Page 65 of The Bittersweet Bond

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After leaving the exhibition, Evin and Milka strolled through the bustling city streets, their path lit by the glow of cafés and restaurants. The air smelled like coffee and rain, and the night hummed with quiet conversations and the occasional burst of laughter.

Milka was talking animatedly, her hands moving as she reenacted parts of the evening. “And then there was that guy in the leather jacket, acting like he was about to change the art world forever! I almost lost it.” She laughed, nudging Evin’s arm.

Evin smirked. “You definitely gave him too much attention. He was probably posing just for you.”

“As if.” Milka rolled her eyes. “I’ve got more important things to think about.”

Evin glanced at her. “Like what?”

“My parents. They’re back on their ‘What’s your plan?’ nonsense. College, career, all of it.” Milka sighed. “Nothing I say ever seems good enough.”

Evin knew the feeling all too well. At home, it was the same—always a critique, always an expectation.

Milka gave her a playful nudge. “You’re too quiet. What’s on your mind?”

Evin hesitated, then exhaled. “I’m wondering… if he misses me.”

Milka groaned. “Bas? Seriously?” She stopped walking and turned to face her. “Evin, come on. If he missed you, you’d know. You deserve someone who actually acts like he wants you.”

Evin nodded, but the words didn’t fully settle. The ache in her chest remained, a dull pressure she couldn't shake. Maybe I messed it up, she thought. Maybe it really is my fault.

They kept walking, passing darkened shop windows, their reflections flickering in the glass. The night was cold, the streets quieting as the hour grew later. But Evin’s thoughts weren’t on the city.

What if Milka is right?What if he never really cared, and she had just been fooling herself the entire time?

Evin exhaled slowly, shoving her hands deeper into her coat pockets.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t over yet, that despite everything, a chapter remained unwritten between them.

As they reached the pizzeria, the scent of tomatoes and herbs filled the air. Milka pulled open the door, and Evin stepped inside—only to stop short. For a split second, she could hardly believe her eyes. Her gaze landed on one of the tables.

There he was—the guy from the exhibition.

He sat back in his chair, eyes half-lidded as he took a bite of pizza. Noticing her, he didn’t move, didn’t react—just shifted his gaze from his food to her, slow and deliberate.

Milka was still talking, oblivious. But Evin, unable to resist, smirked just enough for him to catch it. “What a coincidence.”

He set down his slice, completely unfazed. “Looking for a better exhibition?” His voice was smooth, edged with something unreadable.

She bit her lip. “Or better company.”

His low chuckle was almost a purr. “Looks like you got lucky, then.”

Milka finally catching on and pulled out a chair without hesitation. “So, how’s the pizza?”

He leaned forward, taking another bite, his gaze flicking back to Evin. “Better than the art. You should try it.”

There was still something about him. Not just the way he spoke—slow, intentional—but the way he seemed to see more than she was showing.

Before she could think too much, she slid into the seat across from him.

The pizza was annoyingly good.

“Oh, by the way, I’m Sergej,” he said, his attention still mostly on her.

“Evin.” Her name came out steadier than she expected.

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