Iva’s P.O.V.
Two Weeks Later
Every day for the past fourteen days, Will has tried to win me back as his life depends on it. And maybe, in a way, it does.
The first morning of the second week, I woke up to the scent of roses, dozens of bouquets waiting outside my door, each one with a note tucked inside:
“Sorry.”
“Forgive me.”
“I miss you, Professor.”
I read every one of them with tears in my eyes, my heart heavy.
And one night, I heard a rustling sound by my window. I opened it and found Will standing on the ledge like some stubborn i***t, holding a bunch of glowing balloons, all printed with the same word: SORRY.
My heart melted.
And yet… I shut the window.
Because no matter how many grand gestures he makes, no matter how many sweet memories haunt me in the quiet moments, we a
