Crush Me Softly

11: What We Were

Roman didn’t come to school again.

Not Monday. Not Tuesday.

By Wednesday, the rumors were worse than ever.

Margo was on a warpath, calling Roman unstable, calling me desperate. People whispered when I walked past. Some stared with pity. Some with judgment. Most just looked hungry for gossip.

But Roman was a ghost.

And I was unraveling.

Every message I sent was left on read. No response. No explanation. Just digital silence where there used to be teasing texts and quiet warmth.

I walked into Chemistry alone, scanning the room like a fool. His seat was still empty.

Mr. Vega handed me the worksheet. “You’re working solo today.”

That hit harder than I expected.

I stared at Roman’s name etched into our lab table and fought the sting behind my eyes.

What were we now?

Back home, I sat on my bed, the same spot where I had once clutched my phone, smiling like an i***t at his texts. Now, I stared at our last conversation. That night. The kiss.

And the silence since.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then typed.

[I meant what I said. Please talk to me.]

Send.

This time, I didn’t wait for the dots.

I grabbed my jacket, shoved my phone in my pocket, and left.

———-

Roman’s house was dark again.

I stood on his porch, heart hammering in my ears, rehearsing what I’d say if he opened the door. Something calm. Mature. Brave.

I knocked once. No answer.

Then I heard it.

Laughter. Inside.

Not his.

A girl’s.

Something inside me twisted—sharp and sour.

I circled around to the back, like I had that night we kissed. The back door wasn’t fully shut. Just enough to hear a voice.

“You still keep all this moody horror crap around?” the girl teased.

Roman laughed softly. “Some things don’t change.”

I froze.

I could see them through the crack of the door. Roman and some girl I didn’t recognize. Tall. Pretty. Confident. She was leaning against the kitchen counter, holding a mug like she belonged there.

And Roman didn’t look like he minded.

He didn’t see me.

I backed away before I could watch her reach for him, or worse—before he reached back.

The cold air slapped me as I stumbled down the porch steps, my vision swimming.

I didn’t even realize I was crying until I hit the sidewalk.

This was stupid. All of it. We weren’t real. It was always fake. Always messy. Always fragile.

“Kira—wait!”

His voice cut through the night.

I turned. Roman was at the top of the stairs now, breathless, hoodie half-zipped like he ran after me without thinking.

I wiped my face quickly. “Don’t. It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” He jogged down toward me. “You saw Olivia.”

I blinked. “So she has a name.”

“She’s my cousin.”

I stopped walking.

“What?”

He stepped closer, but not too close. “Olivia. My aunt’s daughter. She’s visiting for the week.”

I searched his face for any hint of a lie. There wasn’t one. Just frustration. And hurt. And something else—something more careful.

“I didn’t kiss her. I didn’t flirt with her. I didn’t do anything but offer her coffee and complain about school.”

I let out a shaky breath. “I thought… after everything, maybe you just ghosted because you regretted it.”

He shook his head. “I ghosted because I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of feeling something real.” His voice broke a little. “And of messing it up.”

I looked down. “I came to apologize. For what Jake said. For the way I froze. You didn’t deserve that.”

He stepped forward, slowly, giving me time to stop him. I didn’t.

“I don’t care what you said about me before,” he murmured. “I care what you say now.”

“I want to be around you,” I whispered. “Even if it’s confusing. Even if we’re a mess.”

He smiled. “We are a mess.”

Then he reached for my hand.

And I let him.

Roman still had my hand when we reached the porch again.

I wasn’t sure why I followed him back in—maybe because I wanted to believe him. Maybe because the heat of his palm anchored me in a way I didn’t want to admit yet.

When the door swung open, Olivia was there, arms crossed, her perfectly shaped brow already arched.

Her eyes flicked down to our joined hands.

“Oh,” she said, smirking. “So this is the girl.”

Roman let out a breath. “Liv, this is Kira. Kira, my cousin, Olivia.”

“Cousin,” I repeated, still not convinced, even though they did look a little alike now that I was paying attention—same sharp jawline, same dark, observant eyes.

Olivia leaned against the doorframe. “You know, if you’d just come inside instead of sneaking around the back, I could’ve introduced myself. Maybe offered you a snack.”

My cheeks burned. “I wasn’t sneaking. I—”

“It’s okay,” she said with a teasing shrug. “I’d be suspicious too. He does have that tortured-poet thing going on. Gets him into trouble.”

Roman groaned. “Can you not?”

But I cracked a smile, despite everything.

Olivia studied me for a second, her gaze sharper now, like she could see right through me. “You’re the fake girlfriend, huh?”

I stiffened.

Roman stepped in. “She’s not fake.”

That word hung in the air like smoke. Thick. Complicated. Real.

Olivia’s eyes softened slightly. “Didn’t seem fake when you bolted off the porch looking like a maniac.”

I stayed quiet. There was nothing fake about how it felt watching Roman smile at someone else.

Roman turned to me, quieter now. “Do you wanna come in?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Olivia cleared her throat. “I was just leaving anyway. Aunt Sarah’s expecting me. You two can get back to whatever deep emotional rollercoaster this is.”

She brushed past me, pausing at the door. “For what it’s worth, he talks about you like you’re the first real thing in a long time.”

Then she was gone.

I turned to Roman, caught between wanting to scream and wanting to hide.

“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you,” I said, voice low.

He shook his head. “I should’ve called. I shouldn’t have gone radio silent. I just—after Jake came to the house, after what he said—I started wondering if I was just the rebound. If I imagined all of this.”

“You didn’t imagine it,” I whispered.

Roman looked at me. Really looked at me.

And for the first time in days, we were back in that space where the world slowed down, where nothing mattered but the inches between us.

“I don’t want this to go back to fake,” he said. “Even if that’s easier.”

“Me either.”

He pulled me in, arms around me like he’d been waiting for it. I rested my cheek against his chest and closed my eyes.

The door clicked shut behind us.

And this time, I didn’t run.