Page 9 of The Bittersweet Bond

Plenty of them.

But deep down, she had always been waiting. For him.

Sometimes he’d say things just low enough for her to hear. Never asking, never begging.

Notpromises. Not pressure.

Just statements.

As if he knew it was only a matter of time.

There was always this underlying tension between them, this quiet expectation that lived in the space between every look, every touch.

And though he never crossed a line, never pushed—he made sure she felt it.

That he wanted her.

That he could wait.

But he wouldn’t wait forever. And in the meantime, he’d keep living his life like he always had—loud, reckless, and never quite alone.

I already know I shouldn’t get too close to him. And I know he doesn’t really want me to.

Confused by his messages, she shut her laptop, the glow of the screen vanishing into darkness.

She had no idea what to make of his words, whether he actually missed her or just wanted to make sure she was still thinking about him.

Maybe he had just dreamed about her and loved the illusion.

In the silence of her room, she heard his voice in her head.

“Yeah, well. Maybe you’re just not as smart as you think.”

She clenched her fists, her pulse quickening.

She should have let him go a long time ago. But she never did.

But then there are those moments—those seconds when he looks at me, the way he’s always looked at me… like I’m the only one who’s ever really mattered to him.

And it was exactly those moments that made her weak.

She hated that it was enough.

But maybe, just maybe, the real reason she wouldn't let him go... was because he was the only one who never looked at her like she was easy to love.

Sebastian

The air stood still, heavy and sweet with chlorinated summer heat. One of those typical California nights. Even the wind had decided not to move.

Bas sat on the lounge chair by the pool, barefoot, holding a half-finished smoothie that had long since gone warm. The last drops of water from his hair trailed down his neck, soaking into the fabric of his shirt. He’d taken a shower—not because he was sweating, but because he thought it might help.

It hadn’t.

The heat still clung beneath his skin. Not from the outside. But from whatever had been stirring inside him since her messages burned into his screen.

His phone lay next to him, face down.

As if that would change anything.

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