Page 190 of The Bittersweet Bond

Evin couldn’t help but chuckle softly, and for a moment, she felt just a little lighter. But then her expression turned more serious again. Her eyes drifted toward the street, where life kept moving forward, no matter how stuck she felt inside her own mind.

"Milka?"

"Yeah?"

"What would you do if you had to tell someone something important, but you were scared they’d see you differently afterward?"

Milka held her gaze for a moment before answering. "I’d say it. And if they saw me differently afterward, then they were never worth it in the first place. But, Evin… I don’t think Bas is that kind of person. Not anymore. I think he already sees you exactly as you are. Maybe even better than you see yourself."

Evin nodded slowly, but the heaviness in her chest remained. "I’m just afraid of making everything worse."

"I get that," Milka said quietly. "But you can’t control everything. And honestly? It’s up to you whether you run or not."

Evin looked at her, and for a moment, there was a flicker of hope in her eyes. "I think Basis just waiting for me to let him in."

In the midst of the chaos that finally felt a little like normality, she thought:

Maybe Milka was right. Maybe she would do it. Maybe.

__________

"You have to admit," Milka began, her mouth full, holding a piece of churro in one hand, "there are worse places to clear your head." She gestured dramatically toward the string lights stretching between the shops and cafés like tiny stars.

Evin shrugged, her hands buried deep in her pockets. Couples laughed, children ran around, yet everything felt like a world she was only allowed to observe from a distance.

"Nice," she murmured finally.

"Just 'nice'?" Milka scoffed, shoving the bag of churros into Evin's hands. "That is so typical. Don't tell me you're still looking for drama to feel alive."

Evin took a mechanical bite, tasting the sweet cinnamon and sugar on her tongue, but the warmth didn’t reach her. Drama? It wasn’t the drama she was searching for. It was the quiet she couldn't seem to find. Her thoughts were like a storm that never settled, endlessly bouncing from Bas to Sergej, from training to the unspoken words that followed her everywhere.

"Ha ha," she laughed dryly. Her voice was quiet, more to herself than to Milka. "It's just… hard. My mind won’t shut up."

Milka paused, watching her closely, her usual sharpness softening into something more thoughtful. "Maybe repression doesn’t always work after all."

Evin snorted, more out of embarrassment than disagreement. "Let’s not start that conversation again."

Milka grinned, took one last bite of her churro, and playfully tugged Evin’s hand. "Come on, Evin. You might be a walking hurricane, but you’re my hurricane. And tonight, we’re done with overthinking. Let’s do something stupid."

Milka chewed thoughtfully on her churro before nodding to herself. "No plans, no expectations, no rehearsals for you to mess up. Just us and…" She trailed off mid-sentence and suddenly stopped.

"And?" Evin followed her gaze. The soft sound of the waves faded into a dull background noise as she spotted the group. Her heart clenched painfully, that sharp, instinctive sting she had come to know too well.

A few meters away, right in front of a stand selling handmade bracelets, stood Bas, Chris, and Dominic. The boys were laughing—a quiet, easy kind of laughter, the kind that surrounded them like an invisible wall of lightness and ease. While warmth rushed through her body, her eyes searched for Bas. Her thoughts spiraled—his smile, the fact that he hadn’t texted her, the way he had beaten up Sergej.

Milka let out a quiet sigh, more annoyed than surprised. "Oh, great. Couldn’t have timed that better."

Evin wanted to say something, anything, but her throat felt tight. Finally, she whispered hoarsely, "Let’s just pretend we didn’t see them." She spun on her heel, taking a quick step in the opposite direction.

But Milka grabbed her arm—and with one swift, practiced motion, turned her right back around.

Before Evin could protest, Milka was already moving. Not slowly, not hesitantly. She stuffed the rest of her churro into the bag, straightened her shoulders—and marched straight toward the boys.

Evin froze, her stomach twisting. Every fiber in her screamed to turn away, but her legs refused to move. She felt her shoulders stiffen, as if her body itself was warning her not to go any closer. Yet, with heavy steps, she reluctantly followed her friend, even as she internally begged herself not to.

"Hey, Bas! Chris!" Milka’s voice cut through the noise of the crowd, carefree and effortless as ever.

Evin pressed her lips together.

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