Almost Yours

Chapter 6: Rainy Evenings and Quiet Drives

📖 Chapter 6: Eight Years

The days that followed carried a heavy, quiet weight in Renesmee’s mind. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the image of Ela — that perfect smile, those soft features — from her thoughts. She found herself drifting during meetings, staring blankly at her screen, her focus slipping further and further away from her work. She felt small beside her — ordinary, unremarkable — as if she were trying to stand in the shadow of something luminous and rare.

When lunchtime arrived, the familiar rhythm resumed — Arvee walked over at exactly the same time as always, calm and polite, to collect his phone from her desk. Before she could stop herself, the question tumbled out — quiet, sudden, and unplanned.

“Arvee… how long have you two been together?”

The question hung in the air, sharp and clear. The surrounding chatter died down. Heads turned. Everyone in the office seemed to freeze, waiting for his answer.

Arvee paused, his expression softening into something tender and sure. “Eight years,” he said simply, as if speaking the most natural thing in the world. “We’ve been together for eight years now.”

A soft murmur rippled through the room — surprise, admiration, quiet awe. Eight years. Renesmee felt the words hit her like a wave, stealing the breath right out of her lungs. She stared at him, unable to speak, unable to even pretend she had heard correctly. Eight years. That wasn’t just a relationship — that was a lifetime of shared memories, milestones, growing up side by side. That was rare, precious, unbreakable. They must truly love each other deeply to have held on for so long.

And yet, beneath the admiration, something sharp and painful twisted inside her — jealousy, hot and unbidden, tangled with a sadness so profound it made her chest ache. Eight years of loyalty, of devotion, of building a future together — and here she was, foolishly, hopelessly falling for someone who belonged so completely to another. She looked down at her desk, her fingers tightening around her pen until her knuckles turned pale, fighting to keep her voice steady.

“That’s… wonderful, Arvee,” she managed to say, though her heart felt like it was splitting in two. “Truly. Congratulations.”

He smiled, that gentle, sincere smile of his — and she wanted to both run toward him and run away forever. Eight years. How could she ever hope to compete with eight years of history? How could she even dare to try?