Page 160 of The Ache That Stayed

His voice was even. Measured. The same way it always was when something mattered more than it should. For a second, I didn’t understand. My mind lagged behind the question, trying to place it, trying to catch up.

“About Darius,” he added.

Understanding settled slowly. My stomach knotted.

“I didn’t know how to,” I said. “I didn’t know what you would see when you looked at me after.” My voice came out quieter than I intended, but steady in a way that surprised me. “I didn’t know how to give you those parts of me… even I couldn’t reach myself.”

He didn’t look away.

“I would have seen you,” he said. “I always do.”

The simplicity of it hit harder than anything else could have. Tears welled in my eyes. I needed to tell him.

“I— There’s something else—” I started, the words forming before I could stop them.

“I know.”

He didn’t let me finish. My chest tightened, breath collapsing into silence. His gaze never left mine. My eyes searched his face for anger or accusation. For confirmation.

“You… you know…?” I asked.

It came out smaller than I meant it to. My chest caved in. I stepped back, trying to get some distance, to understand what he meant. His eyes stayed pinned on me.

“I know enough,” he said.

The world didn’t shatter. It quietly gave way beneath my feet. The words settled into place slowly, like they were rearranging a truth I hadn’t realised I’d been resisting.

My shoulders drew in, making me feel smaller. My breath shortened, and the way the girl inside me braced for rejection that hadn’t come yet.

And then—he stepped closer.

“Do you know what people get wrong about love?” he asked.

The question caught me off guard. I didn’t answer.

“They think it’s about holding on,” he continued. “About keeping something contained. It’s not.”

My breath stuttered.

“It’s about what you feel when that person exists in your world,” he said. “What they become to you. What they change in you.”

His hand steadied against my cheek.

“You are that for me.”

Emotion lodged painfully in my chest.

“And I’m not giving that up. But I’m not blind either.”

His thumb brushed lightly beneath my eye, catching a tear that slipped.

“There are parts of you I don’t own,” he said. “And I won’t destroy them just to feel in control.”

The words rooted themselves inside me. The last wall inside me cracked.

“Is… is this your way of saying goodbye?”

The words came out in a small, fragile, helpless manner before I could stop them. His expression changed instantly.