Chapter Seven: The One Who Stayed
The next morning, you left the door unlocked before I even arrived.
No sign. No note.
Just the scent of toast from the back room and one extra cup of tea on the desk.
You didn’t say “good morning.”
You just handed me a sweater — one of yours — and said,
“You always look cold when it rains.”
We didn’t name anything that day.
But I caught you watching me over the rim of your mug,
and you didn’t look away when I caught you.
You just smiled like someone who’d finally found the answer to a riddle they weren’t trying to solve.
Later, you told me — not in words, but in actions.
You shelved your favorite book backward, spine in.
A signal.
And I… turned it back around.
We didn’t kiss.
Didn’t touch.
But the next time I left, you walked me to the door —
And lingered.
“Still coming back?” you asked.
I leaned close, just enough for you to feel the warmth.
“I was never the one who left.”
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