Chapter Eight: The Line He Doesn’t See
265 Words
Luca
He told himself it was just a drive.
Just a night drive he’d always loved those. The hum of the road, the way the world felt slower after midnight.
But somehow, every turn led him closer to Amy.
He didn’t plan it. Or maybe he did. Somewhere deep down where truth and denial blurred together.
Her apartment complex looked smaller than he remembered. One light on her light. He parked two streets over, far enough not to be noticed. His chest felt tight, but not in a bad way. More like relief.
Amy was there.
Still real.
Still his favorite thing in the world that didn’t belong to him anymore.
He watched for a few minutes or an hour, maybe time had stopped mattering months ago. He saw her pacing while on the phone, laughing at something, barefoot in a t-shirt. Ordinary things. Beautiful things.
He wasn’t supposed to be there, and he knew it.
But it felt… safe. Familiar. Like being near her meant he could breathe again.
He wasn’t dangerous — not to Amy, not in his mind. He was devoted.
He’d tell himself that over and over until it sounded true.
When she disappeared from the window, he stayed.
Just in case she came back.
Just in case she needed him and didn’t know it.
And when Amy finally turned off the light, he whispered to the dark, “Goodnight.”
Then he drove home, heart pounding, telling himself that was the last time.
But he knew it wasn’t.
Because some habits feel too much like love to ever really quit.
- Writer
