9.SAY IT WITHOUT SAYING IT
1730 Words
The morning after their almost-moment hangs thick in the house, like the air after lightning charged but pretending to be harmless.
Maya wakes before the sun, sheets twisted around her legs, her body humming with memories she isn’t supposed to have. Ethan’s voice in the dark. His breath near her ear. The way he looked at her like he was already breaking a rule just by wanting to touch her.
She presses her palm to her chest.
You’re imagining it. He doesn’t want you.
But that lie doesn’t hold up not after the way he pulled back last night like he was afraid of himself.
Downstairs, the mansion is quiet. Too quiet.
She finds him in the kitchen, already dressed, already distant. His sleeves rolled up, hair still damp from the shower, posture tight enough to crack.
He doesn’t look up when she enters.
That’s how she knows he’s trying to keep control.
“Morning,” she whispers.
“Morning.”
Still no eye contact.
She steps closer. “About last night—”
“Don’t.” His tone is sharp, but not angry. More like begging.
She frowns. “You can’t pretend nothing happened.”
He sets his glass down with too much care like he’s worried it will shatter if he looks at her.
“Nothing happened, Maya.”
“You looked at me like”
“Stop.”
This time the word cracks.
He’s scared. She’s never seen him scared.
She softens. “Ethan”
He finally lifts his gaze. And God… it’s a mistake. The look he gives her is raw, undone, painfully human.
She swallows. “I didn’t imagine it.”
“You didn’t,” he murmurs. “And that’s the problem.”
A silence stretches, tight, buzzing, each breath heavy with everything they won’t say.
Maya steps closer, her voice barely steady. “Why is it a problem that you want me?”
Something shifts in him like she hit a nerve too deep.
“Maya,” he warns.
“You keep pulling away, but you’re the one who keeps getting close.”
She takes another step, chest brushing his arm.
“You say you’re protecting me. But from what yourself?”
He doesn’t breathe for a full second.
Then he turns away.
She follows.
“I’m not a child,” she whispers.
He stops. Shoulders stiff, jaw clenched. “I know that.”
“Then stop treating me like I can’t handle the truth.”
He faces her slowly. “The truth is messy.”
“So am I.”
He stares at her really stares like he’s memorizing the edges of her before he destroys the distance between them.
He takes one step toward her.
She feels the heat of him, the weight of his restraint shaking in the air.
“Maya…” His voice is barely a breath. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Then explain it to me.”
His eyes fall to her mouth. Just for a second. Just long enough.
She’s trembling.
And so is he.
“I can’t want you,” he finally says, voice breaking on the word can’t.
“It’s wrong. I’m older. I was your father’s”
“Don’t hide behind him,” she cuts in, soft but sharp.
“He’s gone. And you’re still here.”
Something inside him fractures.
She sees it.
Feels it.
He steps back like she burned him.
“I need space,” he says, but it comes out strangled.
“No, you need honesty.”
“Maya”
“You want me.”
Not a question.
A truth.
He closes his eyes like the admission hurts more than anything else in his life.
She moves closer, her voice low, steady, braver than she feels.
“Say it without saying it.”
His eyes flick open dark, conflicted, wild.
She can see the war happening inside him. Control versus want. Duty versus desire.
For one suspended moment, she thinks he’ll give in.
But he turns away instead, hand gripping the counter like he needs the marble to stay upright.
“Breakfast is on the stove,” he says quietly.
Like a coward.
Like a man protecting himself from the thing he wants most.
She steps behind him, not touching, but close enough he can feel her breath along his spine.
“You’re not the only one struggling, Ethan.”
He shudders.
She leaves him there breathing hard, knuckles white, pretending he’s still the one in control.
As she walks away, she hears him whisper something under his breath.
Too soft to catch.
Too soft to deny it was her name.
Maya doesn’t stop walking until she reaches the hallway.
Only then does she let herself breathe.
Her fingers curl around the banister, knuckles pale. Her body is humming anger, confusion, desire all tangled into one unbearable knot. She hates that she wants him. Hates that he wants her but won’t let himself show it.
But most of all, she hates that she heard her name fall from his lips like a secret prayer.
Upstairs, her room feels too cold. Too neat. Too far away from him.
She sinks onto the edge of the bed, pulling her knees toward her chest.
