The study room fell into a suffocating silence after Diana left.
Only the faint noise of laughter from the living room remained, distant and irrelevant.
Randy didn't move.
His phone was still in his hand, Claire's contact open on the screen, her name sitting there like a quiet question he didn't know how to answer.
He stared at it for a long time.
Still together.
The words echoed in his head.
They were still dating.
They hadn't broken up.
She hadn't pushed him away.
And yet—
Something had changed.
His mind replayed the image Diana had shown him.
Claire sitting under the old tree.
Her shoulders slightly lowered.
Her hand in Miko's.
That expression.
Vulnerable.
Open.
Safe.
Safe… but not with him.
His grip on the phone tightened.
"No," he whispered under his breath, almost instinctively.
Claire had always come to him first.
Since childhood.
Since the hospital.
Since the days she didn't even remember why she was crying, but still reached for his hand like it was the only constant in her world.
He was the one who stayed.
The one who protected.
The one who knew the truth when no one else did.
Even when she forgot him.
Even when she forgot everything.
His jaw tightened.
"And now…" he murmured.
Now she was remembering.
Remembering the truth.
Remembering the past.
Remembering pain he had spent years trying to shield her from.
And the first person she opened up to—
Wasn't him.
His chest felt heavier than before.
Not anger.
Something sharper.
Possessiveness mixed with fear.
Randy leaned back slowly against the desk, closing his eyes for a brief moment.
He told himself to be rational.
Claire was hurt.
Claire was confused.
Claire needed support.
Of course she would talk to Miko.
That was logical.
That was normal.
That was healthy.
But logic did nothing to quiet the tight, unfamiliar feeling coiling inside his chest.
Because for the first time in years, he was no longer the center of her world.
And he hated how much that thought unsettled him.
His mind drifted back to that morning at school.
Her calm voice.
Her steady gaze.
"I'm not forgiving you yet."
Not rejecting.
Not leaving.
But not leaning on him either.
That in-between state was worse than rejection.
At least rejection was clear.
This?
This was distance wrapped in quiet politeness.
Randy exhaled slowly, pressing his fingers against his temple.
"She's just thinking," he muttered. "She needs time."
But another thought slipped in, quieter, darker.
What if time only made her rely on someone else more?
His eyes opened again, sharper now.
He remembered how Claire used to look at him—like he was safety, certainty, home.
Lately, that look had become cautious.
Careful.
Measured.
Like she was choosing how much of herself to give him.
And that realization stirred something deep inside him.
A protective instinct that had always existed.
But now… it was evolving into something more intense.
"She's still mine," he whispered, almost unconsciously.
Not in ownership.
Not in control.
But in the sense of history.
Of years.
Of promises unspoken but lived.
He had been there before anyone else.
Before Miko.
Before the memories returned.
Before the truth surfaced.
He was the one who stayed when everything was broken.
His fingers slowly curled into a fist.
"I won't let distance become habit," he said quietly.
Because he understood something clearly now—
If he stepped back too much,
If he gave her too much space,
If he kept acting like the calm, understanding boyfriend who waited silently—
Someone else would fill that emotional space.
And Claire, in her fragile state, would naturally move toward whoever made her feel safest in the moment.
His chest tightened at the thought.
Not because he didn't trust Claire.
But because he knew how vulnerable she was right now.
And vulnerability created attachments.
Slowly.
Subtly.
Dangerously.
Randy unlocked his phone again and opened their chat.
Their last messages looked normal.
Too normal.
Short.
Polite.
Careful.
Not like before.
He stared at the screen, then typed.
Paused.
Deleted.
Typed again.
His reflection faintly appeared on the dark screen for a second.
Calm face.
Controlled expression.
But his thoughts were anything but calm.
"I promised no more half-truths," he murmured.
And that meant something else too.
No more passive distance.
No more assuming she would always return to him on her own.
If Claire was walking through the truth now—
Then he would stand beside her in it.
Not behind.
Not at a distance.
Beside.
His gaze hardened slightly, determination settling where hesitation had been.
"I won't force her," he said under his breath.
A pause.
"But I won't lose her either."
Because Claire was not just his girlfriend.
She was someone tied to his life long before labels existed.
Someone he had protected, waited for, and stayed loyal to even when she forgot him.
Letting her drift away emotionally without doing anything?
That was something he couldn't accept.
His thumb finally moved.
A simple message appeared on the screen.
Not controlling.
Not demanding.
But intentional.
Present.
Because if Claire was rebuilding her sense of self, her trust, and her truth—
Then he would make sure she remembered one thing clearly.
That he was still there.
Still steady.
Still hers.
And this time, not as the boy who silently protected her from the shadows—
But as the person who would face the truth with her, stay close to her,
and slowly, carefully, make sure the space between them didn't turn into a permanent distance.
Night fell slowly, like ink dissolving into water.
By the time the last guests left, the house had grown quieter, but not peaceful. The laughter that once filled the rooms had faded into faint echoes, leaving behind a stillness that felt heavier than noise.
Randy stood by the window in his room, the city lights blinking in the distance like scattered thoughts he could not gather.
His phone rested in his hand.
Unlocked.
Screen dim.
Claire's name still at the top of their chat.
He had typed a message earlier.
Deleted it.
Typed again.
Deleted it again.
Words felt insufficient tonight.
Too small for something that felt so large inside his chest.
He exhaled slowly and tapped her contact.
Call.
The ringtone began.
Soft.
Repetitive.
Endlessly patient.
Each ring stretched longer than it should have, echoing in the quiet room like a question left unanswered. He stared at the ceiling, listening.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
No answer.
His thumb hovered, but he didn't hang up immediately. Some part of him kept hoping—
That she would pick up at the last second.
That her sleepy voice would fill the silence.
That she would say his name the way she used to, warm and unguarded.
But the call ended on its own.Silence returned, heavier than before.
Randy lowered the phone slowly, his gaze softening as he glanced at the time.
Late.
Too late.
Claire was probably asleep.