Conversations We Never Had

The next few days passed with a tension Mira couldn't shake. Her childhood home, once filled with her father's laughter, now echoed with emptiness. She roamed the hallways like a stranger, her footsteps soft on wooden floors that held too many memories. Her mother was barely speaking, lost in her own grief. The silence between them was a language neither of them had the strength to translate.

One afternoon, Mira found herself in the backyard, the overgrown garden still carrying the scent of guava trees and sun-warmed soil. She remembered her father pruning those trees in the evenings, humming under his breath. Her chest ached.

She needed air.

She needed… something.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she sent a message to Noah.

> "Can we talk?"

His response came almost instantly.

> "Name the place."

---

They met at a small café tucked into the heart of the city. It was quiet, a welcome change from the chaos both of them had left behind.

Mira arrived first, her hands cold despite the heat. She wore no makeup, just tired eyes and lips bitten raw with anxiety.

Noah walked in minutes later, and for once, he didn't try to smile. He sat across from her, folding his hands on the table like he wasn't sure what to do with them.

"Thanks for coming," she said.

He nodded. "I wasn't sure you'd reach out."

"Neither was I."

They sat in silence for a while, the weight of unsaid things heavier than any words they could exchange.

"I was angry," she said at last, looking down at her cup. "Angry that you got me fired. That you just… waltzed into my life and flipped it upside down."

"I know," he said quietly. "And I never got the chance to say I'm sorry. Truly. I didn't mean for any of it to happen. I didn't even know where I was being taken that day. I just… followed you."

Her eyes flicked to his. "You always just follow strangers?"

His mouth curved slightly. "Only the ones who make my heart panic."

She frowned. "Don't flirt with me."

"I'm not," he said, serious now. "I'm just being honest."

She sighed and leaned back. "I don't know what to do with you, Noah. Every time I think I've written you off, you show up again."

"Then stop trying to write me off," he said gently. "Maybe I'm not here to ruin your story. Maybe I'm here to change it."

Her heart skipped.

"I don't need saving," she whispered.

"I didn't say you did."

She looked at him for a long moment. In his eyes, she didn't see pity. She saw understanding. And something softer.

"I'm still mad at you," she said.

"Good," he replied. "Be mad. But let me be around while you are."

And just like that, something cracked—just a little—in the wall Mira had built.

Not forgiveness.

But maybe the beginning of it.