I left him to grieve a love that never stopped existing.
We stand there, the silence thick and stretching, charged with everything unsaid.
Finally, I gesture toward him, smiling even though my chest is tight.
“The costume is perfect. You look exactly like I imagined Anlon would.”
Hislips twitch, but it’s not quite a smile.
“Yeah… they had to put in some extensions. Hoping the hair will grow out more by film two.”
It’s awkward. Too formal. And I hate it.
I hate that I did this. That we feel like strangers fumbling to remember how to be us.
But I’m here. He’s here, and I’m sure we can fix this.
“I came to see you,” I say quietly.
He doesn’t move. “I see that.”
It’s not exactly welcoming. And even though it stings, I get it. I can still hear his voice, raw and cracked, that day I left.Stay. Please.
And I didn’t.
He glances at the clock on the wall and then gestures vaguely toward the door. “Do you want to see the set? Some of the actors are still around. It’s getting late, but?—”
“I don’t care about the set.”
That gets his attention. His brow lifts slightly, and his eyes narrow in confusion.
“That’s not why I’m here,” I add, firmer now.
He leans back against the side of the trailer, arms crossed loosely. I wish he’d come to me. Take the three steps it would take to pull me into his arms and say it’s all okay.
But he doesn’t.
“Then why are you here, Fangirl?”
The nickname softens something in me. Just enough to speak.
“You pickedEverything That Follows.”
He nods once. “I did. You were right,” he says simply. “I kept choosing based on what I thought I should want. Not what Iactuallydo want. And that’s… not working for me anymore.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. I’m proud of him. So damn proud.
But now, the question lodges in my chest like a splinter:
Where does that leave us? Was I something he wanted or just another thing he thought he should?
“I’ve been working on myself too,” I offer, even though he hasn’t asked. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe I have to say it anyway. “I know that running was wrong. It wasn’t fair to you. And it wasn’t even fair to me.”
My throat burns with unshed tears, the silence between us heavier than ever, a quiet rejection I didn’t prepare for.
I stand, my heart thudding, knowing I’m only minutes away from falling apart—and I don’t want to do that here. Not like this. Not if he doesn’t want me.
I place the manuscript on the table like it weighs more than paper and ink.
