Page 51 of Deliah
Silence dropped like a bomb. I turned away, swallowing the lump in my throat. My voice came quieter now, but still sharp. “And now?”
He exhaled hard. “Now you see him for what he is. Now you’re not that girl anymore.”
I turned back, head tilted. “And what girl was that, exactly?”
He finally looked at me. Really looked. His voice was gravelly. “The girl who thought she had to burn herself to keep someone else warm.”
The words landed deep. I blinked. Once. Twice. “That girl’s gone,” I said, trying to sound smug, even though my chest ached.
“I know.” His eyes didn’t leave mine. “That’s why I’m here.”
I leaned back again, trying to play it cool, even as my insides flipped. “So, what… you want a medal for timing?”
He grinned, faint but dangerous. “No. I want you.”
I laughed under my breath. “Typical. Vanish for months and think you can just swoop back in because you’ve got blue eyes and good bone structure.”
“I didn’t come back to woo you,” he said. “I came back because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“You sure it’s not just because I looked hot in that red dress on Instagram?” I teased.
His jaw twitched again. “That too.”
I grinned. But only for a second. Because even with all my sass and sarcasm, part of me wanted to believe him. Wanted to scream at him. Kiss him. Maybe both. But I stayed silent. Let the tension stretch between us like an elastic band. Dangerous. Pulling. Ready to snap.
Dinner was at a rooftop restaurant I couldn’t pronounce—one of those places where the staff wear earpieces and call you “Madam” like you’re royalty or dangerous. Probably both. The table overlooked the city, the kind of view people post on Instagram with soft jazz and filtered wine. Candlelight. Privacy. Every detail deliberate. He ordered for both of us, obviously.
“Still like bold flavours?” he asked, not really asking.
I raised a brow. “You remember everything, don’t you?”
“Only what matters.”
The food was outrageous—one of those meals that makes you hum by accident. The wine didn’t help either. It slipped down too easily and made my mouth a little looser than it should’ve been. We talked. Laughed. Fell into old rhythms way too fast. His voice was deeper than I remembered. His eyes still had that same razor-sharp way of watching me—it’s as if he could see through the front I barely had energy to keep up.
“You’re quieter than usual,” he said, watching me over the rim of his glass.
“I’m just… thinking.”
“Dangerous habit, that.”
I smirked. “You know I’m not the same girl you left behind.”
“I know.”
“I’m not looking for a mess. Or a saviour.”
“Did I say you were?”
I picked at my napkin. “Just laying the ground rules.”
He tilted his head, all calm confidence. “Still think you’re the one in charge here?”
I didn’t rise to it. I just looked at him. “What’s the real reason you came back?”
He leaned in, elbows on the table. “I told you. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
I let that hang in the air for a second before brushing it off. “So… how’s Spain?”
