Zed stood outside Joey's apartment, notebook clutched in his hand like a lifeline. The city buzzed around him—motorcycles weaving through traffic, vendors shouting, music spilling from open windows—but he heard none of it. His heartbeat was a drum in his ears.
He hadn't planned this. He'd spent the last three nights rewriting the same poem, the same confession, over and over. But nothing felt right. Nothing felt enough.
Now he was here.
He knocked once. Then again.
Joey opened the door slowly, her eyes wary but not unkind. She wore a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, her hair tied up in a messy bun. She looked tired. Beautiful. Real.
Zed didn't speak. He simply held out the notebook.
Joey hesitated, then took it. Her fingers brushed his, and he felt a jolt—like static, like memory.
"I'll read it," she said softly.
He nodded. "I'll wait."
She stepped back inside, leaving the door slightly ajar. Zed sat on the steps, staring at the cracks in the pavement. He remembered the first time he saw her—at the café, laughing with Wayne, her eyes full of fire. He hadn't known then that she'd undo him.
Inside, Joey sat on the couch and opened the notebook.
The first page was a sketch—her silhouette, drawn in charcoal, surrounded by jagged lines and soft curves. Beneath it, a single line:
> You are the contradiction I never learned to solve.
She turned the page.
Poems. Fragments. Scribbled thoughts. Some pages were stained with coffee, others torn at the edges. It was raw. Unfiltered. A map of Zed's mind.
One poem stopped her cold:
> *I loved you before I knew how to love myself.
> I loved you in silence, in chaos, in fear.
> I loved you in every line I couldn't finish.
> I love you still.
> But I'm learning to love me too.*
Joey closed the notebook and pressed it to her chest. Her eyes burned, but she didn't cry. Not yet.
She walked to the door and stepped outside.
Zed looked up, his eyes searching hers.
"I didn't know how to say it," he whispered.
"You did," she said, holding up the notebook. "You said everything."
He stood, unsure what came next.
"I'm scared," he admitted. "Of ruining this. Of not being enough."
Joey reached out and touched his cheek. "You're enough. But I need time."
Zed nodded. "I'll wait."
They stood there, the city moving around them, untouched.
Joey leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for the truth."
Zed watched her walk back inside, the door closing gently behind her.
He didn't feel rejected.
He felt seen.