16
2122 Words
NADIA
The night is too quiet. The kind that amplifies every thought I’m trying to drown out.
I stand by the window, fingers curled around the curtain, staring at the car parked across the street.
My chest tightens. I don’t need to see his face to know it’s him. I just… know.
The air shifts — the same way it always does when he’s close.
My phone starts to ring, pulling me out of whatever spell I’ve slipped into.
For a second, I freeze — part of me hoping it’s him, the other terrified it might be.
When I see Laura’s name, relief and disappointment hit at the same time.
“Hey, sis. How are you?” she says, her voice light, teasing.
“Your timing is so off,” I murmur, dragging myself away from the window.
“What’s wrong?”
“Him.”
“No shit.”
“Laura…”
“It’s high time you stopped this cat-and-mouse play, Nadia.”
I let out a humourless laugh. “Okay, genius. What do you suggest I do? Divorce my husband?”
“No.” She sighs — that long, weighty exhale that tells me she’s already exhausted with me. “You’re in an open marriage. You can screw anyone you deem fit.”
“Not anyone.”
“Why not?”
“The rule says Felix and I can’t develop feelings for our s****l partners, and I was…” I bite my bottom lip, pacing the length of the room. “I found myself falling for him.”
“Then turn it off.”
I scoff. “You say it like it’s that damn easy. Love doesn’t have a button, Laura.”
“I know. But you can control it, yeah?”
“He makes it hard to.” My eyes drift back toward the window. The streetlight flickers, and for a moment, I swear I can still see the outline of his car in the dark. “He was here a few minutes ago. Parked right across the street.”
“How sure are you it was him?”
“I know this might sound cliché, but my heart recognized him before my eyes caught up.”
There’s silence on the line. The kind that says she doesn’t want to believe me but also knows I’m right.
“Call him,” she finally says.
“It’s obvious you’re not listening to me, Laura. I can’t let my emotions ruin my marriage.”
“What marriage?” she scoffs. “Felix hasn’t touched you in months. You’re roommates with vows.”
Her words sting because they’re true. I close my eyes, lean against the wall, and say nothing.
Laura’s voice softens. “Just… think about what I’ve said, okay?”
I stay quiet, staring at the phone like it’s suddenly too heavy to hold.
“You need him to stay sane, Nadia.”
That’s the last thing she says before the line goes dead.
The silence that follows is suffocating. I let the phone slip from my hand and land on the bed beside me. The room feels smaller, the air thick with everything I’ve tried not to feel.
My gaze drifts to the dresser — to the vase holding the roses, lilies, and tulips he sent two days ago. They’re still fresh. Beautiful. Painfully so. The note he left tucked between them is folded neatly beneath the vase, as if hiding it could make the words disappear.
You make it hard not to want more.
I run a hand through my hair and sit on the edge of the bed. The weight of his words presses against my chest, the same way his body did the last night we were together. Every touch, every breath, every whispered plea — all of it plays like a loop. I can’t shut off.
I hate that I miss him this much.
I hate that a man who isn’t my husband feels more like home than the one who is.
I stand, drawn back to the window like something magnetic lives there. The car is gone now — the same one that was parked across the street earlier. But I still feel him. His presence lingers like static in the air, tugging at the edge of my restraint.
I press my forehead against the cool glass and close my eyes. “Why are you doing this to me?” I whisper to no one.
There’s no answer, of course. Just the faint sound of night — a distant bark, the rustle of wind through leaves, the soft tick of the clock reminding me that time keeps moving even when I’m stuck here, wanting him.
Eventually, I crawl into bed, pulling the sheets over me. My mind drifts — to his voice, his touch, the text he sent before he came tonight.
“Couldn’t sleep. Just needed to see you.”
I should’ve ignored it.
I didn’t.
And even now, with him gone, my heart beats like it’s waiting for him to come back.
Sleep drags me under slowly, my thoughts tangled in the scent of flowers and the ghost of his hands on my skin.
The next afternoon, Felix picks me up from work and takes me home to prepare for a charity event we were both invited to last week. I had forgotten all about it, drowned in orders, fittings, and the mess of my own thoughts — thoughts of him that never quite let up, no matter how hard I try to bury them.
My hair was in a bun all day while I worked on dresses and sorted through client orders and fabric samples. The second I pull it loose, it falls in soft curls down my back. Thank God I don’t have to do too much work on it. The last thing I need is Felix breathing down my neck about being late and s**t.
I touch up my mascara, swipe on a bit of nude gloss, and spritz perfume onto my neck and wrist. The scent — light, floral, and a little too reminiscent of the flowers he sent — wraps around me like a memory I can’t shake.
I glance out the window. The sun is warm, golden, the kind that makes everything look softer than it feels. I decide to go with a pale satin slip dress that clings just enough to remind me I still have a body worth noticing, paired with ankle-strap heels and a warm cropped jacket, just in case the evening turns chilly.
