72


    50%


    72


    Sienna’s POV


    As I slid the key into the lock and pushed open the door to my apartment, I could feel Liam’s eyes on my back. Silent. Unassuming. Yet still pressing against me like an unwee weight.


    I stepped inside without a word. No goodbye. No thank you. I thought that if I held onto my silence long enough, he would finally


    understand that I still wanted distance. That I still wanted to hide the wounds that had never fully healed.


    But deep down, I knew that from this day forward, that line of separation had begun to blur. And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for


    whatever mighte after this.


    The click of the lock sounded too loud in my ears. Louder than the crash of the waves or the echo of his footsteps trailing behind


    me earlier. I leaned against the door for a moment, closing my eyes, letting the stillness of my small apartment wrap around my


    tired body.


    This space was narrow, modest, but it had always been enough of a fortress for me. A ce where I could release the weight without fearing anyone’s gaze. But tonight, with his presence still lingering just outside, the walls no longer felt sturdy. As if his


    shadow had seeped in through invisible cracks.


    I set my bag on the chair near the entrance and wandered to the kitchte. My hand moved on instinct, turning the faucet, filling a ss, drinking in quick gulps. The dryness in my throat didn’t really go away-it only shifted into a hollowness I couldn’t


    ignore.


    My eyes lingered on the small dining table draped with a in cloth. Usually it was quiet there, holding only a te or two or a stray notebook I’d brought from my desk. Now it carried a phantom trace of citrus-those oranges Liam had carried earlier into Bu Wn’s apartment. Strange, how even a scent could follow me here, tightening the space between us despite all my effort to


    keep him away.


    I moved into the living area, flicking on the dim yellowmp overhead. The glow touched the sofa, the thin rug, the pile of books I hadn’t yet organized. I sank onto the couch, leaned my head back, and buried my face in my hands.


    A long breath escaped. Every attempt at distance, every little lie to protect myself, felt useless. He knew where I lived now. He knew my way home. Which meant he could appear at my door any time. The thought made my chest constrict, like invisible


    strings pulling tight around me.


    And yet, beneath that suffocating fear, there was another tremor-one I didn’t want to admit. A small part of me that felt almost relieved that I no longer had to pretend. That the secret had been forced open without me having to say a word. That terrified me


    the most. Because if relief existed, it meant I still wanted him near.


    The wall clock ticked faintly, filling the silence. My eyes drifted to the curtained window where streetlights cast blurred shadows against the floor. Was he still out there? Waiting? Or had he gone? I didn’t have the courage to find out.


    The knock came just as I was about to peel off my sweater and settle at the dining table. Soft, but sharp enough to freeze me in


    11:22 AM Tue 2 Sep


    72


    ce. My heart thudded hard. I didn’t need to guess who it was.


    Liam.


    50%


    I held my breath, praying it was just a single knock. That if I ignored it, he would leave. But hope was a fragile dream, because his voice followed soon after-gentle, familiar:


    “Sienna… your oranges are still with me. You forgot to take them earlier.”


    Damn it. I really had forgotten.


    A dull throb pressed against my temples, not from the headache the doctor had mentioned earlier, but from the rush of frustration and awkwardness boiling in my chest. I rose, walked slowly to the door, and cracked it open halfway—just enough to see him standing there, one hand clutching the heavy box of oranges like it weighed nothing.


    “You can just leave it outside,” I said, my voice low but firm.


    But he only shook his head. And before I could stop him, he added quickly, “I’ll bring it in. Too heavy for you to carry alone.”


    I opened my mouth to object, but Liam had already nudged the door wider and stepped inside-like he still had the right.


    My fists clenched at my sides, holding back the urge to shout. He set the box neatly by the dining table, then-without hesitation


    -dropped onto the sofa in my living room.


    “Nice ce,” he remarked, stretching out casually.


    My jaw tightened.


    “You’ve delivered the oranges. Now leave,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady.


    But he only turned toward me, calm as ever, as if my demand were nothing more than small talk.


    “I’ll just stay for a bit,” he replied lightly, leaning back against the cushions. “You don’t need to act like I’m some kind of


    criminal.”


    I exhaled slowly, struggling to contain the anger and confusion swelling inside me.


    How could he walk in so easily? Sit so easily? As though nothing had ever happened between us. As though there had never been betrayal, never nights I cried myself to sleep because he had chosen someone else over me.


    My small living room suddenly felt suffocating. The walls that usually protected me now seemed to close in, pressing down on my chest with his presence sprawled so casually on the sofa. I stood a few steps away from him, fists clenched unconsciously, fighting


    against the storm inside me.


    It was as if every memory I had tried to bury over the past weeks came rushing back the moment his body leaned into that seat. The long nights spent with swollen eyes, the muffled sobs I held back so the neighbors wouldn’t hear, the promises that shattered halfway through-all of them crowded in like unwanted guests.


    I walked to the window, pulling back the thin curtain to let more of the streetlight spill in. But the glow wasn’t enough to chase


    11:22 AM Tue 2 Sep


    72


    49%


    away the shadows that clung to this room. I tried to steady my breathing, squaring my shoulders, pretending that silence could shield me more strongly than words ever could.


    The ticking of the wall clock grew louder. Its hands moved slowly, but every second added weight to the air. I wanted to busy myself-pick up a book, straighten the table, pour a cup of tea-but every movement would only acknowledge that I was letting him stay. So I remained frozen, holding in the restless tide in my mind.


    He was so calm, while I burned from the inside. The contrast only fueled my anger. How could he step into my space, sit there as if


    nothing was wrong, and look soposed-as if he had the right?


    GET IT N…


    11:22 AM


    Tue 2 Sep