Arden made his decision before sunrise.
He sat at the small kitchen table, the glow from his phone casting long shadows across the room. He hadn't slept. Every sound outside felt amplified—footsteps, distant laughter, a car idling too long.
They know the girl.
The words replayed in his head like a warning siren.
He couldn't do this. Couldn't let her stay close. Not when his life was wrapped in threats he didn't fully control.
By the time he met Ife later that morning, his resolve was firm. Cold. Necessary.
She noticed immediately.
"You're quiet again," she said, walking beside him. "That's becoming your thing."
"Ife," he said, stopping suddenly. "We need to talk."
Her smile faded.
They stood near the edge of a quieter street. Morning traffic roared in the distance, but around them, the world seemed to hold its breath.
"I think," Arden began carefully, "it's better if we stop spending so much time together."
The words tasted bitter.
Ife blinked. Once. Twice.
"…Excuse me?"
"I mean—it's not permanent," he added quickly. "I just have a lot going on, and—"
"And suddenly I'm an inconvenience?" Her tone was calm. Too calm.
"No. That's not—"
"You don't get to decide that for me," she cut in. "If there's something wrong, say it. Don't dress it up as concern."
Arden clenched his fists. Say it, his mind screamed. Tell her the truth.
But truth was dangerous.
"It's for your own good," he said instead.
Her eyes flashed. "Don't say that. Ever. That's what people say when they don't want to explain themselves."
She took a step closer. "I asked you once if I should be worried. You didn't answer. Now you want to disappear?"
"I'm not disappearing."
"You are," she said quietly. "Right in front of me."
Silence stretched between them.
Arden exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Ife, my life is complicated."
"So is mine," she shot back. "That's not an excuse."
"You don't understand—"
"Then explain it!"
Her voice cracked—not loud, but sharp enough to cut.
Arden froze.
People passed them, unaware of the fracture happening in plain sight.
"I can't," he said softly.
She laughed once. Bitter. "Right. Of course you can't."
She stepped back, crossing her arms. "You know what hurts the most? You don't even trust me enough to let me choose."
The words hit harder than any threat.
"I'm trying to protect you," he said, voice strained.
"And I'm asking you not to," she replied. "I didn't ask for a hero. I asked for honesty."
She turned to leave.
Something in him snapped.
"Ife," he said urgently, catching her wrist.
She stiffened—but didn't pull away.
"Please," he whispered. "Just… give me some time."
She looked at his hand on her wrist, then up at his face. Her expression softened, just slightly.
"You don't get to push me away and ask me to wait," she said. "That's not fair."
"I know."
Her voice dropped. "Then stop."
Their eyes locked.
For a second, the city disappeared.
Arden released her hand.
"I don't want to hurt you," he said.
She nodded slowly. "Then don't lie to me."
She walked away this time without looking back.
That night, Ife sat with her friends, unusually quiet.
Zainab noticed first. "Okay, who upset you?"
"No one," Ife said.
Simi raised an eyebrow. "That's a lie."
Ife sighed. "He says he needs space."
"And?" Tola asked.
"And it feels like he's running."
Simi leaned back. "People who run are usually scared."
"Of what?"
"Losing control."
Ife stared at her bracelet, thumb brushing the beads.
Across the city, Arden stood on his balcony, watching headlights blur into streaks of light below.
His phone buzzed again.
Last warning. Choose wisely.
He closed his eyes.
He had chosen.
But the cost was heavier than he'd imagined.