Almost Yours

Elara Quinn hadn’t planned on seeing Rowan Hale again not like this, not standing three feet away from him with fluorescent lights buzzing overhead and her pulse suddenly forgetting how to behave. She froze just inside the doorway, fingers still curled around the strap of her bag, as if letting go would send her drifting backward. The room smelled like paper and old coffee. Someone laughed near the window. Chairs scraped against the floor. Rowan stood near the long table, sleeves rolled to his forearms, dark hair slightly longer than she remembered. He looked up mid-sentence, already halfway through a smile meant for someone else, and then the smile vanished. Not dramatically. Not in shock. Just… gone. Like it had never existed. For a second, neither of them moved. Elara felt the moment lodge itself inside her chest, heavy and sudden. She hadn’t prepared for this part the way seeing him again would feel like stepping into a room she’d once lived in, only to realize someone else had rearranged the furniture. “Hi,” she said, because silence felt dangerous. “Hi,” Rowan replied. His voice was the same. Calm. Controlled. It slid into her ears and settled somewhere deeper than it had any right to. Someone cleared their throat behind her. “Elara, you can take the empty seat.” She nodded, suddenly aware of how visible she felt, and crossed the room. As she passed Rowan, she caught the faint scent of his cologne clean, familiar and her chest tightened in a way she hated herself for. She took the seat diagonally across from him. That was worse. She tried to focus on the meeting project timelines, shared responsibilities, things that mattered to everyone except her heart but her attention kept drifting. Every time Rowan spoke, her name felt close to forming in her mouth, like a reflex she hadn’t trained herself out of yet. He didn’t look at her. Not once. Not when she spoke. Not when she laughed quietly at someone’s joke. Not even when the meeting ended and chairs began to scrape back again, people gathering their things. It was deliberate. She felt it in her bones. She told herself it didn’t matter. That she’d known this might happen. That time changed people. Still, when she stood, her hands were shaking. “Elara.” She turned before she could stop herself. Rowan was standing now, closer than before. Too close. The room had mostly emptied, leaving them in a bubble of quiet noise and distant movement. “Yes?” she said, hoping her voice sounded steadier than she felt. “We need to talk,” he said. Her heart jumped, traitorous and eager. “Okay.” “Not here,” he added quickly. “Later.” The word later hung between them, full of possibilities she knew better than to trust. “Sure,” she said anyway. He hesitated, like there was something else he wanted to say. His jaw tightened. Then he nodded once and walked away. Elara stood there for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the space he’d left behind. Almost, she thought. That word followed her all the way home. She tried not to think about him that night. She really did. She cooked pasta she barely tasted, folded laundry she didn’t remember wearing, stared at her phone without checking it. When she finally gave in and lay on her bed, the ceiling felt too close, the room too quiet. Rowan had always had that effect on her making everything else fade until only the space between them mattered. She told herself she was over it. That time had dulled the edges. That she’d grown. But when her phone buzzed just after ten, her heart leapt like it had been waiting all day. Rowan: Are you free to talk? She stared at the message, her thumb hovering. Elara: Yes. The reply came almost instantly. Rowan: Can I come by? Her breath caught. Elara: Okay. She didn’t have time to overthink it before there was a knock at her door. Rowan stood on the other side, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. He looked tired up close, lines at the corners of his eyes she didn’t remember earning permission to trace. “Hi,” she said again. “Hi.” She stepped aside to let him in. He moved carefully, like someone entering a space that wasn’t theirs anymore. They stood in her living room, the silence stretching. “So,” she said finally, trying for lightness. “You wanted to talk.” “Yes.” He didn’t elaborate. Elara crossed her arms, more to ground herself than to block him out. “You could start by telling me why you ignored me for an entire meeting.” “I didn’t ignore you.” “You didn’t look at me.” “That’s not the same thing.” She let out a soft, humorless laugh. “You always did that. Made it sound reasonable.” His gaze flickered to her face, sharp and brief, like contact burned. “I didn’t come here to argue.” “Then why did you come?” she asked quietly. Rowan exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Because this situation… it needs clarity.” Her heart sank a little. “Clarity about what?” “About us.” The word us hit her harder than she expected. “There is no us,” she said, more defensively than she meant to. “I know,” he replied. Too quickly. Too easily. That hurt more than she wanted to admit. “Then say what you came to say,” she said. Rowan studied her for a moment, his eyes searching her face like he was bracing for impact. “Seeing you again it complicates things.” Her chest tightened. “It complicates things for who?” “For both of us.” She shook her head. “You don’t get to decide that for me.” “I’m not trying to.” “Then what are you doing?” Her voice cracked on the last word, betraying her. Rowan’s jaw clenched. “I’m trying to make sure you don’t misunderstand anything.” Something cold slid into her stomach. “Misunderstand what?” He held her gaze now, fully, and for a split second she saw it something raw beneath the control. Fear, maybe. Or regret. “Whatever you’re hoping for,” he said slowly, carefully, “it’s not going to happen.” The words landed like a slap. Elara felt them echo through her, sharp and disorienting. “I didn’t say I was hoping for anything.” “You didn’t have to.” “That’s unfair.” “I know,” he said quietly. Her throat burned. “Then why say it?” “Because I need you to hear it.” She swallowed. “Hear what, exactly?” “That I can’t give you anything more than this,” he said, gesturing vaguely between them. “Conversation. Professional distance. Nothing else.” She stared at him, her chest aching. “You don’t even know what I want.” “I do,” he said softly. That hurt worst of all. Silence filled the room again, thick and heavy. Elara looked away first. She focused on the edge of the couch, the faint scuff on the floor, anything but his face. “You didn’t have to come here just to reject me.” “I didn’t come to reject you.” She laughed, bitter. “You’re doing a great job of it anyway.” Rowan stepped closer, then stopped himself, like crossing an invisible line would cost him something he couldn’t afford to lose. “I came because I respect you,” he said. “And because pretending nothing’s changed would be dishonest.” Her eyes burned. “Something has changed. You’re here.” He flinched, just barely. “That’s a mistake,” he said. The word sank deep. Elara lifted her head, meeting his gaze again. “Then why are you still standing in my living room?” Rowan opened his mouth, then closed it. His shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of something unseen pressing down on him. “Because,” he said finally, “part of me wanted to see if it still felt the same.” Her heart skipped despite herself. “And does it?” “Yes,” he said without hesitation. Hope surged, bright and reckless. Then he crushed it. “And that’s exactly why this can’t happen.” The silence that followed was devastating. Elara felt something inside her shift something fragile cracking under the weight of restraint. “You don’t get to come here, tell me you feel it too, and then walk away like that.” “I do,” he said, voice firm now. “I have to.” “Why?” she demanded. He looked at her like the answer lived somewhere he refused to visit. “Because,” Rowan said quietly, “whatever you’re hoping for it’s not going to happen.” The words settled between them, final and unyielding. Elara nodded slowly, even as her chest ached. “Okay.” He blinked, surprised. “Okay?” “Yes,” she said, forcing the word out. “You’ve made yourself clear.” She walked past him to the door and opened it. Rowan hesitated, then stepped outside. He paused on the threshold, his hand brushing the doorframe like he might change his mind. He didn’t. As the door closed behind him, Elara leaned against it, her breath shaking. Almost, she thought again. Almost hurts the most.