I was finally starting to feel okay.
Not healed. Not whole.
But okay enough to get through a day without checking his socials.
Okay enough to skate again without looking over my shoulder.
Okay enough to sit through a conversation with Nia without saying his name.
And then from him;
"Where are you?"
Just three words.
No context. No "Hi." No "I'm sorry."
My heart flipped like it hadn't learned a thing in five months.
I stared at the message for a full five minutes.
I knew I shouldn't reply.
I knew what happened last time.
But still
I typed,
"Home."
He said,
"Wanna come over?"
I didn't ask why now.
Didn't ask why it took so long.
Didn't ask what I did to deserve silence for months, and this casual invitation like nothing had happened.
I just went.
I still don't know why.
Maybe I missed him more than I missed my pride.
Maybe I wanted closure and thought this was the start of it.
Maybe I was scared I'd never get the chance again.
Or maybe I just wanted to feel wanted, even if it was temporary.
His place looked the same.
Same shoes by the door. Same blanket on the couch. Same smell.
He said, "You look good."
I nodded. "You too."
We didn't talk about the silence.
We didn't talk about what it did to me.
We ate. Watched something I don't remember. He laughed once.
And by the end of the night, I was in his bed again.
That night broke something in me.
Not because we slept together.
But because it was so easy for him.
And so hard for me.
I cried on the way home. Not loud. Not messy.
Just tears slipping down my face on my way home.