He looked down at her, at the shine in her eyes, she refused to let fall, at the stubborn lift of her chin that had nothing to do with confidence anymore and everything to do with self-preservation.
“Do you love me?” she asked again, quieter this time.
“Zara,” he said, and her name sounded like an apology.
He lifted his hands and cradled her face, thumbs warm against her cheeks, grounding himself in the reality of her. He felt too much. That was the cruel irony of it. The pull, the protectiveness, the way his world had quietly rearranged itself around her presence. It was all there, crowding his chest, demanding space he didn’t know how to give.
But the words she needed, the certainty she was asking for, lodged somewhere he couldn’t reach.
He leaned his forehead against hers, eyes closed, breathing her in. “I care about you,” he said softly, and hated how small it sounded compared to what burned inside him.
Her grip loosened.
That hurt more than if she’d pushed him away.
She didn’t pull back, didn’t cry, didn’t accuse him again. She just stood there, letting the truth settle between them, heavy and unresolved, while he held her face like he might lose her if he didn’t.
Hektor realized that wanting her wasn’t the same thing as being ready for her.
“I’m sorry.”
His shoulders slumped as he walked away, the weight of her eyes—the hurt, the confusion, the unspoken disappointment—pressing down on him like stone. Her whisperednofollowed him, echoing in his chest, making each step feel heavier than the last.
The thought of facing her, of explaining what he couldn’t yet name, made him hesitate. His legs carried him almost instinctively to a quiet park, one of the few places he could think clearly or at least try to.
The bench creaked softly as he sat, elbows on his knees, fingers lacing together. The sounds of the city were distant, muffled, but he could still hear the occasional laughter of someone walking by, the rustle of leaves in the breeze.
I love you.His mind replayed her face, her voice, that trembling edge of vulnerability that had cut through him.
The words she’d spoken, so full of certainty and raw feeling, felt like a mirror reflecting everything he hadn’t dared to admit. He wanted to tell her, to wrap her in his arms and erase the doubt, but the fear of saying it wrong, of shattering something fragile, kept his mouth sealed.
Hektor leaned back on the bench, staring up at the darkening sky. He couldn’t escape the pull she had on him, couldn’t ignore the way the beat of his heart seemed tethered to her. And yet, the longer he sat there, the more he realized that staying away might be the only way to protect both of them until he could find the words.
Inside, he felt like he was being pulled in opposite directions, instincts clashing with one another. Seeing Eleonora hadn’t stirred longing or regret. What it stirred was irritation. Not at her, exactly, but at the reminder of a life that had once beenplanned for him. A version of himself that had moved along tracks laid down by tradition, expectation, inevitability. When he hadn’t been able to do what was expected of him, those tracks had vanished beneath his feet, leaving him lost and directionless. The confusion had hardened over time, turning into bitterness, then anger, until it felt easier to carry that weight than to admit how badly it had broken him.
Until this moment made it clear how little he’d explained to Zara.
That was the knot in his chest now. Not Eleonora. Zara.
Why couldn’t he just say the words? Why didI love youfeel like some impossible, dangerous confession, when his whole body screamed it?
Zara had slipped into his life and flipped it on its head. She hadn’t just been a distraction or a passing fascination; she had become the center, the pulse he didn’t even know he’d been missing. Eleonora, the past, any of that…it didn’t matter. None of it held a candle to Zara.
He thought of her laugh, the way her eyes sparkled when she was teasing him, the way she trusted him without hesitation, the warmth she brought into his life. She had claimed his mind, his home, his heart, and she didn’t even know it.
Going between thoughts, worries, the what-ifs—it was exhausting. And yet, amid all that chaos, one truth stood taller than anything else: Zara was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
She wasn’t just a part of his life. She balanced him. She softened the edges he didn’t know were rough, pushed him without breaking him, and challenged him in ways he didn’t know he needed.
This ridiculous, torturous hesitation had to end. He couldn’t let fear, old habits, pride, or uncertainty hold him back fromsaying what had been screaming inside him from the moment she walked into his life.
He stood, shoulders squared, and took a deep breath, letting the cool night air fill his lungs. He had to go back. He had to tell her,he had to.Because if he didn’t, the thought of her hurt, alone, questioning him, would haunt him far worse than any words could.
No more waiting. No more thinking. It was time.
He rushed home and through the front door. “Zara?”
Silence answered him. Not even the faint hum of her music or the rustle of her presence anywhere in the house. He darted to the bedroom first, throwing open the door. Her side of the bed was empty, the blankets undisturbed. Panic prickled at his chest.
