Chapter Five — The Wrong Man
2131 Words
The problem with making a decision was that sometimes the universe took it personally.
I'd decided I wasn't going to fall for Noah.
So naturally, the very next day, my ex texted me.
Daniel:Hey stranger. Been thinking about you.
I stared at the message.
Then laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because sometimes life had a truly terrible sense of humour.
Daniel.
Of course.
The man who had once told me I was "too sensitive" after I caught him flirting with another woman.
The man who had apologised with flowers he'd probably bought on his way home.
The man who had somehow convinced me that his cheating was partly my fault because I'd been "distant."
I should have deleted the message.
Instead, I stared at it.
Then another message appeared.
Daniel:Would be nice to see you.
I rolled my eyes.
Me:Why?
His reply came almost immediately.
Daniel:Because I miss you.
I laughed again.
Men.
They could disappear for months and return with three words that were supposed to erase everything that came before them.
I put my phone down.
Then picked it up again.
I didn't know why.
Maybe because a small, stupid part of me wanted proof that someone still wanted me.
Even someone I knew I shouldn't want back.
Daniel:Dinner tonight?
I hesitated.
Then typed:
Me:Fine.
The moment I sent it, I regretted it.
───
By seven o'clock, I was sitting across from Daniel in a restaurant, wondering why I'd agreed to this.
He hadn't changed.
Same charming smile.
Same expensive watch.
Same ability to make every conversation somehow about himself.
“So,” he said, sipping his drink, “you look good.”
“Thank you.”
“Lost weight?”
My smile disappeared.
There it was.
Of course.
I should have known.
“I don't think so.”
He shrugged.
“Maybe it's the clothes.”
I looked down at myself.
Black dress.
Comfortable.
Something I actually liked.
I lifted my eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.”
“No. Go ahead.”
He smiled.
“You always were defensive.”
My stomach tightened.
There it was again.
That old feeling.
The feeling that I was somehow the problem.
“You haven't changed,” I said.
His eyebrows rose.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you still know exactly how to make someone feel small and then act surprised when they notice.”
He laughed.
“You're still dramatic.”
I pushed my chair back.
“I've changed my mind.”
“About dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Lena—”
“No.”
I stood.
He reached for my wrist.
I pulled away immediately.
“Don't.”
His expression hardened.
“You're overreacting.”
“No.”
I grabbed my handbag.
“I'm finally reacting appropriately.”
I walked away before he could answer.
Outside, the night air hit my face.
I stood on the pavement and breathed.
I should have felt proud.
Instead, I felt stupid.
Why had I gone?
Why had I needed to know whether he still wanted me?
Why had I allowed myself to believe that maybe he'd changed?
I closed my eyes.
“Idiot.”
My phone buzzed.
I expected Maya.
Instead, I saw a message from the clinic.
Appointment reminder: Tomorrow, 10:00.
Tomorrow.
Noah.
For some reason, the thought of seeing him made my chest ache.
I hated that.
I hated that after one terrible dinner, my mind immediately went to the one man who had made me feel safe.
I shoved my phone into my bag.
“Get a grip, Lena.”
───
The next morning, I arrived at the clinic early.
Again.
This time, I wasn't sure whether I was early because of traffic or because part of me wanted to see him.
I decided it was traffic.
That sounded better.
I opened the door.
Noah was at reception.
He looked up.
Those blue eyes found mine.
And something inside me relaxed.
“You're early.”
I smiled faintly.
“Apparently it's becoming a personality trait.”
He studied my face.
His smile faded slightly.
“You okay?”
“Perfect.”
He gave me a look.
I sighed.
“Why do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
“Look at me like you know when I'm lying.”
“Because you're not very good at it.”
“Rude.”
“Accurate.”
I smiled.
He smiled back.
Then his expression became serious.
“Something happened.”
I hesitated.
“How do you know?”
“You look different.”
I looked down.
“Bad date.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“You went on a date?”
“Technically.”
“With someone you like?”
“No.”
“Then why go?”
I stared at him.
“That is an excellent question.”
He waited.
I sighed.
“My ex.”
His jaw tightened.
It was subtle.
So subtle I almost missed it.
“Your ex?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Terrible.”
He nodded slowly.
“I figured.”
I frowned.
“You don't even know him.”
“I know enough.”
I smiled.
“Are you jealous?”
The words slipped out.
His expression changed.
The air between us seemed to tighten.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
Then Noah looked away.
“No.”
“Too quick.”
He looked back at me.
“I don't get jealous.”
“Everyone gets jealous.”
“Not me.”
“Liar.”
His mouth twitched.
“You really like challenging me.”
“Maybe.”
He shook his head.
“Treatment room.”
I followed him.
But I couldn't stop smiling.
Because for the first time, I'd seen something in his eyes.
Something that looked suspiciously like jealousy.
───
The treatment room was quiet.
I changed and wrapped myself securely in the towel before lying down.
Noah maintained his usual professionalism.
But something felt different.
I could feel it.
Maybe because we'd just talked about Daniel.
Maybe because I'd teased him about jealousy.
Maybe because I was becoming far too aware of him.
“You're smiling.”
I stared at the ceiling.
“No, I'm not.”
“You are.”
“Prove it.”
“I can see you.”
“That's circumstantial evidence.”
He laughed.
“Do you always argue with evidence?”
“Only when I'm losing.”
