“I have my ways.” A weak attempt at levity. It didn’t land.
She shook her head, more exhale than motion, and stepped past me to unlock the door.
“You look like hell.”
“Feels accurate,” I replied.
She pushed the door open and stepped inside, leaving it open. “You coming in, or just haunting my hallway?”
I hesitated. Then followed.
The flat smelled like lavender and paper. Like her. Shoes by the door, a scarf slung over a hook, a stack of books on the little table by the wall. Lived-in. Real.
I hovered by the threshold.
She dropped her keys in the dish, set her suitcase beside the radiator, and turned to face me fully.
“Well?”
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admitted. “Only that I couldn’t let the last thing between us be what I said in Seoul.”
Her expression didn’t shift. But her hands curled slightly at her sides.
“I meant what I wrote,” she said. “I didn’t throw you under the bus.”
“I know.” I rubbed a hand over my face. “You were… fair. Too fair.”
Her mouth tugged into something bitter. “So why are you here?”
“I wanted to look you in the eye and say I’m sorry.” My voice cracked.
That made her pause. Just for a heartbeat.
“I didn’t trust you,” I went on. “Not when it counted. I let fear make me cruel. I didn’t just doubt my team. I doubted you. And that… that’s the part I can’t stop hearing.”
She swallowed hard, but didn’t interrupt.
“You were right. About everything. I needed to know the truth. Even if it hurt. Even if it burned everything down.”
Silence settled between us, thick and aching.
Finally, she spoke. “So what now?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not here to fix it. Or ask for anything. I just… I needed you to know that I saw it. All of it. And that it changed something in me.”
She stared at me for a long moment. Then stepped into the kitchen and flicked the kettle on.
“I’ve been on planes for over eighteen hours,” she said. “I’m tired. I smell like airports. And my inbox is full of death threats and marriage proposals.”
I blinked. “Marriage—?”
“I’m not in the mood to talk about the state of our… whatever this is. But you can stay. For tea. If you want.”
Relief crashed over me like a wave.
“Tea’s fine,” I said quietly. “Tea’s good.”
She didn’t smile. But she handed me a mug a few minutes later, steaming and chipped, and we stood in her kitchen, not saying much at all.
