Everything between them felt like it was balancing on the edge of something inevitable, something that had been building slowly but steadily, and now that it was this close to breaking through, neither of them could ignore it anymore, not when every word felt heavier, every silence felt louder, and every second felt like it was leading to something that couldn't be taken back once it was said.
And Zein could feel it in the way her chest tightened every time she tried to speak, in the way her thoughts kept circling the same realization she wasn't ready to admit out loud, while Ace stood there like he was waiting—not impatiently, not forcefully, but with a certainty that made it clear he wasn't going anywhere, not until she faced what was already there.
"Say something," he said.
"I don't know what to say," she replied.
"That's not true," he said.
"It is," she insisted.
"No," he said, "you just don't want to say it."
Zein exhaled sharply.
"…stop doing that," she said.
"Doing what?" he asked.
"Knowing things I haven't said," she said.
"I don't need you to say everything," he replied.
Zein looked at him.
"…then why does it feel like you do?" she asked.
"Because you expect yourself to," he said.
Zein went quiet.
"…this is frustrating," she said.
"I know," he replied.
"…then help me," she said.
Ace didn't move.
"I already am," he said.
"…how?" she asked.
"By not saying it for you," he replied.
Zein stared at him.
"…that doesn't help," she said.
"It does," he said.
"…how?" she asked again.
Ace's voice lowered.
"Because when you say it, it'll mean more," he said.
Zein's breath slowed.
And for a moment—
She almost did.