The problem with almost-confessions was that they never really disappeared.
They lingered.
In every glance.
Every conversation.
Every silence.
Ava spent the next three days thinking about the rooftop.
About the way Noah had said her name.
About the look in his eyes.
About the sentence he never finished.
The unfinished words haunted her more than an actual confession would have.
Because her imagination kept filling in the blanks.
And every possibility was dangerous.
I like you.
I love you.
I can't do this anymore.
The truth was she didn't know which one terrified her most.
The weather grew hotter as July settled over Maple Street.
The days stretched endlessly.
Golden sunlight filled every corner of the house.
The air smelled of freshly cut grass and summer flowers.
Every
