When we were almost forever

Chapter 10 – Between Truth and Trouble

I didn’t go home right after the fundraiser.

I couldn’t.

Because if I did, I’d be alone with everything Ethan had just stirred awake inside me.

And I wasn’t ready for that level of honesty yet.

Instead, I walked.

Past the estate hall.

Past the quiet streets.

Past everything that felt like it had suddenly become too aware of me.

The night air was cool against my skin, but it did nothing to calm the storm in my chest.

One dance.

That’s all it was supposed to be.

But nothing about Ethan Carter had ever stayed small.

My phone buzzed in my hand.

Zara.

Of course.

Zara: So. Did you survive or did you emotionally combust?

I almost smiled.

Almost.

Me: Both.

Three dots appeared immediately.

Zara: ELABORATE.

I stared at the screen while walking, trying to find words that didn’t feel too revealing.

But everything felt revealing now.

That was the problem.

Me: We danced.

The reply came instantly.

Zara: AND?????

I sighed out loud.

People passing by gave me strange looks.

I didn’t care.

Me: And it felt like nothing changed… and everything did.

That was the most honest I could be without falling apart in public.

Zara didn’t reply for a moment.

Then—

Zara: Girl. That is not a normal sentence.

I locked my phone and slipped it into my pocket.

Because she was right.

Nothing about me was normal anymore.

---

By the time I got home, the house was dark.

Quiet.

Still.

I stood in the living room for a moment, not switching on the lights.

Just listening to my own breathing.

The memory of Ethan’s hand at my waist still lingered like heat that refused to fade.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” I whispered into the empty room.

But the room didn’t argue.

It never did.

And that was the worst part.

Because silence never stopped me.

It only reflected me back to myself.

I finally turned on a small lamp and dropped my bag onto the couch.

The light felt too soft for how loud my thoughts were.

My phone buzzed again.

This time—

unknown number.

I frowned.

Opened it.

Ethan: You got home?

My chest tightened slightly.

Of course he had my number.

Of course he would check.

Of course he would care.

I should not have liked that as much as I did.

I typed slowly.

Me: Yes.

Then stopped.

Deleted it.

Typed again.

Me: I’m home.

Better.

Safer.

Three dots appeared immediately.

Too immediately.

Ethan: Good.

Just that.

One word.

But it stayed on my screen longer than it should have.

I set the phone down and pressed my palm against my forehead.

This was becoming a problem.

A very predictable, very dangerous problem.

---

The next day was worse.

Not because anything dramatic happened.

But because nothing did.

And Ethan Carter not doing anything felt suspicious.

Like silence before a storm you can’t see yet.

I spent the morning at the property office, trying to focus on documents I didn’t care about.

Words blurred together.

Numbers stopped making sense.

And every time I blinked, I saw him.

Standing across the room.

Watching me like I wasn’t just someone from his past—

but someone still part of his present.

“You’re distracted again.”

I looked up sharply.

My assistant, Nora, was watching me with mild concern.

“I’m fine.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“That’s what people say right before they make mistakes.”

I sighed.

“Is everyone in this town suddenly a therapist?”

“Only when you look like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like your mind is somewhere else entirely.”

I didn’t answer.

Because she was right.

Again.

Frustratingly.

---

By late afternoon, I needed air.

Real air.

Not office air.

Not memory air.

Actual space.

I ended up at the lake.

Of course I did.

Because apparently my body had decided emotional self-sabotage was the new hobby.

The water was calm.

Still.

Like it remembered nothing.

Unlike me.

I stood at the edge for a long time, hands tucked into my jacket pockets.

Trying not to think.

Failing completely.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

I closed my eyes briefly.

Of course.

Of course he would.

I didn’t turn immediately.

Because I needed a second to breathe.

Then I did.

Ethan was walking toward me slowly, hands in his pockets, expression calm but careful.

Like he wasn’t sure what version of me he was going to find.

“Do you just follow me now?” I asked.

He stopped a few steps away.

“Not exactly.”

“That sounds like a lie.”

“It’s not.”

I gave him a look.

He almost smiled.

Almost.

“I just… had a feeling,” he added.

“About what?”

“That you’d come here when things got too loud in your head.”

That stopped me.

Because it was too accurate.

I looked away.

“Don’t act like you know me that well.”

“I did once.”

Silence.

The wind moved lightly across the water.

I hated how peaceful it looked.

“How did you know I’d be here?” I asked quietly.

He shrugged slightly.

“You always come back to places that matter.”

I turned to him again.

“That sounds like you think this place matters to me.”

“I think you matter here,” he corrected softly.

That landed deeper than I wanted it to.

I swallowed.

“This is exactly what I meant by complicated.”

He stepped a little closer, not invading, just closing distance carefully.

“Amara.”

My name from him always sounded different.

Softer.

More dangerous.

“I’m not asking you for anything,” he said.

“That’s not true.”

His brow furrowed slightly.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

A pause.

Then—

“I’m asking you to stop pretending you feel nothing.”

That made my chest tighten.

Because I didn’t feel nothing.

That was the problem.

I felt too much.

I exhaled slowly.

“This can’t keep going like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like we’re standing on the edge of something we both know we shouldn’t step into.”

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then quietly—

“What if we already did?”

That question sat between us like a truth neither of us wanted to touch.

My voice came out softer.

“We’re not the same people anymore.”

“No,” he said. “We’re not.”

A pause.

“But I think we still recognize each other.”

I hated how true that was.

Because I did.

Even now.

Even after everything.

He moved slightly closer again, just enough that I had to look up at him.

Not enough to overwhelm.

Just enough to matter.

“I’m not asking you to decide anything right now,” he said quietly.

I let out a small, humorless laugh.

“That’s the problem. You never ask directly.”

“I’m asking you to be honest with yourself.”

That was worse.

Because honesty was harder when it came from him.

I looked away again, staring at the water.

“I don’t know what I want.”

A pause.

Then softer—

“That’s not true.”

I closed my eyes.

Of course he would say that.

Of course he would see through it.

I opened them again.

“You’re making this harder.”

“No,” he said gently. “I’m just not letting you run from it anymore.”

That made something in me shift.

Not loudly.

But permanently.

Because no one had ever said that to me before.

Not like that.

Not without anger.

Not without pressure.

Just… truth.

I turned slightly toward him again.

And for the first time, I didn’t step back immediately.

The lake behind us stayed still.

The world stayed quiet.

And Ethan Carter stood close enough for me to realize something I had been avoiding for far too long.

Running wasn’t working anymore.

And standing still…

was starting to feel like the beginning of something I couldn’t control.