Aaron
I pace back and forth in my room, my mind a jumbled mess of thoughts that refuse to settle. The evening feels like a blur, and yet the moment it all went wrong—when I saw Meghan agree to dinner with Zion—keeps replaying in my head like an endless loop.
It doesn’t make sense. None of it does.
I can still hear the way Meghan’s voice sounded when she spoke to Zion. Her words—steady, confident, a little too composed for my liking—rattle around in my skull. “Dinner, Tuesday night. Sounds good.”
She hadn’t even hesitated. Not for a second.
The vision of her face as she looked at me—me, standing there like a fool, helplessly watching her walk away—stabs at me with an intensity I didn’t know I could still feel. It wasn’t just the coldness in her eyes, or the way she refused to break her
