My Ex Is A Vampire Who Can't Forget Me

Coffee and Blood

Lira stood frozen, heart hammering so violently she was certain it would burst through her ribs.

Her chest rose and fell, ragged and uneven, as if her lungs themselves were begging her to make a

choice.

Run.

Fall.

The instincts warred in her mind, both clawing at her at once. She wanted to flee, to escape the storm, the danger, the impossible presence of the man standing mere feet away. Yet at the same time,

a part of her wanted nothing more than to collapse into his arms, to feel his heartbeat — if he even had one — and be reassured that this was real.

"You're — a vampire," she said finally, the words trembling on her lips, tasting foreign, impossible.

Arian didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. He just watched her, those crimson eyes deep and unreadable, like molten rubies smouldering in shadow. His voice, when he spoke, was both velvet and thunder — soft, almost caressing, yet carrying an undeniable weight.

"I never meant for you to find out this way," he said.

She let out a harsh laugh, sharp and breathless, echoing off the alley walls. "You vanished. For two years. I thought you ghosted me, Arian! And now — now you just appear out of the rain like

some gothic hallucination?"

His expression didn't change. The storm reflected in his eyes, but his jaw tightened slightly, betraying something raw underneath the calm.

"I didn't choose to leave," he murmured, and the words felt like knives, jagged and hollow.

She folded her arms across her chest, her coat plastered to her skin, soaked and heavy. The ache of betrayal throbbed in her chest like a second heartbeat. "Then — who made you?"

The question hung between them like a spell. Arian took a slow, deliberate step forward. Water slid down the edge of his coat and pooled at his boots. His shirt beneath the soaked coat was torn at

the collar, damp and clinging to his chest, hinting at strength beneath the surface.

"There are things I can't explain. Not yet. But I swear to you, I—"

"Don't," she cut him off, stepping back. "Don't swear anything. Not after you left without a word."

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. The rain hammered against the walls of the alley, yet the space between them felt frozen, sacred in its tension.

Arian lowered his head, just enough for the rain to run off his hair and down his shoulders. "You're right. I owe you everything. But we don't have time for this. That thing tonight? It wasn't the last."

Her eyes narrowed, the first flicker of fear surfacing behind the anger. "What was it?"

He hesitated, the words heavy on his tongue. Finally, he admitted, "Something that wants your

blood."

Her stomach dropped. Every nerve in her body went on high alert. She had heard stories. Seen the movies. Thought she had always known what danger looked like. But this — this was different.

It wasn't fiction. It was real.

l pink glow over the wet street. Inside, the air was warm, smelling of roasted coffee beans and sweet pastries. Lira slid into the corner booth, wrapping her arms around a steaming cup of coffee. The heat seeped into her fingers, grounding her. Yet despite the warmth, her body still trembled, the adrenaline refusing to leave.

Across from her, Arian leaned back, calm and impossibly still, as though he belonged to the shadows themselves. But the way he looked at her — like she was the only thing worth noticing in

the world — was disarming.

"Coffee won't fix this," she muttered, not taking her eyes off him.

"I know," he said quietly, voice soft as velvet again, but carrying that same weight.

She wanted to scream at him. Wanted to shake him and demand why he had left. Wanted to throw herself at him and beg for the truth. Instead, she whispered, "How did this happen to you?"

He looked away, jaw tight, fingers drumming against the table. The shadows of the café flickered across his sharp features. "I made a mistake. Trusted the wrong people. When I left town — I was trying to protect you."

"Protect me?" Her voice rose despite herself. "By disappearing? By pretending I didn't exist?"

He flinched, a movement so slight she almost missed it. The café's quiet seemed heavier, saturated with everything left unsaid between them.

"You didn't even say goodbye," she added, voice breaking, the weight of two years of unanswered questions pressing down on her.

A long silence followed. The only sounds were the occasional clink of dishes from the counter, the hum of the old neon sign outside, and the low murmur of a late-night customer in the corner.

Then, with a deliberate motion, Arian reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled note. It was old, faded, edges curling like it had been forgotten in a drawer for years.

"I left this in your sketchbook the night I was taken," he said, voice low. "I don't think you ever found it."

Lira's hands shook as she took it from him. The paper was fragile, almost brittle, and her eyes widened as she recognized the handwriting. Each letter was so unmistakably his.

I love you too much to stay. And not enough to drag you into what's coming.

Her lips trembled. Tears burned her eyes, uninvited, and she quickly blinked them away, embarrassed by her own weakness.

"You still should've told me," she whispered, voice tight with emotion.

"I know," he admitted, almost in a sigh, leaning forward slightly, as if to bridge the distance between them. "I couldn't. I wasn't free to choose. But leaving you — leaving you was the hardest thing I've ever done."

Her chest ached. His words, his presence, even the faint scent of him — damp earth, rain, and something darker she couldn't name — tore at her heart.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Time seemed to slow around them, stretching each second into an eternity. She wanted to reach out, to touch his hand, to anchor herself to the only familiar thing left in her life. But fear and anger tangled in her chest, making her hesitate.

Finally, she asked the question that had haunted her since the moment he appeared in the alley: "Why now? Why come back?"

Arian's eyes locked onto hers, the red glow faint but unmistakable in the dim café light. "Because someone is coming for you, Lira," he said. His voice was steady, but there was an edge to

it that made her stomach twist. "And I can't let them take you."

She shivered, and not just from the cool air-conditioned room. "You're telling me — this is real?"

"I wish it weren't," he said quietly, eyes never leaving hers. "But it is. And you're not safe."

She took a shaky breath. "And me being here, now — you mean I'm in danger?"

"Yes," he said simply. "And I will not let them hurt you."

A quiet determination settled over him that made her forget the rain, the darkness, even the betrayal. She saw him not as the boy who had disappeared, but as the man — the being — who had

survived centuries and was now standing before her, vowing to protect her.

"And you — you want me to trust you again?" she asked, voice tight, almost trembling.

"I don't expect that," he admitted. "Not yet. I just need you to know the truth. All of it. And I'm not going anywhere this time."

She let out a shaky laugh, half in disbelief, half in exhaustion. "You always did have a way with

dramatic entrances," she muttered, though the tremor in her voice betrayed the tension underneath.

He smiled faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I told you, I never forgot you."

Her gaze dropped to the coffee cup between her hands. The steam rose in delicate curls, the warmth seeping into her numb fingers. Outside, the neon buzz of the sign flickered, casting soft pink

shadows across the table.

For the first time since he appeared, Lira let herself breathe. But deep down, she knew the storm

outside — and the storm in her life — was far from over.