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Waiting.
My brain goes quiet for a second.
Because this?
This is where I decide.
Isa is right in front of me.
Real.
Present.
Choosing me.
Stella?
She’s—
what?
A look.
A moment.
A maybe.
But God?—
that look.
I drag a hand down my face.
Exhale slow.
“I care about you,” I say.
And I mean it.
Her eyes soften just slightly.
But she doesn’t let me off that easy.
“That’s not what I asked.” She shifts again, closing the last bit of distance between us.
Her hand comes up—rests lightly against my chest.
Right over my heart.
“Are you choosing me?”
My pulse kicks under her palm.
And for a second—I almost say yes.
Because it would be easy.
Without chaos or history.