A herd of butterflies flutters in my belly the instant my eyes spot Felix on the porch railing, scrolling through his phone with a frown. The second he notices me approaching, his expression lightens, and he quickly tucks the device away, moving toward me with arms outstretched.
My brows knit — not in anger, but confusion. “What’s going on?”
He nods behind him without turning. “Cameras.”
Oh.
Oh.
The butterflies die instantly, replaced by that familiar weight pressing against my ribs. I paste on a smile that feels tight around the edges and lean into his hug, careful, practised. The smile looks good from the outside, I’m sure — even if it burns on the inside.
“You look amazing,” he murmurs as he pulls back, eyes flicking over me like he’s admiring something expensive and fragile.
I straighten my jacket and smooth down my dress. “Thank you. You cleaned up nicely.”
Felix laughs, that easy, charming sound the world still falls for. “I have to. I’m married to a fabulous fashion designer.”
I force a small laugh, looping my arm through his as we start toward the car.
From the outside, we must look perfect — coordinated, in sync, the kind of couple people envy. But as his hand rests on the small of my back, I can’t help noticing how unfamiliar it feels. How foreign.
And as we walk down the steps, all I can think about is how different it felt when he touched me — the one person I’m not supposed to crave.
The ride to the venue is mostly quiet. Felix drives with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping against his thigh to a rhythm only he can hear. Every now and then, his phone buzzes, and he ignores it.
I keep my eyes on the road ahead, replaying Laura’s words from last night. You need him to stay sane.
Maybe she was right. Or maybe I’ve just lost control of what sane even means.
By the time we get to the event, the place is packed. Cameras flash, people laugh too loudly, and the whole entrance smells like perfume and champagne. Felix steps out first, straightens his jacket, and offers me his hand.
The moment my heels touch the ground, the noise hits — greetings, small talk, fake smiles. Felix keeps his arm around me, his touch firm and guiding.
Inside, the ballroom is bright and busy. Music plays softly in the background, and waiters move between tables with trays of wine and hors d'oeuvres. Felix excuses himself to greet a few business partners, leaving me by the floral display near the stage.
I take a glass of wine from a passing waiter, trying to blend in. My eyes wander — to the guests, the décor, anything to keep my mind busy.
And then I see him.
He’s standing near the far end of the room, close to a cluster of men in suits. Talking. Smiling a little. The sight of him knocks the air out of me.
For a second, I think I’m imagining it. But no — it’s him.
Even from here, I can tell. The way he stands, the way he carries himself — calm, confident, deliberate.
My fingers tighten around the glass.
What is he doing here?
Did he come because of me?
The thought sends a wave of panic through me. This isn’t the kind of event anyone can just walk into. Everyone here was personally invited.
So if he’s here… who exactly is he?
Before I can move or think or even breathe properly, he looks in my direction. Our eyes don’t meet — not quite — but it’s enough to make my pulse jump.
Then, just as quickly, he turns and disappears into the crowd.
Gone.
I stand there, staring at the space he just occupied, my heartbeat loud and uneven. The music fades into the background again.
If he came to see me, why risk it? Why now, when he knows I’m here with Felix?
And if he didn’t — if he was invited — then maybe there’s a part of him I never really knew.
The questions keep circling my mind long after Felix returns and slips his arm around my waist.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
I nod. “Yeah. Just a little lightheaded.”
He smiles, presses a kiss to my temple, and steers me toward a group of familiar faces.
But I barely hear what anyone says. My thoughts are already somewhere else — chasing a man who shouldn’t have been here yet somehow always is.
For a while, I managed to forget. Or at least pretend to. I stand there, smiling when I should, nodding when someone greets me.
Then it happens. That quiet awareness that crawls up my spine — the sense that someone’s watching.
I glance toward the far end of the room, and there he is.
He’s standing near a group of guests, a drink in his hand, looking completely at ease. But his eyes find me almost instantly.
It’s not an accident.
My stomach knots.
He shouldn’t be here.
He knows that.
He keeps his distance, listening politely to whoever’s talking to him. But I can tell he’s only half-present. His focus keeps drifting back to me.
When the man beside him moves away, he takes a slow step forward. Then another.
He stops behind me — close enough that I can feel his presence, but not close enough to draw attention.
“You look beautiful,” he says quietly.
I don’t turn. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I told you I wouldn’t stay away.”
“Someone could see us.”
“No one’s paying attention,” he says, his tone low and steady. “Meet me outside. Back terrace.”
Before I can answer, he’s gone.
I stand there, glass in hand, my pulse unsteady. Felix says something beside me, and I nod without hearing a word.
Five minutes. Back terrace.
I don’t move. I just breathe — slow, careful — pretending everything is normal while nothing feels that way.
- Writer
