That soft kind of worry that hurts more than anything else because it’s real.
The air left my chest as I realised what she was truly staring at, what I kept hidden beneath the ink.
The scars.
They were faint now, half-buried under the tattoos, but still there. The kind that ink can’t erase, no matter how dark it gets.
Shit.
I forced my attention back to the laptop, typing something, anything to fill the silence. To pretend I didn’t care that she saw—saw something no one did.
Sawme. A flaw.
The air between us shifted. Heavier. Quieter.
I could feel her still watching me from the corner of her eye, like she didn’t know whether to ask or to stay silent.
I wished she wouldn’t look at me like that. Like I was someone who could still break.
I swallowed hard, muscles locking as I tried to keep my breathing even.
Don’t look at it. Don’t look at me like that.
But she did.
And every second she did, it felt like the ink burned a little more.
I clenched my jaw, shutting the laptop, pushing it towards her. “Send it to my email, get out.”
The words came out harsher than I meant. They hit the air like a door slamming.
She froze, hands still gripping tightly around her pen, the soft worry in her eyes dimming into confusion. I couldn’t look at her. My pulse was pounding too hard, my throat too tight. I stood up too fast; the stool scraped against the tiles.
“Just—” I forced the words out through my teeth, still not meeting her gaze. “Go. I’ll finish the rest later.”
She didn’t move at first. Then, slowly, she nodded. Her fingers hovered over the laptop, hesitating. I could feel her eyes on me again, gentle but cutting.
I gripped the counter’s edge until my knuckles burned.Stop looking at me like I’m something you can fix.
She lifted the laptop gently and slid it into her bag, the zipper soft but final. She slipped off the counter, not saying anything. Of course she didn’t. Just stood there for a heartbeat, her hands clutching the strap of her bag, like she wanted to do something but didn’t know what.
Then she gave a small nod, more like a breath than a movement, and turned for the door.
I kept my eyes fixed on the floor, every muscle locked to keep from calling her back. To tell her I didn’t mean to say that. I wanted her to stay, to see me more.
The door opened. The hallway light spilt in. And then it clicked shut again, leaving only the sound of rain.
I pressed my palms against the counter and let my head drop forward, breath shaking.
Come back.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Aurora
Scars.
Not ink. Not art.
