The Breaking point

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Chapter 49: The Breaking Point

The night air was cloudy and thick with the promise of rain, the city streets glistening under the soft glow of the streetlights. Inside the quiet café, the hum of jazz played in the background, but neither of them paid any attention to it.

She stirred at her coffee absently, lost in thought. Across from her, he watched, his brows furrowed.

"You've been so quiet all evening," he said finally, breaking the silence.

She hesitated before answering, choosing her words carefully. "I'm Just thinking."

"About?"

She lifted her gaze, meeting his eyes. "Us."

His fingers tightened slightly around his cup. "That sounds serious."

"Isn't it?"

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The unspoken tension sat heavy between them, something fragile threatening to crack.

"I don't want to fight," he said, his voice quieter now.

She exhaled, rubbing her temple. "I'm not trying to fight. I just… I don't know where we stand anymore."

I don't know if i should..

"You should what"?

His jaw tightened. "I thought we were past this. Haven't I shown you how much you mean to me?"

"How much i really love you"

She swallowed, her fingers clenching around the cup. "I saw you with Clara today."

His brows furrowed. "Clara?"

"You seemed different with her. Like you weren't trying so hard."

His lips parted in shock before pressing into a thin line. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?"

"You know you're the only one I—" He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "She needed help. That's all."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't think it mattered!" His voice rose slightly, frustration leaking into his tone. "I didn't think you'd doubt me."

"I'm sorry"

She stood, shaking her head. "It's not doubt. It's trust. And right now, I don't know if I can trust what you're not saying."

He looked like he wanted to argue. Like he wanted to fix everything right there.

But something in her eyes must have stopped him right away.

Because this time—he let her go.

And as the rain started falling outside, she walked away.

---

By the time she reached her apartment, she was soaked, her clothes clinging to her skin. But she didn't care. She leaned against the door, her heart hammering.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Him.

She let it ring. Once. Twice. Three times.

Then silence.

A minute later, a text.

"Talk to me."

She stared at the words, her thumb hovering over the screen. But she didn't respond to the text.

Instead, she moved toward the window, watching the rain streak down the glass. The city was alive outside, but inside, she felt completely all alone and lonely.

Then—there was a knock at the door.

Her heart stopped.

She already knew who it was.

Slowly, she pulled the door open.

He stood there, drenched, his hair dripping. His hoodie clung to his frame, but his eyes—those eyes—held something raw, something desperate.

"I couldn't just let you walk away," he said, breathless.

Her fingers tightened on the doorknob. "You didn't stop me."

"I thought you needed space," he admitted. "But I realized—that's not what we need. We need to talk. We need to stop running from this."

Let's talk things out.

Her throat tightened. "And what exactly is 'this'?"

His hand lifted, fingers brushing a strand of wet hair from her face. "You. Me. Us."

Her breath hitched.

"And what if we're not meant to work?" she whispered.

He gave a quiet, almost broken laugh. "Then why does it hurt so much to be apart?"

She had no answer for that.

Because he was right.

She sighed, stepping aside. "Come inside. Before you catch a damn cold."

A small, relieved smile tugged at his lips. "Only if you promise to listen."

She hesitated—then nodded.

---

Hours Later

They sat on the couch for a while, the dim glow of a lamp casting long shadows across the room. She had changed into dry clothes, wrapped in a blanket, while he sat beside her, sipping the tea she made.

For the first time in hours, the silence between them wasn't heavy. It was just… there.

"You're right," he said eventually, his voice quieter now. "I should have told you about Clara. But it wasn't because I was hiding anything. It's just—I didn't think it was important. She's part of my past, not my present."

She studied him carefully. "And I'm your present?"

His lips curved slightly. Yes and you're more than that."

She felt something in her chest tighten.

"You scare me," she admitted.

He blinked, surprised. "I do?"

She nodded, fingers gripping the edge of the blanket. "Because I've never let someone in like this before. And the idea of losing you—" She shook her head. "It terrifies me."

He reached out, his fingers grazing hers. "Then don't lose me."

It was a simple request. A plea wrapped in five words.

Her breath hitched.

"I don't want to and I will never will," she whispered.

"Then don't."

And just like that, the walls she had built around herself started to crumble.

Because maybe, just maybe, they were worth the risk.

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Later That Night

She woke up to find him still there, sitting by the window, looking out at the rain.

"You should sleep," she murmured, her voice thick with exhaustion.

He turned, offering a small smile. "I just… didn't want to waste a second."

She frowned slightly, pushing herself up. "What do you mean?"

He hesitated, then stood, walking over to sit on the edge of the bed.

"I almost lost you today," he admitted. "And I don't want that to happen again."

"I don't want to experience this never again"

Her heart clenched at the sincerity in his voice.

"You won't," she promised softly.

He exhaled, nodding slightly. "Can I stay?"

She didn't hesitate this time.

"Yes."

And as he lay beside her, fingers brushing against hers, she realized something different.

For the first time in a long time—she wasn't afraid anymore.

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Final Thoughts