But this morning, with the sunlight bleeding through my curtains and the faint smell of coffee wafting from downstairs, I didn’t care.
Because all I could see was her.
Elizabeth.
That laugh. The real one. The one that cracked through her armor like sunlight slipping into a sealed room.
The way she looked at me—like she wanted to trustme, like shealmostdid. I rolled over and stared at the ceiling, hand behind my head, playing last night on repeat.
The candlelight bistro. The piano story. The soft way she said,
“I don’t do memories.”
And the way she let me see a piece of her anyway. But under all of that warmth was the quiet churn of regret.
The bet.
The lie.
My dad’s words from last night drifted back like smoke:
“If she’s really the one, she deserves all of you—not just the part you think she’ll love.”
I closed my eyes.
I needed to tell her.
Soon.
But not today. Not yet. Let me hold onto this a little longer. Just one more morning.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Adonis:Soooooooo
Adonis:is it love?
Adonis:Or did you freeze to death mid-sentence?
I groaned and picked it up, texting back.
Me:Go away. It’s too early for you to be this annoying.
The call came seconds later. Of course.
“Wow, Adonis, what’s up?” I said, hitting the speakerphone button.
“Come on, spill the tea! Liam and I are betting on whether she’ll ghost you halfway through dessert!”
I straightened up, running my fingers through my hair.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Oh my god,” he exclaimed, drawing it out. “You’ve got feelings! Real, soft ones. You’re practically the star of a rom-com now! Should we get you a guitar and a journal?”
I couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Alright, enough already.”
