Lana's POV
I didn't sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the same scene—
Leo's worried face.
My mother's weak steps.
Their hands… together.
By morning, my chest felt tight, like something heavy had settled there and refused to move.
Leo came home late.
I pretended to be asleep.
I heard him pause at the bedroom door.
Felt his presence like a shadow.
He didn't wake me.
Didn't touch me.
Just stood there for a moment… and left.
And somehow, that hurt the most.
The next few days blurred together.
I stopped asking questions.
Stopped waiting by the door.
Stopped smiling when he entered the room.
If he wanted secrets, I'd give him distance.
"Lana," he finally said one evening, stopping me as I passed him in the hallway.
"You've been quiet."
I kept my eyes forward.
"I'm just tired."
He frowned slightly.
"You don't look at me anymore."
My heart skipped—but my face stayed calm.
"Maybe there's nothing to look at," I replied.
That made him flinch.
"Did I do something?" he asked, voice careful.
I laughed softly. Not amused.
"If you did, you'd know."
I walked past him before he could respond.
Behind me, silence stretched—thick and heavy.
And I knew it.
This wasn't peace.
This was distance growing teeth.
Later that night, I sat alone on the balcony, knees pulled to my chest, city lights flickering below.
He didn't tell me.
He chose not to.
That thought repeated over and over, carving deeper each time.
I loved him.
And loving someone who keeps secrets…
felt like waiting for pain to arrive.