Page 49 of In Another Time

I stared at her, and for a second, I wanted to say her name, but I didn’t. “Someone who feels like home.”

Her eyes closed like the words had hit bone. “You know what hurts?” she whispered. “I could feel something was off, but I was trying because I believed in you. In us.”

“I know. And you deserve someone who’s gonna believe in you the same way.”

She looked at me like she was searching for a different answer. One that would make this all make sense. But there wasn’t one. “You’re not a bad man, Omir,” she said quietly. “But you broke something in me today.”

I looked down. “I never meant to, Anya. I swear.”

She wiped her face again, composed even in heartbreak. “You know what? Just go.”

My chest ached. “I’m sorry.”

She nodded once. “Goodbye, Omir.”

I stood there long after she’d gone back inside. Long after the sun dipped low and the street lights flickered on. I’d just broken a good woman’s heart and it hurt. But beneath the guilt, the sadness, the regret. . . was something else. Clarity. I knew who I loved. And for the first time in months, I knew what I had to do.

LENNOX

Packing was harder than I thought it would be.

Not because I didn’t know how to do it—I’d packed for two-week work trips and international conferences with less hesitation. It was the emotional weight. Folding sweaters felt like folding away pieces of myself I wasn’t ready to deal with. Every shirt, every heel, every pair of jeans—somehow, they all reminded me of the night at the lake. Of everything I didn’t say soon enough.

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring down at the half-filled suitcase. My heart felt like it was somewhere between my throat and my stomach.

I’d missed my window. He was engaged. And I was too late. A knock on my door broke the silence.

“Yeah?” I called out, not moving.

The door opened slowly, and Lawrence stepped in, leaning against the frame with that same skeptical big brother look he always gave me when he could tell I was about to lie and say I was fine. “You heading back tomorrow?”

I nodded. “Flight’s in the morning.”

He looked around the room, then pointed at the suitcase. “You moving slow on purpose or just emotionally paralyzed?”

I cracked a half-smile. “Somewhere in between.”

He walked in, took a seat in the chair near my window, and exhaled like he’d been saving this conversation for the right moment. “So,. . . you done pretending?”

I looked over at him. “Pretending what?”

“That everything’s cool. That you’re good. Ma said you saw some dude. Omir?”

I sighed and leaned back on my hands. “Yeah. I saw him.”

He nodded slowly. “And?”

“And I told him how I felt. Finally. After all this time.”

“Okay.” He scratched his chin. “And what’d he say?”

“That he loved me too.”

“But you’re still here packing like somebody broke your heart.”

I laughed, but it didn’t come out joyful. “Because I walked away.”

“Wait, . . . hold up,” he said, sitting forward. “He told you he loved you but then left?”

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