The Things We Never Said

The small lake house smelled like wood and warmth. Elena stood inside, hands trembling slightly as she ran her fingers across the dust-covered mantle. She remembered telling Aidan once—long ago, in a whisper she thought he'd forget—that she dreamed of a home with no noise but the kind that love made.

And he had remembered.

"I didn't think you'd really wait," she said softly, still facing away from him.

"I didn't know how to stop."

Aidan stepped closer, and his voice became the only thing she could hear above the pounding of her heart. "Every time I painted, it was your eyes. Every brushstroke, your voice. You weren't gone, Elena. You were just out of reach."

She turned slowly, her eyes shimmering. "And you… you were the reason I kept checking my phone at midnight. The reason I cried when I signed that job offer. Because I didn't want success without you in it."

Their breaths mingled between them.

"But we never talked about it," she added, the ache still sharp. "We let ego get in the way. Pride. Anger."

"And pain," Aidan said. "We were both hurting. We both wanted someone to fight for us but didn't know how to ask."

Silence stretched between them like a fragile thread.

Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a tiny folded piece of paper. "I wrote this… the day you left."

Her fingers trembled as she took it.

It read:

If you ever look back—know that I did. Every day. I looked back and wished I had said: Don't go. Please stay. I love you.

A sob broke from her throat. "Why didn't you send it?"

"Because I thought you deserved someone better. Someone whole."

"I never wanted perfect, Aidan. I wanted you."

His lips crashed onto hers—gentle, desperate, real. The kind of kiss that rewrote all the wrongs and carved out a new beginning.

As the night deepened, they sat on the floor of their almost-home, wrapped in a blanket, talking about everything and nothing. The missed calls. The unsent messages. The nights they both stood outside, under different skies, wishing for the same thing.

By morning, nothing had changed in the world.

But everything had changed between them.