Laila’s POV
During the next break in our continued meetings, my feet carried me to the garden. I'd told myself I wouldn't go there again. That it was too dangerous, with too many memories waiting to ambush me around every corner.
But here I was anyway. Always circling back.
The roses were in full bloom. Pink and white, climbing the trellis exactly as they had six years ago. Someone had been taking care of them—pruning them, feeding them, making sure they thrived.
I wondered if Jason did it himself or if he'd assigned someone. Either option hurt.
The stone bench felt cool under my hand. I remembered Jason proposing we carve our initials here once. I'd laughed and told him that was too cliché, too obvious. Someone would see.
"Then let them see," he'd said. "I want everyone to know you'
