After Us

Present day-Echo of his words

The echo of her footsteps rumbles in the empty hallway as Layla exits the meeting room. Her pulse thrums in her ears, drowning out the distant hum of city life outside.

She hates that she let Evan get under her skin—again. He’s always been good at that, prying open locked doors she thought were bolted shut.

The elevator doors glide open, and she steps in, her phone vibrating in her hand. A quick glance at the screen reveals Daniel’s name.

“Running late?” the text reads, followed by a winking emoji.

Her fingers hover over the keyboard. The word “yes” feels so simple, so definitive, yet her thoughts remain tethered to Evan’s parting words. Does he make you happy?

She shakes her head, shoving her phone into her bag. This is what Evan does—plants questions she doesn’t want to answer, tangles her up in doubts she doesn’t want to face.

When the elevator dings open, the cold air of the lobby greets her. She strides outside, but a familiar voice stops her in her tracks.

“Leaving without saying goodbye?”

Layla turns to see Evan leaning casually against the wall near the entrance, his tie loosened, his jacket slung over one shoulder. He looks every bit as put-together as he always does, but there’s something raw in his gaze—a vulnerability that wasn’t there before.

Not again! Layla whispered that her lips barely moved. She clenched her fingers at her sides.

“Goodbye,” she says curtly and makes a beeline for the exit.

But he’s faster. He steps into her path, holding up a hand like he’s stopping traffic. “Wait.”

“I’ve given you enough, Evan.”

“And I get that too. But hear me out.” His voice lowers, softens. “What do you have to lose?”

She pauses, glaring at him. “My peace of mind. My sanity. You’ve always been good at taking those.”

His lips twitch, almost a smile, but the humour doesn’t reach his eyes. “I deserve that. But I’m not here to make excuses. I’m here to tell the truth.”

“Let me guess,” she says, crossing her arms. “Some grand speech about why you left me hanging all those years ago? About how it was all for my own good?”

Evan exhales sharply, his composure slipping. “Do you ever get tired of assuming the worst about me?”

“Do you ever get tired of proving me right?”

That one lands. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t back down. “Fair. I screwed up. More than once. But for the record, it wasn’t about leaving you hanging—it was about feeling like I wasn’t enough for you.”

The confession surprises her more than she lets on. She narrows her eyes, searching his face for signs of manipulation. “Spare me the self-pity. You walked away, Evan. You don’t get to rewrite the narrative now.”

“I’m not rewriting anything,” he shoots back. “I’m telling you that I was scared—of screwing up, of failing you. And instead of talking to you about it, I let that fear win.”

She crosses her arms tighter, as if bracing herself against the emotions threatening to crack through her cool exterior. “And what? You think telling me this now is going to fix anything?”

“No.” His voice drops, steady and sure. “I don’t think it’ll fix anything. I just think you deserve to know.”

The sincerity in his tone gives her pause. Her gaze flickers to his, and for a moment, the air between them shifts.

“Now I know. What changes?” she asks, her voice quieter but no less guarded.

“Nothing, but I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t haunt me,” he admits. “I see you now, Layla. You’re standing there, living your life, moving on, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still trying to catch my breath.”

Her throat tightens at the rawness in his words. She wants to lash out, to tell him he doesn’t get to put that on her. But instead, she asks, “And how are any of those my cup of tea?”

The corner of his mouth twitches, but the expression that crosses his face is unreadable. “Daniel’s a good guy. That’s obvious.”

“Stop the self-pity; I know you're smarter than that move.”

Evan ignored her and continued, “But I know you better than he ever could.” His gaze locks onto hers, unyielding. “And I know when you’re happy and when you’re pretending to be.”

“Then you definitely should detect how pissed I am seeing you again. And for Daniel, he's such a better version of you.”

She clenches her fists, forcing herself to stay calm.

Evan nods, his expression solemn. “You’re right. I lost a lot of rights when I walked away. But that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped caring about you.”

Layla exhales shakily, the weight of his words pressing down on her. She doesn’t trust herself to speak, doesn’t trust the way her chest feels too tight and too hollow all at once.

Evan steps back, giving her space, his voice softer now. “I’m not asking for anything, Layla. I just… I need you to know I still care. And I always will.”

“I’ll love a better sit and talk outside your workplace.”

Before she can respond, her phone buzzes again, breaking the moment. She glances down at the screen.

Daniel. “I’m at Indigo. Let me know when you’re close.”

When she looks back up, Evan is already turning to leave.

“Evan”, she calls after him, her voice barely audible over the din of the street.

He pauses but doesn’t turn around.

She swallows hard, her throat tight. “I’ll think about it.”

He nods once, a small, almost imperceptible motion, before walking away into the night.

For a long moment, Layla stands frozen, her mind replaying their conversation on a loop. When she finally pulls herself together, she types a quick reply to Daniel.

“I’ll be there in ten .”

As she walks toward her car, her thoughts feel heavier than they should. Evan’s voice lingers, his words like a whisper in the back of her mind. She shoves them down, focusing on the here and now.

She made her choice. She just has to live with it.