Lydia had mastered the art of pretending.
She smiled when expected.
Laughed softly when Elior made his quiet, poetic jokes.
She stood beside him like a girl perfectly at peace.
No one noticed the tremble in her hands when
Max entered the room.
No one saw the way her throat tightened when she heard his voice across the hall.
She had buried the storm behind carefully arranged grace.
And Max... he had no right to stir it again.
It had been a week since his return.
He hadn't spoken to her. Not yet.
But he watched. Quietly. Constantly.
Every time she looked up, his eyes were already there-unblinking, unreadable, burning.
And every time, she forced herself to look away.
She wasn't going to shatter in front of him.
Not now.
Not after a year of silence.
The family dinner was hosted at her aunt's place
—one of those events no one could escape.
The living room buzzed with conversation.
Children ran around. The scent of roasted garlic and cinnamon tea lingered in the air.
Lidia sat near the corner of the couch, a soft smile curved on her lips as Elior leaned closer to show her something on his phone. She nodded, eyes glazed, smile still intact.
Across the room, Max stood with his cousin, half-listening, half-glancing at her.
And it killed him.
Her dress was a shade of dusk pink, soft and flowing, her hair tied up with loose curls brushing her jaw. Her laugh-rare and fleeting-slipped out when Elior whispered something in her ear.
Max's hand clenched around the glass he held.
It should've been him.
After dinner, the crowd thinned.
Max watched her slip onto the balcony, the hem of her dress catching the breeze like poetry.
He waited a moment.
Then followed.
The balcony was dimly lit. Crickets sang in the background. A lone wind chime tinkled.
She was standing by the railing, arms folded across her chest, face lifted toward the sky.
He took a breath.
"Lydia"
She didn't flinch.
Didn't turn.
But he saw the tension in her spine, the way her shoulders stiffened at the sound of his voice.
| "Can we talk?" he asked, stepping closer.
Silence.
Then she turned, slowly. Her eyes met his-and he saw it. The fire. The ache. The storm.
But it vanished in a blink.
"There's nothing to talk about, Max." Her voice was calm. Too calm.
He stepped closer. "Please. Just for a minute-"
"Why?" she whispered, looking away. "So you can explain how easy it was to walk away?"
His jaw tightened. "It wasn't easy."
"Could've fooled me."
Her words cut like frost.
Max reached out, fingers barely brushing her wrist.
I "I didn't stop loving you, Lydia."
She closed her eyes. Just for a second.
It was all she had to keep from falling apart.
Then—
-
"Lydia?"
The voice broke through the tension like a crack in glass.
They both turned.
Elior stepped onto the balcony, his expression unreadable, a polite smile barely touching his lips.
"You okay?"
She nodded quickly, stepping away from Max without thinking.
| "Yeah.. just needed air."
Elior's gaze shifted to Max, calm but piercing.
"Didn't get your name last time."
"Max," he replied flatly.
"Elior," the other said, offering his hand. "Lydia's close friend."
The shake between them was brief and tense.
Too calm. Too measured.
Max's knuckles had gone white.
Lydia stood between them, her heart beating too fast, too loud.
"I should go back inside," she mumbled, brushing past them.
Elior followed her without hesitation.
Max stayed behind.
Alone.
On the balcony.
With the scent of her still lingering in the night.