that's all that matters."
"It is."
"It's not," I said firmly. "Not when there's someone else involved."
"He made his choice."
"Because I made mine."
"Yes."
"That doesn't bother you?"
"No."
The answer came too fast.
Too clean.
"You're lying," I said.
Silence.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
---
"I'm not," he replied.
"You hesitated."
"I considered."
"That's the same thing."
"No, it's not."
I shook my head. "You're unbelievable."
"And you're still here."
That again.
Always that.
---
I turned away, running a hand through my hair. "You keep saying that like it solves everything."
"It does."
"It doesn't," I said. "Because being here doesn't mean I understand any of this."
"You don't need to."
"I do."
"No."
I turned back to him, frustration rising again. "Why not?"
"Because you've already decided."
"That doesn't mean I stop thinking."
"It should."
"That's not how I work!"
Silence snapped between us.
Sharp.
Immediate.
For a moment—
Neither of us spoke.
Then—
Kairo stepped closer.
Not slow this time.
Not measured.
Direct.
His hand caught my wrist, not rough—but firmer than before.
"You're overthinking it," he said.
"And you're underthinking it," I shot back.
"Because I don't need to think about things I already know."
"And what do you 'know'?" I asked.
His gaze locked onto mine.
"That you chose me."
My breath caught.
"And that you're not leaving."
Silence.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
Because that part—
Was true.
I exhaled slowly.
"…I'm not leaving."
The words felt steady this time.
Not forced.
Not uncertain.
But something still lingered.
"That doesn't mean this is easy," I added.
"I didn't say it would be."
"Then stop acting like it is."
A pause.
Then—
"I'm not."
I frowned slightly. "You are."
"No," he said quietly.
His grip loosened slightly.
"But you are."
That caught me off guard.
"What?"
"You're trying to make it easier than it is."
I blinked. "How?"
"By thinking about everything except what matters."
Silence.
"And what matters?" I asked.
Kairo's gaze didn't waver.
"You stayed."
That again.
But this time—
It felt different.
Less like pressure.
More like… truth.
And that was the problem.
Because the more I accepted that truth—
The harder it became to ignore everything else.