Her chest aches in a way she can’t explain like she wants to cry and scream and laugh all at once.
You’re getting under his skin.
And he’s terrified.
A soft knock breaks through her thoughts.
She sits up fast.
For a moment, she thinks hopes it’s him.
But the door doesn’t open.
He’s standing on the other side. She can feel it. Feel his hesitation through the wood.
Her breath catches, her pulse leaping into her throat.
She whispers, “Ethan…?”
Silence.
Then a quiet exhale ragged and exhausted.
“Maya,” he says, voice muffled, but full of something he’s been holding back for days. Maybe weeks. “I’m… I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
She rises slowly, walking toward the door but stopping before she touches it.
“I wasn’t trying to push you,” she says softly.
“Yes, you were.”
The words aren’t accusing.
If anything… he sounds relieved.
Because someone is finally confronting the feelings he’s been trying to bury alive.
She leans her forehead against the door. “Because you won’t talk to me.”
“You don’t want the truth.”
His voice is low, rough.
Dangerous.
“Yes,” she breathes. “I do.”
On the other side, she hears him shift like he’s bracing himself against the wall, trying to keep from reaching for her.
Trying to keep from opening the door.
“Maya… last night was a mistake.”
Her eyes sting. “You don’t mean that.”
A pause.
“No,” he admits, voice barely audible. “I don’t.”
Her heart slams against her ribs. She presses her palm to the door, wishing it were his chest.
“Then why do you keep running from me?”
Another silence.
Heavy.
Loaded.
“I’m trying to protect you,” he finally says.
“From what?” she whispers. “From you?”
“Yes.”
The word lands between them like thunder.
He’s finally admitting it.
She closes her eyes. “Ethan… I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be.”
The way he says it—quiet, torn, almost pleading—makes her shiver.
Not from fear.
From understanding.
He’s not scared of hurting her.
He’s scared of wanting her too much.
Maya turns the doorknob slowly.
It’s unlocked.
Of course it is.
But she doesn’t open it. Not yet.
If she opens it… everything changes.
Instead she asks, “What are you so afraid of?”
His breath comes out uneven.
“Maya… if I cross that line, I won’t be able to step back.”
Her pulse pounds in her ears.
“Maybe I don’t want you to.”
“Maya.” His voice drops—deep and strained. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make me want what I shouldn’t.”
She finally cracks the door open—only an inch.
Light spills into the hallway.
He’s standing there.
One hand braced on the wall, chest rising and falling too fast, like he’s been holding himself together by sheer force. His eyes meet hers—dark, tormented, hungry in a way he’s trying and failing to hide.
Her voice trembles. “Ethan… look at me.”
He does.
And her breath catches.
That look the one he swore meant nothing hits her again.
Raw.
Unfiltered.
Dangerous.
She opens the door wider.
Not enough for him to touch her.
Just enough to let him see her fully.
“Say it without saying it,” she whispers again.
His jaw tightens. His throat works.
She watches his hand curl and uncurl at his side like he’s fighting every instinct he has.
“Maya…”
Her name leaves his mouth like a confession.
He takes one step closer to the doorway—just one—and stops himself as if stepping any further would undo him completely.
“I can’t,” he says.
But his eyes tell the truth he won’t voice.
She steps closer.
Then closer.
They’re inches apart.
The tension snaps tight between them, a live wire stretched to breaking.
Maya whispers, “You already did.”
His breath shudders.
His self-control hangs by a thread.
And for a heartbeat—a dangerous, suspended heartbeat—she truly believes he’s going to kiss her.
But instead, he whispers—
“Maya… please. Don’t make this harder.”
Her heart twists. Not with rejection.
With something deeper.
Because for the first time…
she hears the desperation beneath his restraint.
She steps back—not because she wants to.
But because she understands that if she doesn’t, he’ll break.
And he’s not ready to break.
Not yet.
“Goodnight, Ethan,” she whispers.
He closes his eyes like the words wound him.
“Goodnight, Maya.”
She closes the door gently.
On the other side, she hears him lean against it—finally letting out the breath he’s been holding.
She slides down her side of the door too, heart pounding, breath shaking.
Two broken people.
Two sides of a barrier.
Both wanting the same thing.
Both terrified to reach for it.
- Writer
