"Lesica—"
She didn't stop.
Not immediately.
—
That was deliberate.
—
He followed, closing the distance in two quick steps. "Wait."
—
She paused then.
Just enough to acknowledge him.
Not enough to give him control back.
—
"What?" she asked, turning slightly.
—
His phone was still in his hand.
Screen dimming.
Message burned into his head.
—
You weren't the one who came back first.
—
"What does that mean?"
No buildup this time.
No careful phrasing.
—
Straight.
—
Lesica's eyes flicked briefly to his phone.
Then back to him.
—
"Depends," she said calmly. "Which part confused you?"
—
His jaw tightened. "Don't do that."
—
"Do what?"
—
"Answer a question with another question."
—
A small pause.
Then—
"Then ask something clearer."
—
That—
wasn't an answer.
—
He stepped closer again, frustration starting to surface in the edges of his voice.
"Were you texting someone about me?"
—
She held his gaze.
Didn't blink.
—
"Yes."
—
The honesty hit harder than denial would have.
—
"Who?"
—
A beat.
—
Then—
"No."
—
He stared at her. "You just said yes."
—
"I answered your first question."
Her tone stayed level.
Unshaken.
—
"That's not how this works."
—
"It is right now."
—
Silence snapped between them.
Tighter this time.
—
"You're telling someone about me," he said, slower now, piecing it together as he spoke, "while you're here—with me—and you think that's normal?"
—
Lesica tilted her head slightly.
"Normal isn't really the point."
—
"Then what is?"
—
A pause.
—
And for the first time—
she didn't answer immediately.
—
Her gaze shifted.
Not away.
Just… inward.
Like she was choosing something carefully.
—
"Timing."
—
That word didn't help.
—
"Timing for what?"
—
Another pause.
Then—
"For you to catch up."
—
His expression hardened. "Catch up to what?"
—
She looked at him again.
And this time—
there was no softness in it.
—
"To the fact that this didn't start when you think it did."
—
Something in his chest dropped.
—
"What are you talking about?"
—
Lesica exhaled quietly.
Not tired.
Just… done avoiding a certain line.
—
"You think I came back."
—
A step closer.
Not aggressive.
Just certain.
—
"I didn't."
—
He frowned. "You're here now, aren't you?"
—
"I've been here."
—
That didn't make sense.
—
"You left."
—
A small shake of her head.
"No."
—
Flat.
Final.
—
"You just didn't notice when I stopped."
—
Silence.
—
Real silence this time.
—
Because that—
that rewrote everything.
—
"You're saying…" he started, then stopped, trying to align memories that suddenly didn't fit the same way, "you never actually—"
—
"Left you?" she finished.
—
A beat.
—
Then, quietly—
"No."
—
His mind caught on it.
Pushed against it.
—
"That's not true."
—
"It is."
—
"Then where were you?"
—
That question hung heavier than the others.
—
Because it mattered more.
—
Lesica watched him for a second.
Then—
she smiled.
Not wide.
Not soft.
—
Just enough to unsettle.
—
"Close enough."
—
That wasn't an answer.
—
And he knew it.
—
"You expect me to believe that?"
—
"No," she said simply.
A pause.
—
"I expect you to remember."
—
The room felt different again.
Like something old had been pulled into the present without warning.
—
Moments.
Small ones.
Missed ones.
—
Things that didn't feel important at the time.
—
Until now.
—
His phone buzzed again.
—
Neither of them moved right away.
—
Then—
slowly—
he looked down.
—
Another message.
Same number.
—
"Ask her where she was the night you thought she disappeared."
—
His breath caught.
—
He looked up at her.
—
This time—
Lesica didn't hide the reaction.
—
Just a flicker.
—
But it was there.
—
And that was enough.
—
"The night you left," he said, voice lower now, sharper, "where were you?"
—
Silence.
—
A long one.
—
For the first time—
she didn't answer immediately.
—
Didn't redirect.
Didn't control it.
—
Just stood there.
—
Thinking.
—
Choosing.
—
And that—
that was new.
—
Cliffhanger:
Her phone buzzed.
—
She glanced at it.
—
Then back at him.
—
And for the first time—
there was something in her expression that didn't belong to control.
—
Something… uncertain.
—
"Someone's getting impatient," she said quietly.
—
But it wasn't clear—
if she meant him.
—
Or the person behind the messages.