I didn't answer his call.
I stood in the middle of my apartment, phone still pressed to my ear long after the line had gone dead, my heart racing as if I'd been running instead of standing still.
You weren't an accident.
The words echoed, refusing to settle into anything reasonable.
I told myself not to read into them. People said strange things all the time. Men liked to sound mysterious when they wanted control. That didn't mean he actually had any.
And yet.
He hadn't chased me.
Hadn't raised his voice.
Hadn't demanded anything.
He had simply stated something and stepped back — as if leaving the weight of it with me was the point.
I set my phone down on the counter and leaned forward, gripping the edge until my knuckles whitened.
This was where it stopped.
It had to.
---
The next few days passed in a strange, uneasy calm.
No calls.
No messages.
No notes.
I half-expected him to break the silence, and when he didn't, the absence unsettled me more than his presence ever had. It felt intentional — like a pause placed exactly where it would do the most damage.
I returned to my routines, or at least tried to.
Same work hours.
Same grocery store.
Same quiet evenings.
But everything felt slightly off, like furniture rearranged by someone who knew where I'd trip if I wasn't careful.
On the third evening, as I unlocked my apartment door, I noticed it.
Nothing was wrong.
That was the problem.
The hallway was quiet, empty, exactly as it should be. No footsteps behind me. No voice calling my name. No sudden realization that I was being followed.
And yet, the sensation crept up my spine all the same.
Not fear.
Awareness.
I stepped inside and locked the door, resting my forehead briefly against the cool metal. I laughed softly under my breath.
You're doing this to yourself.
Still, I didn't turn on the lights right away.
---
Sleep came in fragments that night.
Dreams without faces.
Voices without words.
The feeling of standing at the edge of something I couldn't see the bottom of.
When I woke, the sun was already high, spilling pale light across the room. For a moment, I felt almost normal.
Then my phone buzzed.
One message.
From a number I hadn't blocked — not because I wanted to keep it, but because blocking felt like acknowledging something I didn't want to name.
Elias:
I won't call again.
I stared at the screen, my chest tightening.
Another message followed almost immediately.
Elias:
I needed you to know that.
I didn't reply.
Minutes passed. Then more.
The typing bubble never appeared.
That should have relieved me.
Instead, a strange sense of loss settled in — quiet, unwelcome.
---
That afternoon, I returned to the café.
Not because I expected to see him.
Because I wanted to prove something to myself.
The place was just as it always was — warm, familiar, filled with the low hum of conversation and the smell of coffee. I ordered my drink and took a seat near the window, choosing the table deliberately.
Control, I reminded myself.
This is what control looks like.
I stayed longer than usual.
Long enough to notice the way the light shifted. Long enough to finish my coffee and order another. Long enough for the tension in my shoulders to ease.
Maybe this really was over.
Then I noticed the empty chair across from me.
Not because someone was standing there.
Because no one was.
And yet, the space felt… occupied.
I shook my head, annoyed at myself.
That's when I saw the reflection in the window.
Not his face.
His silhouette.
Across the street.
Standing beneath the shade of a tree, phone in hand, posture relaxed.
He wasn't looking at me.
He was looking at the café.
My breath caught.
I turned sharply, scanning the street outside.
There he was.
Exactly where the reflection had been.
He didn't move when our eyes met.
Didn't wave.
Didn't smile.
Didn't cross the street.
He stayed where he was.
Respecting the distance.
Holding it.
My heart pounded, confusion tangling with something deeper — something that felt dangerously close to relief.
I stood, my legs unsteady, and walked to the door.
He didn't approach.
He waited.
I stepped outside, the bell chiming softly behind me.
The street noise rushed back in, grounding and overwhelming all at once.
"You said you wouldn't call," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.
"I didn't," he replied calmly.
"You said you wouldn't—"
"I said I wouldn't call again," he corrected gently. "I didn't say I wouldn't be near."
Anger flared, sharp and immediate. "That's not better."
"No," he agreed. "It's different."
I crossed my arms, creating a barrier I didn't fully believe in. "You're doing this on purpose."
"Yes."
The honesty disarmed me.
"Why?" I asked.
He studied me for a moment — not my face, but the way I stood. The tension in my shoulders. The distance I kept even now.
"I wanted to see if you'd come out on your own," he said. "You did."
"That doesn't mean anything."
"It means you weren't afraid," he replied. "Just unsettled."
I hated that he was right.
"You can't keep appearing like this," I said. "You don't get to decide when I see you."
"I know," he said quietly. "That's why I stayed over here."
He gestured vaguely to the space between us.
"I'm not crossing it."
The restraint caught me off guard.
"You expect credit for that?"
"No," he said. "I expect you to notice."
Silence settled, thick but not uncomfortable.
"I'm not asking you to trust me," he continued. "I'm asking you to decide."
"Decide what?"
"Whether you want me gone," he said simply. "Or just at a distance."
My pulse quickened.
"You're making this sound like a choice," I said.
"It is," he replied. "I won't take a step you don't allow."
The air felt heavier, charged with possibility.
"And if I say I want you gone?" I asked.
He held my gaze steadily. "Then I won't be here tomorrow."
The certainty in his voice made my stomach twist.
I believed him.
That terrified me more than any threat could have.
I looked away first.
"I need time," I said.
He nodded once. "Take it."
No argument.
No pressure.
He turned and walked away, disappearing into the flow of the street without looking back.
I stood there long after he was gone, my thoughts racing, my emotions tangled beyond easy explanation.
Because for the first time since this began, the truth was unavoidable.
He wasn't forcing his way into my life.
He was waiting for me to decide how close I would let him stand.
And I didn't know which answer scared me more.