His laugh filled the room.
I smiled.
Then he asked,
“Why did you go?”
“To dinner?”
“Yes.”
I shrugged.
“I don't know.”
“Do you still have feelings for him?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
I surprised myself.
“No?”
“No.”
I stared at the ceiling.
“I think I wanted to know if he'd changed.”
“And?”
“He hasn't.”
Noah was quiet.
Then—
“Good.”
I turned my head.
“Good?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He didn't answer.
I smiled.
“Jealous.”
“No.”
“Definitely jealous.”
“Lena.”
“I'm just saying—”
“Don't.”
His voice was quiet.
Not angry.
Just firm.
I stopped.
He took a breath.
“I don't want to blur the lines.”
The warmth disappeared from my chest.
“Right.”
He continued with the treatment.
I stared at the ceiling.
“I'm sorry.”
“You don't need to apologise.”
“I make everything into a joke.”
“I know.”
“And sometimes I say things I shouldn't.”
“I know.”
I sighed.
“That's going to get annoying.”
“Probably.”
I smiled.
“You're supposed to say no.”
“I don't lie to my clients.”
“There you go again.”
He laughed.
The tension eased.
But something had changed.
We both knew there was a line.
And now we were both painfully aware of it.
───
After the treatment, I changed and came back into the room.
Noah was writing something down.
I picked up my water.
“Can I ask you something?”
He looked up.
“Again?”
“Yes.”
“You're relentless.”
“I've been told.”
I took a sip.
“Do you ever want a relationship?”
He stared at me.
“Eventually, maybe.”
“Eventually?”
“Maybe.”
“What would make you change your mind?”
He leaned back against the counter.
“I don't know.”
“You're very vague.”
“It's complicated.”
“Everything with you is complicated.”
He smiled.
“Maybe.”
I looked at him.
“What would she have to be like?”
He didn't answer.
“Come on.”
“You're very curious.”
“Yes.”
He thought about it.
“Someone honest.”
I nodded.
“Reasonable.”
“Someone who makes me laugh.”
“Excellent.”
“Someone who doesn't pretend to be someone they're not.”
I swallowed.
“That's important.”
“Very.”
His eyes stayed on mine.
Then he said quietly,
“Someone who makes me want to stay.”
My breath caught.
Neither of us moved.
The words weren't directed at me.
They couldn't be.
But somehow they felt like they were.
I looked away.
“Sounds impossible.”
“Maybe.”
“Good luck.”
He smiled.
“Thanks.”
I picked up my bag.
“See you next week.”
“Lena?”
I turned.
He was looking at me again.
Those blue eyes seemed darker somehow.
“Don't let people convince you that you need to be less of yourself.”
I froze.
“Daniel said I was dramatic.”
“I know.”
I frowned.
“How?”
“You told me.”
“Oh.”
I smiled faintly.
“He also said I was too sensitive.”
Noah's expression hardened.
“You're not.”
I looked at him.
“How do you know?”
“Because there's a difference between being sensitive and allowing someone to hurt you repeatedly.”
My throat tightened.
Nobody had ever said it like that.
I looked down.
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
I walked toward the door.
Then turned back.
“By the way…”
He looked up.
“Your eyes are ridiculous.”
He blinked.
“My eyes?”
“Blue eyes like that are unfair.”
His mouth curved slowly.
“I thought you weren't attracted to me.”
“I didn't say that.”
Silence.
My eyes widened.
His smile disappeared.
I had said too much.
Way too much.
I grabbed the door handle.
“Have a good day.”
“Lena.”
I looked back.
His expression was unreadable.
“Be careful.”
“With what?”
His eyes held mine.
“With saying things you don't mean.”
I swallowed.
“What if I meant it?”
For one second, the entire room went silent.
Noah didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
The look in his eyes was enough.
I walked out.
My heart was pounding.
And I knew I'd just made everything infinitely more complicated.
───
Noah waited until the door closed behind her.
Then exhaled.
Slowly.
He ran a hand through his hair.
This was getting dangerous.
She was getting under his skin.
Far too deep.
And the worst part?
She knew it.
Her comment about his eyes had been innocent.
Probably.
But the question that followed hadn't been.
What if I meant it?
He closed his eyes.
He could still hear her voice.
He could still see her expression.
And he knew, with uncomfortable certainty, that if she kept pushing—
he wasn't sure how long he could keep pretending he felt nothing.
Because the truth was becoming impossible to ignore.
He wanted her.
He wanted her laugh.
Her sarcasm.
Her stubbornness.
Her softness.
The woman she was when she stopped pretending everything was fine.
But wanting her wasn't enough.
It couldn't be.
She trusted him.
And he would never betray that trust.
No matter how badly he wanted to.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Ethan.
Ethan:You coming out tonight?
Noah stared at the screen.
Then typed:
Noah:No.
Ethan:Again?
Noah looked toward the closed treatment-room door.
Noah:I have a problem.
Ethan replied almost instantly.
Ethan:Woman?
Noah hesitated.
Then typed the truth.
Noah:Yes.
The reply came.
Ethan:How bad?
Noah stared at the message.
A slow smile appeared despite himself.
Noah:Bad enough that she knows exactly what she's doing.
And somewhere outside the clinic, Lena was sitting in her car, staring at her reflection in the mirror.
She touched her lips.
Then whispered,
“What have you done?”
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