Doesn't have to. But it did. At least for me.
"I know," I lied.
"So we're okay? We can go back to being colleagues who occasionally share meals and don't make things weird?"
I should have said yes and taken his offer. Use it to rebuild the professional distance we both needed and swallow everything I was feeling and lock it away somewhere it couldn't cause damage.
But I was so tired of carrying the weight of unspoken truths.
"I don't know if I can do that," I said honestly, the words feeling like thorns rolling off my tongue.
Cassian's brow furrowed. "Why not?"
"Because waking up in your arms didn't just mess with my head." My voice was steadier than I expected, which felt like its own kind of betrayal. "It made me remember everything we used to have. Everything I've spent five years trying to forget."
"Calla—"
"I'm not asking you for anything." I cut him off. "I know you're with Maya and you've built a life without me. I'm not trying to complicate that or make demands or put you in an impossible position."
He heaved a long, deep breath. "Then what are you saying?"
I finally looked at him. His green eyes were wary and confused, waiting for me to say more. He looked like a man bracing for impact without knowing which direction the blow would come from.
"I'm saying that… I… I-I still love you," I voiced. "I… I never stopped. Pretending otherwise has been exhausting and pointless and I can't do it anymore."
Cassian fell silent, and the longer he stared at me the more it was making me uncomfortable.
The stairwell seemed to contract around us, the walls pressing closer, and the air going thick. I watched Cassian's face cycle through emotions I couldn't name, his expression shifting and settling and shifting again.
"Okay," he said finally.
Okay. That was it? One word delivered in a tone so neutral it could have meant anything or nothing at all.
"Okay?" I repeated, my heart throbbing hard against my chest. "I appreciate you being honest with me." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I recognized from a thousand difficult conversations during our marriage. It was the thing he did when he was processing something he didn't know how to respond to. "That couldn't have been easy to say."
I waited for more—for a clear rejection or anything that would tell me where I stood.
"Look," Cassian continued, "we have history. A lot of it. And I understand that being around each other again has stirred up old feelings." He paused, his jaw working like he was chewing on words he couldn't quite form. "I think we can still be friends, Calla. We can find a way to work together and maybe even enjoy each other's company without it being complicated."
"That's it?" I heard myself ask, scoffing. "I tell you I love you and your response islet's be friends?"
"I don't know what else to say." His voice had dropped, rougher than before. "I need time to think. This is a lot to process."
Cassian stood there, with one hand shoved in his coat pocket and the other gripping the railing like he needed something to hold onto.
I searched his face for clues or any hint of what was going on inside his head, but Cassian had always been better at hiding than I gave him credit for. When he wanted to keep something locked away, not even I could find the key.
"I should go," he said finally. "I have rounds."
"Cassian—"
"I'll see you at the meeting tomorrow." He moved toward the stairs, his footsteps too quick and his posture too rigid. "We can talk more later. When I've had time to—" He stopped, shook his head. "Just give me some time. Please."
And then he was gone. I stayed on the landing, replaying every word, every pause, and every flicker of expression I might have missed.
He hadn't said he didn't love me back.
But he hadn't said he did either.
