I stood outside my apartment, hands tucked into the pockets of my hoodie, trying not to let the cold bite too much.
My heartbeat was erratic, an anxious rhythm that matched the nervous flutter in my chest.
I had made a decision last night, or at least I thought I had.
I would wait.
I would wait for him, and maybe… maybe he'd notice me first this morning.
Ken appeared, as expected, leaning against his doorframe, coffee in hand, hair slightly mussed from sleep.
His gaze met mine briefly, neutral, unreadable.
Then, as if I didn't exist, he turned and walked straight past me toward the stairs, already moving toward the hospital.
I froze.
My stomach dropped, a sudden hollow ache that made my chest tighten.
I wanted to call after him, to grab his attention, but my voice felt swallowed by the crisp morning air.
He didn't look back.
Not once.
I lingered there, heart racing, watching him go.
A thousand words I wanted to say rose to the surface, but none of them mattered now.
He didn't acknowledge me.
And for some twisted reason, that silence hurt more than any rejection could.
Minutes passed.
I didn't move.
I didn't breathe properly.
I just stood, frozen, until finally, I realized I had to follow him.
The streets of the town were slowly coming to life.
Shopkeepers opening their doors, vendors arranging fruit baskets, a stray dog trotting past.
Everything seemed normal, ordinary, everything except the storm in my chest.
I followed him quietly, keeping a safe distance.
I wanted him to notice me.
I wanted… I didn't know.
At the hospital entrance, I hesitated.
His figure disappeared into the sliding glass doors.
I lingered outside, staring at the reflective surface, my own face distorted and unfamiliar in the glass.
I could feel the anxiety creeping in again, sharp and relentless.
I wandered around the hospital perimeter, pretending I had business elsewhere.
But every time he appeared in the corridor, moving with calm precision among patients and staff, I felt the weight of my chest deepen.
He didn't glance at me.
Didn't acknowledge my presence.
Didn't so much as nod. Just… professional, distant, cold.
I felt a tight coil of frustration, despair, and longing twist in me.
I had been sure, maybe foolishly so, that after everything, there would be a softness, a look, a smile.
Anything.
Nothing.
I waited until his shift ended, standing just outside the hospital exit.
When he finally appeared, tall and serious in his scrubs, I stepped forward instinctively, heart hammering.
"Ken," I said softly, reaching for his arm.
He pulled it away as if it was burned.
A small flinch of guilt crossed my chest, but he said nothing, only walked past me.
"Please," I murmured, voice cracking slightly. "Wait…"
He glanced at me, his eyes cold, unreadable. "We'll talk later," he said simply, almost dismissively, and kept walking.
I followed silently, side by side with him as he left the hospital grounds.
My mind raced, every step a battle.
I wanted to retreat, to collapse, to scream, but I didn't.
I had to see him home.
Had to see him, even if he remained distant, even if he wanted nothing to do with me.
We walked the streets in silence, the kind that presses heavily against the chest.
My mind churned with frustration and a sense of hopelessness.
Every time I tried to touch him, to grab his attention, he recoiled, pulling subtly away.
I realized, painfully, that I didn't know what to do anymore.
The certainty I had felt in his presence, the warmth, the ease, it had shifted. Now, the silence between us was heavy, suffocating, and I felt smaller than I had in months.
We were halfway home when I saw him.
Drake.
Leaning casually against a sleek black car, sunglasses hiding his eyes, smile sharp and knowing.
The world seemed to tilt suddenly, the ground beneath me unstable, as if gravity itself had betrayed me.
My breath caught.
I froze.
My hands balled into fists at my sides.
I could feel Ken beside me, rigid, tense, but I barely noticed.
My focus was entirely on Drake, the memories, the heartbreak, the manipulations, and yet… something else stirred, unbidden, inside me.
"Ysabelle," Drake said smoothly, his voice low, familiar. He straightened, as if reading my frozen posture like an open book. "Long time no see."
I didn't respond immediately.
My mind was a mess of sensations, emotions I didn't understand, and memories I had tried so hard to bury.
My chest constricted.
I wanted to run.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to reach out.
And yet… something was wrong.
Ken stepped closer, subtly shifting to position himself between me and Drake.
His hand brushed mine instinctively when I stepped forward, attempting to reach for Drake, and he whispered sharply, "Ysabelle, don't…"
But I didn't listen.
My body moved on its own, as if I were no longer entirely in control.
I was drawn to Drake, pulled by echoes of old feelings, of a past life I barely recognized anymore.
"Hey, it's really good to see you," Drake said again, stepping toward me.
His grin was infuriatingly charming, yet hollow.
I could feel the old pull, the scripted affection, the rehearsed smiles, the words that once made me feel special.
But as I stepped closer, my mind suddenly cleared, and the recognition hit me like ice: I didn't feel the same way anymore.
I paused, chest heaving.
The pull was there, visceral and familiar, but the warmth, the desire, it wasn't.
My heart was elsewhere.
Ken.
The quiet, steady presence beside me.
The one person who made me feel grounded without manipulation, without strings attached.
Drake's eyes flickered with curiosity, and then surprise. "You've changed," he said. "Or… maybe you were never really mine."
The words stung, but they no longer controlled me.
I drew in a steadying breath. "We… we had our time," I said finally, voice firm, cutting through the tension. "But that's all it was. The past. Nothing more."
He opened his mouth, perhaps to argue, but I stepped back, turning slightly to leave.
My gaze found Ken's again.
Relief, worry, and something deeper flickered in his eyes and I finally allowed myself to be guided by it.
We walked to the car together, Drake lingering a few steps behind.
My mind was clear now, clarity slicing through the chaos that had threatened to pull me back into the past.
I realized fully, with a quiet certainty, that my feelings for him were gone.
"Want to talk?" Drake asked, trying one last time, voice low and persuasive.
I shook my head. "No. There's nothing left to say except… the past stays in the past. You know what you did. You played with someone who trusted you. That ends here."
Drake's face darkened, but he said nothing more. Instead, he gestured toward my car. "Let me at least drop you home."
I hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded.
The motion wasn't out of desire, but a finality, closure for myself.
I got into the passenger seat.
The ride was quiet. Drake tried to fill the silence with small talk, questions, comments, but my thoughts were elsewhere, entirely on Ken.
The tension between what had been and what had dissolved in the clarity of this moment.
My heart raced not with old feelings, but with relief, with realization.
By the time we pulled into my apartment complex, I was resolute.
I stepped out of the car immediately, ignoring any part of myself that hesitated.
My eyes searched for Ken.
And there he was.
He was pacing slightly, arms crossed, exhaling slowly, waiting, clearly worried.
The moment our eyes met, relief and frustration crossed his face.
He took a step forward instinctively, but I was faster.
I ran to him, pulling him into my arms without hesitation.
Ken froze for a split second, surprised, but didn't resist.
He hugged me tightly, and I felt the tension of the day, of the anxiety, of the past, all melt against his steady warmth.
"I… I'm sorry," I whispered into his chest, voice shaky. "I… I didn't… I just… needed to…"
Ken didn't interrupt.
He held me closer, letting me release everything, grounding me once again.
The world around us fell away.
There was only this, only him, only me, only the quiet acknowledgement that no one else mattered.
Drake watched from the distance, his expression unreadable.
I didn't care.
My clarity was absolute: Ken was the one.
The past was just that, past. And now, at long last, I could step forward.