ARIA'S POV..
I woke up the next morning with sunlight cutting through my curtains and regret sitting heavily on my chest.
Daniel was still asleep beside me, his arm draped loosely over my waist like it belonged there. It didn't. I knew that the moment my eyes opened. There was no warmth, no flutter, no sense of after. Just emptiness and a dull ache I couldn't explain.
I carefully slipped out from under his arm and stood, wrapping my oversized hoodie around myself. The room smelled unfamiliar—him, not us. That was when it hit me.
I hadn't done it because I wanted Daniel.
I had done it because I was trying to erase Ethan.
And I failed.
I glanced back at Daniel once more. He looked peaceful, unbothered, unaware that he had just been a distraction in a war I was losing with my own heart. I didn't hate myself for it—but I didn't feel proud either.
By the time I dropped him off later that morning, the air between us had shifted. It was polite, almost awkward.
"Last night was… nice," he said, offering a small smile.
"Yeah," I replied. "It was."
We both knew that was the end of it.
Campus felt louder than usual that day—laughter, chatter, footsteps echoing everywhere. I walked with Ella, but my mind was elsewhere. Always elsewhere.
"You're quiet," she said, studying me. "And don't say 'nothing' because it's clearly something."
I sighed. "I'm just tired."
That was partly true. I was tired of pretending I was okay. Tired of proving something to someone who probably wasn't even thinking about me the way I was thinking about him.
As if summoned by my thoughts, I saw Ethan.
He was standing near the library steps, laughing with a group of friends. He looked relaxed—fine. That hurts more than I expected. My steps slowed without my permission.
Ella noticed immediately. "Aria… don't."
"I'm not doing anything," I muttered.
But Ethan saw me.
Our eyes met, and the world narrowed to just us. He excused himself from his friends and walked over slowly, cautiously, like I might disappear if he moved too fast.
"Can we talk?" he asked quietly.
Every instinct screamed no.
Every feeling whispered yes.
"One minute," I said.
We stood there, the silence thick and heavy.
"I meant what I said yesterday," he began. "I messed up. I didn't realize how much I hurt you until you disappeared."
I crossed my arms, grounding myself. "You didn't lose me, Ethan. You mocked me with your friends "
He nodded. "I know. And I hate myself for it."
I searched his face for lies, for manipulation—but all I saw was honesty. That scared me.
"I'm not asking you to forgive me," he continued. "I just don't want to be someone you have to avoid."
I swallowed hard. "I'm trying to move on."
"Are you?" he asked gently.
That was the moment I understood something important.
Moving on wasn't about sleeping with someone else.
It wasn't about pretending I didn't care.
It was about choosing myself—even when it hurt.
"I don't know yet," I admitted. "But I need space. Real space. If there's any chance of us ever being okay, I need to heal without you hovering."
Ethan exhaled slowly. "Okay."
That single word felt heavier than any apology.
As I walked away, my heart ached—but for the first time, it wasn't breaking. It was adjusting. Learning.
I wasn't healed.
But I wasn't lost either.
And for now, that was enough.