Too Young To Love Me?

Scott

~Melon POV~

Leaving the building, I felt my chest loosen slightly, as though I had been holding my breath for far too long and had finally allowed myself to exhale.

I hoped this was it.

I hoped I had taken the right step.

All I wanted now was peace of mind. Real peace. The kind that didn’t disappear the moment Richard showed his face or opened his mouth.

I stepped to the roadside and raised my hand slightly, scanning the street for a cab. My other hand moved instinctively to my stomach, resting there protectively.

“I promise,” I whispered under my breath. “I’ll do better for you.”

Cars passed. One after another. Some slowed, some sped by, none stopping.

Minutes stretched into what felt like an hour.

My feet began to ache. The sun climbed higher, warming my skin, but I felt oddly cold. Every passing second made my nerves tighter. I checked the time on my phone again.

Too much time.

I shifted my weight, glancing up and down the street, suddenly aware of how exposed I was standing there alone. The city noises blurred together—engines, footsteps, distant voices—until they all felt overwhelming.

Still no cab.

I exhaled slowly, fighting the urge to panic. I had handled worse than this. I could handle this.

Another car approached. Dark. Sleek.

I barely glanced at it, already assuming it would pass like the rest.

But it slowed.

Then stopped.

I frowned, taking a step back out of instinct.

The driver’s door opened.

And my heart nearly stopped.

Scott.

For a moment, I thought my exhaustion was playing tricks on me. That my mind had conjured him because I had been thinking too much, feeling too much.

But then he looked up.

Our eyes met.

The world seemed to pause.

He looked… different. Calmer than earlier, but heavier too. Like someone carrying a weight he hadn’t put down yet.

“Melon,” he said softly, stepping closer.

I swallowed. “Scott…”

Silence fell between us, thick and fragile.

“I was driving by,” he said after a moment, as if trying to convince himself as much as me. “I saw you standing here.”

A coincidence.

Nothing more. All the words came to me. How I had treated him and practically chased him from the hospital.

“That’s… okay,” I replied quickly. Too quickly. “I was just trying to get a cab.”

His gaze flicked briefly to my hand resting on my stomach, then back to my face. His jaw tightened not in anger, but restraint.

“They’re scarce around here at this hour,” he said. “Let me take you home.”

The word home hit harder than it should have.

“I don’t want to inconvenience you,” I said, even though part of me already knew I would accept.

“You’re not,” he replied firmly. “Please.”

I hesitated.

This was exactly the kind of moment I had been trying to avoid. The kind where it would be easy to fall back into him. Easy to forget why I had pushed him away in the first place.

But my legs were tired. My heart was tired. And I needed to get home safely.

“Alright,” I said quietly.

He opened the passenger door for me, careful, attentive, the same way he had always been. I slid into the seat, my movements slow.

As he drove off, neither of us spoke.

But the silence between us wasn’t empty.

It was waiting. I badly wanted to apologize for how I had treated him.

I treated so much... just as I was about to speak, his phone rang

.