For a second—one stretched thin and sharp as wire—I forgot how to breathe.
He turned around slowly facing me
"Oh sorry I meant Miss Jazmyne." His eyes drifting to the chair across from him
"Sit," he said softly.
It wasn't a command.
It wasn't a request either.
It was something else—something cold and precise slipped into warmth, like a needle hidden under silk.
My legs moved before my mind did, and I hated that. Hated that I felt watched even as I lowered myself into the chair. Hated that the room felt too small, though it was large, almost overly spacious, like it belonged to someone accustomed to power.
He didn't sit immediately.
He simply observed me.
Adrian never stared like that. Adrian watched with uncertainty, with quiet longing, with the constant sense that he was holding himself back. But this man—this man who shared his face—looked at me like he was assessing something. Measuring. Calculating.
And when he finally moved, circling the desk, it was with a fluidity Adrian didn't have—too sure, too deliberate, too aware of every inch of space he occupied.
He sat across from me, elbows resting lightly on the armrests.
"Relax," he murmured.
I stiffened even more.
He almost laughed.
Almost.
"You're in charge of the annual young writers competition."
He said turning his back to me.
"I need a proposal by Friday."
"Ok sir." I managed to reply before walking out of his office trying to keep my calm.
The name Miss Santos kept replaying in my mind the rest of the day.
Haunting my every movement.
I barely managed to do anything right till I clocked out.
I couldn't bring myself to go to Adrian's apartment — to smile like nothing happened, like I wasn't crumbling.
I walked into my apartment.
Taking in the coffee stain on the wall from the last tenant that seemed to grow every day. The smell of cookies mixed in with the smell of damp brick and growing mold.
The side of my bed where I sat when I decided I was taking my life by the horns — Through endless doubt — I thought life would finally get better.
I brought out my suitcase place under my makeshift closet that looked like it was despite hanging on to life.
Inside I looked at my employment letter, — The one I kept glancing at for week like it would magically disappear — my college acceptance letter — Stanford university, full ride scholarship to study marine biology.
Before I knew it my hands started moving. My books, my clothes, every piece of me that I had scattered around that apartment.
Then I stopped.
I had built my life all on my own, and I didn't want to let it crumble just because of one name—
no matter how that name terrified me.
But fear had a way of crawling beneath the skin, of settling in the spaces between breaths. By the time I zipped the suitcase shut—slowly, mechanically—my pulse was thundering so loudly I could barely hear my own thoughts.
Leaving felt like the smart choice.
The safe choice.
The only choice.
I stood there in my tiny, uneven apartment, suitcase handle gripped so tightly my knuckles whitened. The room hummed with the quiet evening buzz of the old building—pipes rattling, a neighbor's TV leaking through thin walls, the smell of someone burning stew two floors up.
Normal noises. Things I'd grown used to.
Things I might never hear again if I walked out now.
I took a shaky breath and dragged the suitcase halfway to the door.
Then I froze.
Because the image of Adrian—bandaged, pale, asleep in that hospital bed—blurred into my mind so sharply it almost knocked the breath out of me.
The way his fingers twitched when mine brushed them.
The way his voice cracked when he whispered, You're safe.
The way he looked at me the morning after he woke up, like seeing me was the only thing keeping him steady.
Leaving him without explanation would break him.
Leaving him now—when he had only just let himself feel—would destroy something fragile we hadn't even named yet.
And God…
I couldn't do that to him.
I couldn't do that to us.
My suitcase handle slipped from my fingers.
The sound it made hitting the floor was small, dull, but it echoed through my chest like a struck bell.
I sank onto the edge of my bed, pressing both hands over my face. My heartbeat didn't slow. My breaths didn't steady. But the fog in my mind shifted—just enough for a shard of clarity to break through.
Running meant giving up everything.
The job I fought tooth and nail to get.
The career I dreamed of.
The stories I wanted to write.
The woman I wanted to become.
And Adrian—
honest, gentle, fiercely protective Adrian—
wouldn't be someone I could lose and still breathe normally afterward.
My hands fell to my lap.
"No," I whispered into the empty room. The word felt small, but it rooted itself in my chest, growing louder. "No. I'm not leaving."
I lifted my gaze to the small window above my bed. The night outside was soft, dim gold from the streetlight, dust drifting lazily in its glow. Calm. Steady. Waiting.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Not because I wasn't scared.
I was. Terrified, even.
Of the name he used.
Of the look in his eyes.
Of the cold confidence in his voice.
But fear wasn't the whole story.
There was ambition too—burning under my skin.
There were dreams—aching to be realized.
There was love—quiet, slow, blooming like something stubborn in winter.
And most of all—
there was Adrian.
Adrian, who saw me before I saw myself.
Adrian, who listened, who noticed, who cared.
Adrian, who stepped in front of a car to save me without hesitation.
Adrian, who confessed with a trembling voice and shaking hands.
I couldn't leave a man like that.
Not because he needed me.
But because I wanted him.
I pushed myself to my feet, grabbed the suitcase, unzipped it, and started folding everything back into drawers with a deliberate calm that felt almost foreign. Not panicked. Not frantic.
Decisive.
Each shirt placed back felt like reclaiming something.
Each book returned to the shelf like anchoring myself.
Each breath drawn steadier than the last.
By the time I pushed the empty suitcase under the fragile wooden bar I called a closet, the weight in my lungs had eased.
I crossed the room, flicked the light switch off, and let the night settle around me like a soft blanket.
Tomorrow, I would go to work.
Tomorrow, I would walk past that office door.
Tomorrow, I would pretend not to feel his eyes on me.
Tomorrow, I would carry my fear quietly, privately—
but I wouldn't let it control me.
I chose to stay.
To build.
To grow.
To fight for everything I dreamed of.
And if love was part of it—
if Adrian was part of it—
then I would not run from that either.
Not now.
Not ever.
I curled into bed, pulling the blankets to my chin, the faint sounds of the building settling into the night. A quiet resolve settled into my bones.
I wasn't leaving.
Not because staying was easy—
but because staying was brave.
And I was finally—
finally—
done running.
Tomorrow, it would all begin again.
And I would be ready.