But Evin had taken that chance from him.
She had ended it herself. Slammed the door herself. Thrown down the final card before he could even get a full sentence out. She hadn’t asked for an explanation, hadn’t even given him the time for excuses or weak attempts to soften the blow.
And maybe that was the only fair thing about this.
Maybe she had every damn right to leave him standing there, without a second question, without a final glance.
His hand moved instinctively to his jacket pocket, fingers twitching toward his phone, as if a single message could undo this.
But it was too late. The message that sealed everything had already been sent.
Instead, he let his hand drop, only now realizing that there was nothing left to hold onto.
He had made his choice.
It was over.
With a resigned sigh, he let his phone slip onto the passenger seat and closed his eyes again, as if he could freeze this moment, hold onto it before reality crashed down on him.
For the longest time, he had believed she wanted him to transform.
Loving her seemed to mean becoming someone else—better, cleaner, more deserving.
But maybe… that was never the truth.
Maybe it had always been about him.
The boy who was told all his life that he was already the ideal. The example others should admire.
And for a while, he believed it.
He built himself around that image—untouchable, controlled, always one step ahead.
But the moment she looked at him—not like a project, not like a prize, but like a person—it started to crack.
Not because she asked for more.
But because she didn’t.
And that was the scariest part.
She didn’t try to change him. She saw the mess and stayed.
And somehow, that made him feel more exposed than any demand ever could.
He had mistaken her silence for judgment.
Her patience for disappointment.
Her love for pressure.
But it wasn’t her.
It was him.
The battle he had been fighting with himself.
The fear that if someone really saw him—as he was, behind all the noise—they’d realize he wasn’t enough.
