The days that followed were an uneasy blur.
Work with Aurora Media continued, and though Lila tried to keep things strictly professional, fate had other plans. Every strategy meeting, every design review, every late-night email seemed to pull her and Ethan back into the same orbit.
She told herself it didn't matter. He was just a client now — another name on her workload. Yet, every time she caught him glancing her way, her pulse betrayed her.
Ethan, for his part, was trying — cautiously, quietly, respectfully. He never pushed too far. Instead, he listened. He praised her designs sincerely, never out of pity, and gave her the space she deserved. But he also made it clear, through every look and small gesture, that he wasn't giving up.
One evening, after a long meeting, they both found themselves in the empty conference room, papers scattered across the table and the sunset bleeding orange light through the tall windows.
Lila gathered her sketches, determined to leave quickly.
"You don't have to avoid me," Ethan said softly, his voice calm but strained.
"I'm not avoiding you. I'm working."
He smiled faintly. "Then you're working very hard not to look at me."
Her glare was sharp, but her heart trembled. "You forfeited the right to jokes the day you left me at the altar."
The words hit hard. He lowered his gaze. "You're right."
For a moment, silence filled the room — heavy, but not hostile. It was the silence of two people trying to understand what was left between them.
Finally, Lila sighed. "You can't just show up with apologies and expect everything to fall back into place, Ethan. Love isn't a switch you turn on and off."
"I don't expect it to," he said quietly. "But I'm not here to erase the past. I just want a chance to be part of your present — even if it's just as someone who helps you build something good again."
His humility caught her off guard. The Ethan she knew before had been confident, sometimes even arrogant. But the man standing before her now was changed — softer, steadier, and visibly scarred by regret.
"I don't know if I can forgive you," she admitted. "Not yet."
"You don't have to," he replied. "Just… don't shut the door forever."
She didn't answer. Instead, she turned to leave — but her reflection in the glass caught his eyes one last time. And for a heartbeat, neither of them looked away.
Outside, the city lights flickered on, one by one — a reminder that even after darkness, light always finds its way back.
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