Chapter 28: The Unraveling Thread

The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, painting streaks of gold and amber across the horizon. Eleanor stood at the edge of the riverbank, her fingers brushing absentmindedly over the fabric of her shawl. The world around her was quiet, save for the gentle ripple of water lapping against the stones, as if nature itself was waiting, holding its breath alongside her.

She had spent the morning in the village, surrounded by the usual hum of life—merchants setting up their stalls, children chasing one another through the winding paths, the scent of freshly baked bread wafting from the bakery. But beneath the familiar comfort of routine, a quiet storm had been brewing in her chest. A storm she had no choice but to face.

Callum had found her earlier that day, his expression unreadable yet heavy with things unsaid. "Meet me by the river at sunset," he had murmured before disappearing into the crowd.

And now, she waited.

When he finally arrived, his steps were measured, careful, as though he was afraid of what lay ahead. The sight of him—his eyes reflecting the same unspoken weight she carried—sent a wave of unease through her.

"You came," he said, stopping a few feet away.

"I wasn't sure if I would," Eleanor admitted, her voice softer than she intended.

Callum exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I wouldn't blame you."

Silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable but thick with meaning. Eleanor watched the way the wind tousled his dark curls, the way his shoulders tensed as if bracing for a storm.

"Why did you ask me to come here?" she finally asked, cutting through the silence.

He hesitated before answering, his fingers clenching at his sides. "Because I owe you the truth."

Eleanor felt something twist inside her. "The truth about what?"

Callum lifted his gaze to meet hers, and in his eyes, she saw it—hesitation, regret, but most of all, sincerity. "About us. About why I left that night without a word."

She swallowed, bracing herself. "Then say it."

His jaw tightened. "I was afraid."

Eleanor blinked. Of all the things she had expected him to say, fear had never been one of them.

"Afraid of what?" she asked, softer this time.

He let out a slow breath, as if exhaling months' worth of unspoken words. "Of how much you mean to me. Of what it would mean if I stayed and let myself need you. Because needing someone means giving them the power to hurt you. And I... I wasn't ready for that."

Her heart clenched. She wanted to be angry. She wanted to tell him that he had no right to make that choice for her, to leave her with nothing but questions and silence. But standing there, watching the way his voice wavered, how his eyes held the weight of unspoken confessions, she understood.

"You hurt me, Callum," she whispered. "Not because you left, but because you never let me in. You never gave me a chance to understand."

"I know." His voice was rough, laced with regret. "And I'm sorry. For all of it."

The wind rustled through the trees, filling the space between them. Eleanor closed her eyes for a brief moment, grounding herself in the sounds, in the scent of the river, in the warmth of the fading sun.

"What now?" she asked when she finally opened her eyes. "What do we do with this?"

Callum took a step closer, the hesitation still there, but so was the hope. "That's up to you. But if you'll have me, I don't want to run anymore. I don't want to be afraid."

Eleanor searched his face for any trace of uncertainty but found none. And despite everything—despite the pain, the unanswered questions, the time lost—she felt something shift inside her.

Maybe this wasn't about finding the perfect ending. Maybe it was about choosing to stay, even when it was messy. Even when it was uncertain.

She took a slow breath, then nodded. "Alright. But no more running."

A small, almost disbelieving smile tugged at Callum's lips. "No more running."

And for the first time in a long while, Eleanor felt like she was exactly where she was meant to be.