For days, Lydia thought about it.
The confession.
She whispered it to herself when no one was around. Practiced it while brushing her teeth.
Rehearsed it with her pillow held to her chest, imagining his face, his smile, the way his eyes softened when he looked at her.
"I love you, Max."
Three words.
Simple.
Heavy.
She didn't know when the fear had started to fade, only that it had. Slowly, softly. Like snow melting. Not because she suddenly became brave—
But because he had made it feel safe.
So she planned it.
Nothing dramatic. No candles. No theatrics.
Just her. Him. A quiet evening.
And the truth.
It was a Thursday.
He was supposed to stop by in the evening, like he always did. She baked lemon cake-his favorite. She even cleaned the apartment, not because he cared, but because her nerves needed something to do.
She wore the soft blue sweater he once said made her look like calm water.
Everything was ready.
But Max never came.
She waited for an hour. Then two.
By the third hour, she sat alone at her kitchen table, staring at two plates, two mugs, and the flickering candle she now hated herself for lighting.
When her phone buzzed, her heart leapt. But it wasn't him.
It was from his mother.
"I hope you're not encouraging whatever feelings Max thinks he has for you. You're family, Lydia.
Please don't forget that."
The words punched the breath out of her.
Her hands went cold.
Her vision blurred.
Her body stayed frozen, but inside... everything collapsed.
So this was why he hadn't come.
They knew.
And they didn't approve.
The candle kept burning, flickering like a cruel joke.
The cake sat untouched.
And all the courage she had gathered crumbled inside her like ashes.
She opened her phone and typed, slowly:
Lydia:
"Got busy.Maybe some other day."
She hit send.
And just like that, the truth was buried again.
Her truth.
Her love.
She didn't cry right away.
Instead, she went to her room, closed the door, and lay flat on her bed-eyes open, heart hollow.
It was in that silence that the memories came.
Not loud. Not rushed.
But soft. Crushing. Real.
[FLASHBACK]
She had always loved him.
Even when she told herself she didn't.
Even when she pretended it was just comfort.
Familiarity. Family.
But she remembered every moment like her soul had marked them.
She remembered the first time she imagined kissing him.
It was a summer afternoon—he'd just pulled her out of the lake when she slipped on the rocks. He was laughing, dripping wet, his hand wrapped around hers as he helped her up.
She had looked at him then-really looked-and something warm bloomed in her chest.
She wanted to kiss him.
She didn't.
But for nights after that, she'd press her fingers to her lips and wonder what his would feel like.
She remembered hugging him after he'd gotten into university.
She had wrapped her arms around his neck, pretending it was casual, like the others. But inside, she wanted to stay there. Breathe in his scent. Let her face rest against the soft part of his neck and never move.
Her fingers had trembled when she let go.
He hadn't noticed.
Or maybe he had.
And she remembered-clearly, shamefully-the nights she would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, and imagine what it would be like to sleep beside him. Not in a lustful way.
But intimate.
Safe.
Warm.
To feel his arms around her waist. His breath steady on the back of her neck. His hand holding hers under the sheets, fingers locked even in sleep.
She had imagined whispering secrets into his chest.
Had imagined him turning over in the middle of the night just to pull her closer.
She had loved him quietly.
But completely.
[PRESENT]
Lydia sat up on her bed, the weight of those memories pressing against her ribs like stones.
She had always wanted to confess.
But she had been too scared he wouldn't love her back.
And now, when he finally did... the world wouldn't let them be.
She wiped her face with her sleeve and stood, walking to the window. Rain smeared the city lights. A blur of red and gold, like tears against glass.
Her heart whispered his name.
But her mouth stayed shut.
Because for people like her, love wasn't something to hold.
It was something to hide.
To protect.
To bury when it grew too loud.
She would see him again.
Smile.
Pretend nothing had changed.
Because this time, her silence wasn't fear.
It was surrender.