Chapter 11:Reality Check
549 Words
It happened later that afternoon, right after clean-up.
The others had run off to play volleyball on the sand court near the hill. Laughter echoed across the resort like ghosts from a life I wasn’t part of. But I didn’t care.
Because he was still here.
Evren was helping return the cooking supplies to the small storage hut beside the kitchen. I followed him inside, pretending I needed something—anything. A missing lid. A spoon.
The room was small. No windows. Only a dusty skylight and the hum of a ceiling fan.
He was crouched by the lower shelf, rearranging stacks of bowls. The line of his back curved under his shirt, the thin fabric clinging faintly to the heat of his skin.
I shut the door behind me softly.
He looked up.
“…You need something?”
His voice was calm. But guarded.
I stepped forward, just enough to close the space a little more. “Yeah,” I said, voice light, playful. “Wanted to say thanks. For earlier.”
He didn’t answer right away.
I knelt beside him, close enough to feel the warmth between our arms. Close enough that if I shifted just slightly, I could press my shoulder against his.
“You’ve been so helpful today,” I added, resting my fingers on the edge of the shelf. “It’s… sweet.”
His gaze flicked to my hand. Then to my face.
“You’re acting weird,” he muttered.
I tilted my head. “Weird how?”
“You know how,” he said.
There it was.
The edge.
I could taste it.
I leaned closer, voice soft. “I just like talking to you, Evren. That’s not weird, is it?”
He stood up.
Fast. Like I burned him.
I followed, slower.
“Evren…”
He didn’t look at me when he said, “I think you should go.”
My smile faltered.
“…Why?”
He picked up the stack of bowls and turned his back to me. “I don’t want to be part of… whatever you’re doing.”
The silence after that was like a slap. Clean. Loud. Hollow.
I watched him place the bowls on the shelf. Calm. Too calm. Like if he just kept moving, he could pretend I wasn’t there.
But I was. I was.
I stepped forward again, just one step.
“You kissed me back.”
He flinched.
But didn’t turn.
“That was a dare,” he muttered. “It didn’t mean anything.”
It did to me.
No. Worse. It meant something to him, and that’s why he was doing this.
He felt it.
I could see it in the way his shoulders locked up when I got too close. The way he stopped breathing for half a second when I whispered his name.
But he was running.
And I—
I wanted to scream. Cry. Tear something open.
But I didn’t.
I smiled again. Even though it felt like poison in my mouth.
“Okay,” I said softly. “I’ll go.”
I turned and walked out without slamming the door, without one last glance.
But inside?
Something split open.
And I swore—he would come back to me.
They always do.
Especially the ones who run.
- Writer
