Sara Ikari Rodriguez
I did not plan to go to his room.
I did not even plan to speak to him.
But after the press meet — after smiling beside him like we were the definition of forever while he barely looked at me — I couldn’t
sleep. I could not think.
I just kept remembering the night before.
The way he touched me.
The way he kissed me.
And the way he pulled away like I was something he regretted the second it was over.
I could not live with the silence anymore.
So I walked to his room, barefoot, heartbeat in my throat, and pushed the door open.
He was sitting by the window, sleeves rolled up, glass of water untouched in his hand.
He did not look surprised when he saw me.
He just stared.
Blank. Cold.
Like he’d expected this moment. Like he was bracing for it.
“Say something
