Back to the Love We Left Behind

Chapter 2

Click.

Maren heard the lock snap shut, and her fingers clamped around the cup so tight the knuckles went bone-white.

What on earth was Callum doing with Nadia at this hour?

And he'd locked the door!

She stood outside, waiting and waiting, until the milk in her hand slowly turned stone-cold.

But Callum showed no sign of coming out.

For one fleeting heartbeat, she almost marched up and knocked. But in the end, she just turned away and retreated to her own room.

Maren knew, deep in her bones, that she had no right to ask.

In her room, she collapsed onto the bed, unlocked her phone, and opened her chat with Callum, scrolling up through the endless thread.

Seven years of messages, all from her. Never a single reply.

For years, she'd clung to a comforting lie: knowing Callum's temper, if he were truly angry, he'd never let her sit so peacefully in his contacts. That fragile hope was the very reason she'd stubbornly flown home, desperate to win him back. But now, an icy doubt crept in.

What if... what if Callum just didn't care anymore? What if he felt absolutely nothing? So, whether he deleted her, whether he replied—it all meant nothing to him?

The thought sliced through her chest like a blade. She moved to close the app, but then froze, eyes wide.

Maren: Cal, can we talk?

In her dazed trance, she'd accidentally sent him a message!

Staring at those few words, her first instinct was to unsend it. But her finger hovered, trembling. She hesitated, and in the end, she let it stay.

Yet by the next morning, that message had sunk without a trace, just like every other she'd sent over seven years. Nothing. No reply, no acknowledgment—just silence.

A staff member's voice called from the door, hurrying her along. Pushing down the ache in her chest, Maren forced herself to wash up and head downstairs.

*****

Today's challenge was beach volleyball.

All the guests had changed into athletic gear, gathered around as the director laid out the rules.

"We'll draw lots to form teams. The two with the highest score at the end will get a private date tonight."

Maren's eyes sparked with hope.

If she could be on a team with Callum and they won, they'd finally have a chance to be alone. Maybe then she could finally clear up all the misunderstandings between them.

As if fate had heard her silent plea, she and Callum were drawn together.

Nadia pouted, tugging at Callum's arm, her voice dripping with disappointment. "Callum, I'm not on your team. Does that mean I'll lose?"

But Callum just said, "You'll win."

A knot of unease tightened in Maren's stomach. Was that just a throwaway line, or...?

Before she could untangle her thoughts, it was their turn to step onto the sand. And as luck would have it, one of their opponents was an actual volleyball player, sending a wave of pressure crashing over Maren.

She stole a glance at Callum, trying to summon a memory to calm her nerves. "Cal, this feels just like our college days."

It was Valentine's Day, and they'd entered the school's couples' volleyball tournament. They'd been an unstoppable duo, tearing through the competition and snatching the prize.

Even with seven years gone, she still believed that spark of connection between them hadn't faded.

Callum shot her a sidelong look. "Is that so?"

Just two words, and her carefully constructed calm shattered into a million pieces.

In her bitterness, the referee's whistle shrieked. The volleyball came screaming across the net in an instant.

Maren snapped to attention, leaping up to spike it back.

A few quick exchanges followed, and the scoreboard beside the referee showed her team still comfortably ahead—but she was gasping, her arms like lead, barely able to hit the ball anymore!

Because since the match began, Callum had just stood there, cold and detached, watching without lifting a finger.

The opposing team spotted this weakness and ruthlessly exploited it, hammering the ball at Callum again and again. Still, he didn't move, leaving Maren to struggle alone, yet on the scoreboard, the gap between the two teams shrank with each passing moment.

Panic seized her. She couldn't bear to lose this chance—the only chance to be alone with Callum!

She watched another ball streaking toward him and lunged desperately to save it, but the sand beneath her foot gave way—

a sickening c***k echoed faintly in her ears, and then a searing, bone-deep pain exploded in her ankle.

She paid it no mind. Her eyes were locked on the referee's hand, flipping the score to 14!

13 to 14.

The lead had slipped away.

She had lost.