"You… do?"
“Yeah.” I glanced over, catching her profile lit up by the passing streetlights. “I do.”
Her eyes stayed fixed on the windshield, but her posture shifted—straighter, like she was bracing herself. “Really?”
“It’s not just about the game,” I said, keeping my eyes forward. “It’s about having you there. With me.”
I didn’t look at her after that. I couldn’t. Saying it aloud made it too real, too exposed. I wasn’t sure what scared me more—admitting I wanted her close, or knowing that five days away from her already felt too long.
She finally turned to look at me again, her voice softer now. “You don’t think I’ll be in the way?”
I shook my head, jaw tight with conviction. “You couldn’t be in the way if you tried.”
Her smile broke through slowly, tentative but warm. “You’re going to miss me,” she said, like she was trying it on just to see how it felt.
“You’ll miss me,” I countered, smirking slightly.
“Will not,” she shot back with a quick laugh that sent something skipping through my chest.
“Uh-huh.” I kept my eyes on the road, but I could feel the weight of her grin aimed squarely at me. “I’ll be gone five days. You’ll be climbing the walls.”
“Maybe,” she said, suddenly quieter. “Maybe I will.”
The silence that followed was soft around the edges, less like a pause and more like a space we filled with every heartbeat, every unspoken thought. And when we stopped at a red light and I glanced over again, her eyes were already on me—open, sure, steady.
I pulled into the driveway, easing the car to a stop as the engine fell quiet. The porch lights cast soft amber shadows against the clean lines of the house, the kind of glow that usually welcomed silence and solitude. But tonight, something felt different.
I glanced at Mina. Her hands were folded in her lap, fingers fidgeting like they didn’t know what to do with stillness.
“We’re home,” I said quietly.
She didn’t answer right away. Just sat there for a moment, her expression caught between curiosity and caution.
Then, finally, she opened the door and stepped into the afternoon.
I followed, the crisp air brushing against my neck like a warning.
We walked side by side to the front door. Her steps were slower now, like she was absorbing every second. Inside, I flipped on the lights—soft, warm, functional. She slipped in beside me, her eyes scanning the space like she was mapping the edges of something new and unfamiliar. My space. Now… maybe ours.
“Thanks for taking me,” she said softly, not quite looking at me.
I let out a slow breath. “Don’t thank me for doing the bare minimum.”
She blinked. Not hurt, exactly—more like she hadn’t expected that answer. But she didn’t back down, didn’t soften either. Her gaze held mine, steady and sharp. Something passed between us in that look—defiance, maybe. Or understanding.
Then, without a word, she turned and headed for the stairs, cardigan sleeves tugged over her hands. I watched her go, something tight winding behind my ribs. There was a pull in her—something magnetic and maddening. She was in my space, in my head, and I hadn’t figured out how to guard myself from that yet.
I lingered at the door longer than I should have. The silence wasn’t hollow, but charged—alive with everything we hadn’t said. I could have stayed there all night, sorting it out in my head, but instead… I moved.
Up the stairs. Quiet. Steady.
And when I reached the landing, I saw her again—paused in the hallway, silhouetted in the glow spilling from the bedroom. Still. Waiting. She didn’t speak, and neither did I.
But my feet kept moving toward her like there was nowhere else I belonged.
“Mina,” I said softly, my voice barely more than a breath as I leaned in the doorway. The syllables tasted unfamiliar—gentle. Careful.
She turned, her eyes catching mine like a hook in the chest. There was surprise in her face, sure, but layered beneath it was something raw. Not fear. Not hesitation. Just… openness. Her gaze flicked to my mouth, then back up, and her lips parted slightly like she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite form the words.
